THIRTEEN

I shook my head. Had I heard that right? “Arrested? When? Why?”

Spiro was agitated, and with good reason. “The cops came and took away the roll of plastic wrap and confiscated our computers. Then they questioned both of us, and arrested him! Shoved him in the back of the cop car and took him away.”

I felt some sympathy. I’d been in the back of a police car myself not that long ago, and it hadn’t been pleasant. “What evidence do they have? Anything other than the plastic wrap?” And why arrest Inky and not Spiro?

“Well, I was in Watertown at the time of death, shopping at the restaurant supply house. I had a dentist appointment early the next morning, so I stayed over at the Holiday Inn. I guess they checked the security cameras and I was able to account for my whereabouts. But Inky was home that day—alone—and he has no alibi. What do I do?”

I’d always been the one to fix things, to take action when something went wrong. Not even our impending divorce seemed to change the dynamics of our relationship. I blew out a breath. No matter what else I had on my plate, I couldn’t refuse to help him.

“Does he have a lawyer yet?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

I glanced out the window. The sun was low on the horizon. Too late to call anybody, so poor Inky was stuck in jail overnight. “First thing in the morning call Jim MacNamara. Ask for him, not the son. You want somebody with experience. If he’s not in, ask Lydia to get him an immediate message.”

“Okay. He didn’t do it, Georgie.”

“Yeah, I know.” But who did? I was more determined than ever to find out what role the Prodigal Mommy was playing. “Spiro? It’s going to be okay. Inky will beat this once the authorities see that he has no possible motive for wanting Doreen dead.”

He didn’t have a motive, did he? If he did, he’d stumped me.

“Georgie, I know I’ve never said it to you in all the years we’ve been married. So I’ll say it now before the divorce is final so at least you’ll hear it once. Thank you. For everything. And no, my mother did not tell me to say that.”

He rang off, leaving me speechless.

I made quick work of loading and running the dishwasher and putting a fresh cloth and table settings on the table we’d used. I called Sophie to make sure she was settled at Marina’s for the night, sent a quick e-mail to Cal in Greece just to say hi. Then I dialed my mother. Who didn’t answer.

What should I do? I checked my watch. There was just time for me to catch the last water taxi of the night if I hurried down to the docks. I debated for only a moment, then sent a text to Liza at the Spa.

Coming over in a few minutes. If you don’t have a room, will stay on couch.

She texted back:

Mi couch es su couch. See you when you get here.

I raced up to my room, threw some underwear and an oversized T-shirt into a bag, and ran out the door.

Liza met me herself at the dock when the taxi pulled up. I tossed the captain a ten-dollar bill and climbed out. “Come on,” Liza said. “I haven’t seen you in ages and we’ve got lots to talk about.”

As we walked up the incline to the castle, I felt a little surge of relief. It had been a very eventful few days, and it would feel wonderful to relax and unburden myself. And who better to do that with than my best friend, Liza Grant.

Liza and I met years ago, when Cal was in elementary school. She had just come back to town after living in New York City for a few years when she inherited the behemoth known as Castle Valentine from her parents’ estate. Like me, she was an only child, and also like me, she was estranged from her parents, so we immediately had our quasi-orphan state in common. We met up over coffee one day at the Bean, and became fast friends.

The castle took enormous amounts of money to run and maintain, money that Liza did not have or inherit. In fact, her parents, too stubborn to sell the place, rent it out, or close it up, had deferred almost all the maintenance on the limestone mansion, and it was in a state of minor decay when Liza got there. But Liza was not one to waste an opportunity. She came up with the idea of opening the castle up as an exclusive spa, catering to the uber rich. She learned everything she could about spa therapies, found a spa manager willing to work on percentage for a year and to train Liza to run the place herself, cleaned up the grounds and did some landscaping, and refurbished half a dozen rooms in the building.

As her reputation and finances grew, she finished more rooms, and added bathrooms and treatment rooms until she had a world-class luxury facility right off the shore of Bonaparte Bay. With careful financial management, she’d become a tycoon to rival any of the turn-of-the-century millionaires who built the extravagant homes that populated the islands and shores of the St. Lawrence. She was also my friend and had offered to lend me the money to try to buy Sophie and Spiro out of the Bonaparte House. The offer was tempting—oh, so tempting—but her friendship meant more to me than money, and I wasn’t willing to put that friendship at risk for anything.

