TWELVE

I hustled back to the Bonaparte House. Melanie was sitting at the employee picnic table out back, drumming the long gel nails of one hand on the wood. The other hand was inside her Fendi purse and she kept glancing around as though she were looking for someone. And she didn’t look happy at being kept waiting. Ha! I thought. Try being kept waiting for twenty years when your mother abandons you.

“Hey, Melanie. I suppose you want to drive to the funeral home? I can’t see you walking three blocks in those heels.”

“Yes, I do want to drive,” she huffed. “Why can’t you do this? I was just starting to relax at your friend’s spa.” “Starting” being the operative word here. She didn’t seem to have gotten very far. She removed her hand from her bag and picked it up by only one strap, spilling some of the contents. A can of pepper spray fell out. She hurriedly grabbed at it and shoved it back in the bag.

“Uh, do you have a permit for that?” Did she need one?

“Isn’t this the boondocks? Is a permit really necessary here for anything?” She zipped up the bag and teetered toward my car.

“This is New York State, not the Wild West.”

“Then it’s a good thing I bought this legally. Now get in the car and let’s get this over with,” she snapped.

Ooh, someone was cranky. And armed. Potentially not a good combination. I frowned. No, Doreen had been strangled, and I was pretty sure pepper spray wouldn’t kill you, just hurt a lot. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better.

We drove the few blocks to the funeral home. “So, Mel, where’s Caitlyn?”

“Caitlyn? We’re not joined at the hip, you know. I left her back on the island. I had a few tasks I needed her to finish.”

“Did you actually see her before you left?” I could feel Melanie’s eyes boring into the side of my face as I drove.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I saw her. She must have been outside in the sun because her face was red. I keep reminding her she needs to wear sunscreen every time she goes outside if she wants to have a good complexion like mine. Why?” she demanded.

“Oh, no reason.” Liza didn’t just lend out boats to her guests, so unless Caitlyn was an Olympic-caliber swimmer, somebody on that island ferried her back and forth. The likely suspect, of course, was Channing, the pool guy I’d seen her talking to at Gladys’s house. But Channing was still working on Gladys’s pool when Jack and I had left and Caitlyn was nowhere to be seen. It was possible she’d gotten herself back to the Spa in time to see Melanie before she left for her meeting with me, but it would have been tight. It was also possible she’d rented herself a small boat.

A few minutes later we were seated in Clive’s office, tastefully and simply decorated in shades of pale green and white. A creamy-colored sculpture of a pair of praying hands sat on the credenza behind him, next to a bouquet of flowers in autumn colors.

Melanie just sat there, so I began. “Clive, this is Melanie Ashley. She and I are apparently Doreen’s only next of kin. Do you have the body from the coroner yet?” A sick lump formed in the pit of my stomach. I hoped she hadn’t suffered.

“Yes, she’s here.” Clive offered Melanie a piece of paper with a gold seal that glinted as it came toward her. She just sat there with her lips set in a hard line, so I took the paper.

Clive shrugged. “Death certificate. You’ll need that to handle her affairs, pay her bills, collect on any life insurance policy she may have had, etc.”

I glanced at Melanie to see if she had any reaction to the mention of an insurance policy, but it didn’t appear to faze her. Well, she was an actress.

“So what do we need to do, Clive? I’ve never gone through this process before.”

He nodded sympathetically. “The first thing is to schedule the calling hours and the funeral. I assume you’ll want those on separate days? People usually have the calling hours one night and the funeral and committal the next. Unless it’s winter and the ground is frozen, of course, then the committal would be in the spring. But we don’t have to worry about that. Are there family coming in from out of town that need to be accommodated?”

I shook my head. “What about an obituary? We should put something in the Bay Blurb and the Watertown Daily Times, right?”

“Yes,” Clive said. “We usually write that up here and send it in to the papers. I’ll get some information from you before you leave.”

Good luck, I thought. I knew nothing about poor Doreen. Melanie was just going to have to step up to the plate here.

We decided to hold the calling hours tomorrow evening, with the funeral the next morning. I’d have to call Dolly in early to prep the luncheon, and a couple of local servers to man the buffet line, but I was pretty sure none of them would mind the extra hours and I would pay them well for the short notice. Sophie would probably pitch in. My baklava was passable, but hers was perfection.

Within the hour we’d chosen a casket—who knew those were so expensive?—given Clive enough information to write the obituary, and determined that there was room for Doreen to be buried in her parents’ plot at the Bayview Cemetery. Melanie handed Clive a credit card for the deposit. He jotted down the numbers and expiration date, presumably to run it later. I hoped the transaction would go through, considering the potential state of Melanie’s financial affairs. Well, I was sure Clive would let me know if there was a problem, and I’d cover it if I had to.

I checked my watch as we headed to the car. It was too late to go to the bank now. It had been a long and busy day, and I was beginning to get tired. But there was still a lot of work to be done.

Someone was in the car parked behind mine. He got out and came toward us, camera in hand.

Oh, heck. Spencer Kane.

“Quick, Melanie. Get in the car if you don’t want your picture taken.”

She went wolverine on him. “I told you I’d give you an interview when I’m ready. Well, I’m not ready. Go away,” she said through the half-opened window.

He grinned. “Pictures are worth more than an interview, you know. And I’ve already gotten some.”

Her eyes narrowed as far as they could go. Which was not that far considering the eye lifts. “Maybe you’d like to take a picture of me and my lawyer. Because he’s going to be very familiar to you if you don’t leave me alone. Trust me when I say I’m not in the mood.”

“Aw, Mel—or should I say Shirley? Don’t be that way. You’re breaking my fragile heart.” He flipped open his notebook and poised a mechanical pencil over it. “So what brings you back into town just when your cousin gets killed? There’s a story there.”

“No. Comment.” Her teeth were clamped tight. “Back up, reporter. We’re leaving.” She rolled up the window and turned to me. “Drive.”

Spencer backed away from the car, but not before giving me a serious look that didn’t quite match the lighthearted tone he’d taken with Melanie.

Hmmm. I pulled out.

“Melanie.” She didn’t respond and appeared to be deep in thought. I reached out and gave her a gentle poke. “Melanie.”

“What?” she snapped.

“We need to find out who Doreen’s friends were so we can tell them about the arrangements. And don’t you think we should go to her house so we can figure out what to do about her stuff?” A sick feeling washed over me. “Oh, no! What if she’s got a pet that needs to be taken care of?” I hadn’t even thought about that and I’d never forgive myself if an animal died because of my inattention.

The corners of Melanie’s lips turned down slightly. “I don’t think she had any animals, unless it was barn cats to keep the mice down, and they can take care of themselves.” She pulled down the vanity mirror on the visor and applied a fresh coat of bright red color to her lips. “And besides, haven’t the police been out there already? They would have let one of us know if there were pets or livestock.”

Right. The police wouldn’t allow animals to be neglected. But how would Melanie know Doreen didn’t have pets after so many years of being in California? Unless she’d been in touch with Doreen recently. But why?

“What about clothes? We need to get Clive an outfit for her to be buried in. So we’ll need to go to her house for that.”

Melanie dropped her lipstick back into her purse. “She was a lunch lady, for heaven’s sake. And not a very fashionable one. As I recall,” she added quickly. “I’ll send Caitlyn to the mall in Watertown in the morning to get her something new. We should get our money’s worth on that rental car anyway.”

“Where did Doreen live?” I have to admit I was curious about the home where my mother had grown up. The little house I’d shared with Melanie—Shirley, at that time—on School Street was now owned by the family of one of my servers and was being used as a vacation rental. Not that it would command a high rental price, since it wasn’t located on the water, but there seemed to be cars parked there when I occasionally drove past, so they must have been doing all right.

“The farm is out on the Blue Lake Road in Rossie. And fine. If I have to choose an activity—and mind you I’d much rather be at your friend’s spa at the Bikram yoga class right now—let’s go talk to Doreen’s friend.”

The Blue Lake Road was out by the Rainbow Acres Farm, where we got our produce and fresh dairy. Now that I thought about it, I should talk to the detective in charge of the investigation. Doreen had been murdered, so it stood to reason that her home would be investigated for clues. They might not have finished yet, so Paloma it was.

Melanie and I entered the Bonaparte House through the kitchen. I sat her down at one of the counters with a glass of ice water with a slice of lemon, then pulled out my cell and dialed the number Midge had given me.

“Paloma?” I said when she picked up. “This is Georgie, from the Bonaparte House restaurant. Could you come over for a few minutes? I’ll make you dinner and we can talk. It’s about Doreen.”

There was a silence, then the sound of a nose being gently blown. I held the phone away from my ear slightly. “Sorry,” Paloma said. “She was my friend. But why would you want to talk to me about her?”

“It turns out I’m a relative, though I just found out about that.” I cut my eyes to Melanie, who was sipping her water through the straw. “And I’m making the funeral arrangements. I was hoping you could help me come up with a list of people I should notify?”

“Oh. I’d like to help if I can. What time should I come?”

“If you’re free, now would be perfect.”