I followed Liza through the maze of paneled hallways lined with old-fashioned gas lamps that had been converted to electricity. We ended up in her private sitting room, and I parked myself in my favorite squishy chair, upholstered in pink velvet. Liza handed me a glass of wine and sat in a matching chair, kicking off her sandals and tucking her long toned legs up underneath her.

“So,” she said. “How’s Cal? Breaking hearts over in Greece?”

I smiled. My beautiful daughter was probably doing just that. “Well, Sophie’s sister is keeping an eye on her, so I don’t imagine she’s getting into too much trouble, but she loves it there.” The thought was bittersweet. I wanted nothing more than for my daughter to be happy. I just wished she could be happy a little closer to me.

“And the dishy Captain Jack?” She picked up a tray of crab puffs and offered me one. I picked it up and popped it into my mouth, enjoying the savory morsel before I answered.

“He is rather dishy.” I grinned. “He’s out getting to know the guys at the Coast Guard Station tonight.”

“Ah, at the Lighthouse Lounge, no doubt.”

“Probably.” I sipped my wine, letting the rich fruity tang roll around my mouth. Despite my years in the restaurant business, I was not a wine expert and didn’t know a note of oaky blackberries from a clean, crisp finish of citrus. Spiro was the one with the talent for choosing wines for the Bonaparte House, and I hoped he would continue to do that for us. But I did know what I liked when I tasted it, and this was delicious.

Fortified by food and drink, I broached the subject I’d come here to . . . broach. “Liza, you’ve got a couple of people staying here. An actress and her assistant.”

A tiny cloud passed over Liza’s beautiful face. “You know I have a vow of secrecy about who’s staying here and what they’re having done, right?” She reached up and adjusted the headband she wore, smoothing down her Titian locks as she did so.

Good old Liza. The soul of discretion. “Well, Jack and I didn’t just deliver her here the other day out of the goodness of our hearts.”

One of Liza’s eyebrows rose, just a hair. “And?”

I paused. “Melanie Ashley is my mother.”

Liza’s normally serene countenance flickered. I wondered for a moment if she already knew. Liza tended to know pretty much everything that went on in Bonaparte Bay, but she was priest-like in her ability to keep a secret.

“I thought your mother’s name was Shirley,” she said.

“She’s changed it, along with her face, boobs, and voice. But it’s true.”

Liza tapped her fingernail on her top lip. “What’s she doing back here now?”

“Exactly what I’d like to know.” I framed my next question carefully, knowing I was stepping over the line. Well, she’d either answer or she wouldn’t. “Has she paid you for her stay here?”

My friend looked at me, as if trying to decide how much she could say. “I require up-front payment from every guest for the number of days booked. Then we settle up any extra charges when the guest leaves. No exceptions.”

“So her credit card cleared?”

Liza’s eyes probed my face. “Yes. Nobody stays here until their payment clears. What’s this all about?”

“The tabloids are reporting that Melanie’s broke. I just wondered if maybe that’s why she chose now to come back to Bonaparte Bay.”

Light dawned on Liza’s face. “Ah, she’s heard about the items you found in the Bonaparte House. And you think she’s here to see if she can get her hands on some of the proceeds.”

“Well, it’s crossed my mind. But she’s in for a rude awakening when she finds out none of that money will be mine. Liza, I hate to ask this . . .”

She waved her long, graceful fingers in the air. “But you want me to keep an eye on her. Done.”

“Thanks. So what’s new with you?”

“Oh, I’m having an affair.” Her voice was casual as she ran her fingers up and down the stem of her glass.

“Really? Is it serious? Spill.” I thought about my own budding affair with Jack Conway and felt warm inside.

“No, not serious. Unless you call having a lot of divine sex serious.”

I laughed. Jack and I had not progressed to the divine sex part of our relationship—more like the divine extended foreplay part—but it was just a matter of time. I was looking forward to the winter, when I’d have the Bonaparte House to myself and we could take our relationship to the next level. “So who’s the lucky guy?” I asked.

“Channing Young. It’s nothing emotional.”

“The pool guy?”

“Yes, though his talents go well beyond skimming and shocking,” she said, laughing. Her smile melted into a frown and she cocked her head. A faint noise came from the direction of the next room. “Did you hear that?”

I listened. “Not sure what that was. Maybe the castle is settling?” I was well familiar with old stone houses. There were always plenty of unexplained noises.

She got up and walked quietly to the connecting door, placing a finger to her lips. If I wasn’t mistaken, Liza’s private office was on the other side of that pocket door.

I tiptoed over to join her.

Liza threw open the door. Caitlyn stood frozen on the other side.