“I just live around the corner. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I pulled out the makings for a Greek salad—romaine lettuce, Kalamata olives, crisp cucumbers, and end-of-the-season ripe tomatoes. I dressed it with a splash of vinegar, a few swirls of olive oil, then crumbled a generous portion of fresh salty feta over the whole thing, finishing it off with a few grinds of black pepper. I heated up the last few pieces of the pastitsio, found a loaf of crusty bread and a bottle of New York State red wine, and loaded everything up on a serving tray.

A knock sounded at the kitchen door. The door opened partway and a head poked in. “I figured I should come to the back, since the restaurant isn’t open,” the woman said. “I’m Paloma.”

“Come on in,” I said. “Dinner’s ready. Follow me.”

I hefted the serving tray up onto my shoulder and headed for the bottom dining room, Melanie and Paloma following me dutifully. Not that I could blame them. Dinner smelled delicious, if I did say so myself, and my stomach was growling. It had been hours since I’d eaten at Gladys’s.

“Melanie, could you grab that tray stand so I’ll have a place to set this down?” She looked around and shrugged.

“Here, I’ve got it,” Paloma said. She brought the stand over from its place by the wall and opened it up efficiently, then smiled at me, one food server to another. I liked Paloma already.

I served up the dinner family style, salad and entrée on the same plate, and set the dishes before my guests. Melanie helped herself to the wine, then deigned to pour each of us a glass. I sat down and dug in.

“I’m really sorry about Doreen,” Paloma said. “She was a good friend to me. I’m going to miss her.” She forked up some salad.

“Thanks. I wish I could say I knew her, but the family’s been . . . spread apart and I wasn’t aware of our relationship till now.” I shot my mother a frosty look, which she ignored. “It’ll be in the paper tomorrow, but maybe you could give me a list of people to call? It would be a shame if anyone got left out.”

Paloma nodded. “If you’ll give me the details, I can let people know. I’m sure you have enough to deal with right now.”

That was an understatement. “Thanks. We’re so grateful. Right, Melanie?” I gave her leg a tap with my foot under the table. Not too hard. Honest.

Melanie flashed a lot of teeth in our direction, a smile that probably would have played well in front of the cameras but was lost on the two of us. “Yes. Very grateful.” She pulled her napkin from her lap and dabbed at her lips. “So, Paloma, you worked with Doreen at the school.”

Melanie, making chitchat. Interesting.

“Yes. She came off as abrasive, but once she warmed up to you, she was friendly enough.”

Melanie gave the napkin another twist. It looked tight enough to tie off a boat. Or strangle someone. The thought rose unbidden to my mind, and I did my best to squelch it. But I couldn’t take my eyes off that twisted piece of fabric she was working either.

“I wish I’d known her. And what an awful way to die,” I said.

Paloma’s big brown eyes welled up. “I can’t believe someone would kill her. I mean, don’t get me wrong. She could be pretty cranky, and when she got riled up, she cussed like a sailor. But lately she seemed different. Happier.” Paloma took a bite of her pastitsio, and a look of pleasure crossed her face. “Wow, this is so good.”

“Thanks,” I said. Meat and pasta bathed in a velvety cheese béchamel—what wasn’t to love? “There’s a piece left in the kitchen. I’ll wrap it up for you when you leave. Any idea what made Doreen happier?” Melanie had left off twisting the napkin and had moved on to picking her noodles apart with a fork. She kept glancing up at the portrait of Napoleon that hung over the fireplace, as though the Little Corporal had something to do with our conversation.

Paloma ripped off a hunk of bread and soaked up some of the sauce from the casserole. “Well,” she said between dips, “as you can probably guess, cafeteria workers don’t get paid crap, pardon my French. Doreen was lucky she had that farmhouse left to her, so she had fewer expenses than most of us.”

I glanced over at Melanie. She was still staring at her plate, and she was twirling a tube of pasta around and around on it.

“She must have inherited it free and clear, then, no mortgage?”

“Yeah,” Paloma said. “Her aunt and uncle cut their own daughter out of the will and left it to Doreen. Anyway, she came in to school one day and said she was getting a windfall. I figured some other relative had died and she was just waiting for the estate to be settled.”

With my limited knowledge of the family history, I had no idea who that might be. But what if it wasn’t an inheritance? What if she’d been blackmailing someone? And what if that someone was a relative who’d made it big? How far would that relative go to keep Doreen and her big mouth shut?

“Did she say when she was getting the money?” I forked up a chunk of tangy feta from my salad. I never got tired of the stuff.

“Well,” Paloma said. “All she said was, ‘The time is almost up.’ Then she laughed, and showed us a picture of the new tattoo she was going to get—which came out great, by the way—and then she said she was going to retire at the end of the school year.”

The time is almost up. Could mean a lot of things. But it fit pretty neatly into the ugly theory that was developing in my mind. Doreen had something on Melanie. I was sure there were plenty of potentially embarrassing incidents in Melanie’s life, but would they be bad enough to kill for? Or had Doreen been going to expose Melanie’s real identity? Somehow, I doubted Melanie wanted that part of her past hidden enough to succumb to blackmail. Plenty of people created new identities for themselves with no more sinister motive than wanting a fresh start. No, it had to be more than that.

Yet there was one piece of this puzzle that didn’t fit. Why would Doreen leave everything to Melanie in her will? Why would someone blackmail her own heir?

By this time Paloma had cleared her plate—the woman had an impressive appetite, which belied her slim figure.

“Baklava and coffee?” I offered.

Paloma’s eyes lit up. “That sounds great, if it’s not too much trouble.”

I rose. “Come on, Melanie. You can help me clear the plates.”

She looked at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted a fully fruited olive tree from the top of my head. Her gaze turned to a glare. She threw her napkin down on top of her plate of mangled but uneaten food, then rose. “I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to get a decent manicure in this town. I’m going to need one after this little waitressing gig.”

Paloma waved a set of long gel nails, done in a rich shade of burgundy with adorable little pumpkins painted on each one. “Of course you can get your nails done here. My friend runs Nail Me, the shop over by the tattoo place? Let Suzanne know I sent you—she gives referral discounts.”

Melanie picked up her own plate and set it on the tray along with the rest of the dishes I’d cleared, then stormed off toward the kitchen. I lifted the tray to my shoulder and followed, checking my floors as I walked. If she wrecked my beautiful hardwoods with those stupid spiky heels of hers, I was going to be ripped.

In the kitchen she whirled around as I set down the tray. “What are you doing? You’re asking for trouble,” she fumed. Her face was unmoving, but bright red spots of color stained her cheeks, as if she’d inexpertly applied a particularly virulent shade of blusher.

I did my best to keep my cool and keep my voice down. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here, Melanie? Why did you show up after twenty years, just in time to find your only cousin dead? You had a nice story about wanting to get to know me, but forgive me if that’s just a little too tough to swallow. You’re lucky I haven’t called my friend Detective Hawthorne and told him who you really are.” It was a bluff. He must already know. It wasn’t that well kept a secret.

She blanched. “Are you staying with Jack tonight?”

She was bringing up my love life? I turned on the coffeemaker with a vicious flip of the switch. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got to say to me? How is that any of your business?” I pulled a tray of baklava out of the cooler and dug out several squares, plating them on autopilot.

“What about Sophie?” she demanded. “Where’s she?”

Oh, for Pete’s sake. “Sophie is staying at her cousin’s to help her pack and then they’re going out of town on a seniors’ bus trip to Niagara Falls and the casino. Jack’s got other plans. Satisfied? We’ve got company, so I’m not going to press you right now. But after she leaves, you’re going to come clean with me.”

I filled up a cream pitcher and added it to a fresh tray, along with coffee cups, saucers, and the desserts.

The back door opened, its hinge grating in a noise that made my teeth hurt. Caitlyn bustled in. Oh, goodie. The other person I wanted to see. She shoved her phone into her pocket and looked from Melanie to me and back again. “Uh, I need to talk to Melanie,” she finally said.

“Just give us a minute,” Melanie said. “Then we’ll join you.”

I quickly added another cup and serving of baklava to the tray, then headed for the dining room. “You do that,” I said over my shoulder.

I served up the dessert and coffee. Paloma’s face took on a rapturous look. “Delicious,” she declared. I was just swirling some cream into my coffee cup when I heard the familiar grating of the back door hinges again. Now who was here?

Except no one entered the dining room. No sound filtered up from the kitchen. My eyebrows drew together. “Excuse me just a moment, will you? I’ll be right back.” I raced out to the kitchen. Empty. Damn! They’d given me the slip. I looked out the back door to see a little black car peeling out of the driveway.

Fifteen minutes later, after promising her a job next summer if she didn’t want to go back to the T-Shirt Emporium, I’d managed to get rid of Paloma. She said she’d take care of calling everyone about Doreen’s services and thanked me profusely for the dinner. Despite my agitation with my mother, I was able to respond politely enough. Paloma had grown on me.

When she’d gone, I punched Melanie’s number into my cell. It went straight to voice mail.

My cell rang. Aha! She’d decided to call me back. But when I checked the number, I frowned. It wasn’t my mother. It was Spiro. Just the person I didn’t have time for right now, but it was better to get this over with; otherwise he’d just keep calling. I answered.

“Why didn’t you pick up?” he demanded. My hackles rose.

“What do you want?” I said, none too nicely.

“It’s important, okay? Inky’s been arrested.”