Chapter 9
Frank grabbed his coat and locked up, and we made the short trip down the street to my building. The fastest path was through the bookstore, so I unlocked the door and turned off the alarm. Once everyone was inside, I locked the door and rearmed the system but left off the motion detector. I led the way to the stairs. Angelo’s eyes had started to droop and Frank scooped him up and carried him upstairs.
I noticed Lexi’s eyes lingering on the books. She walked slowly and touched the covers as she passed. “You own all these books?”
I nodded. “I guess. I own this bookstore and I sell the books. Do you like to read?”
She nodded. “I used to. My mom used to read to me a lot before . . . before she died.”
“Did you ever read any mysteries?”
She shrugged. “Dunno.”
“You don’t know.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll let you pick out a book.”
Her eyes brightened. “For real?”
I nodded. “But let’s get some sleep.”
If Nana Jo was home, she must have been asleep because her door was closed. I gave Lexi and Angelo my bed and grabbed blankets for Frank and me for the sofa. Angelo was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Lexi was enamored with Snickers, who woke up to see what was going on. When asked, I okayed Lexi letting Snickers sleep in the bed. Little did she know, Snickers didn’t need my approval. When we turned out the light, Angelo was sound asleep and Lexi was snuggled up to Snickers.
Frank and I snuggled together on the sofa.
“Thank you for your help tonight. You didn’t have to do this,” he whispered in my ear, and the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down my spine.
“I couldn’t just leave you to handle things by yourself.” I breathed in his scent.
His arms engulfed me and made me feel warm and safe. My eyelids felt heavy and my muscles began to relax.
Before I took the last step into dreamland, I turned. “What are you going to do with them? Someone will be looking for them.”
“I know.” He yawned. “First, I’ll try to find out their last names. Then I’ll find out what’s going on.”
“How are you going to find out their last names?”
“Hopefully, they’ll tell us, but if not, I’ve got their fingerprints on the glasses of milk. I’ll have a friend run the prints and see if he can get a match.”
I smiled. “That’s why you told me to leave the dishes.” I looked around at him and, even though it was dark, I could tell he was smiling. “I should have known. You never leave dirty dishes overnight.”
“Dirty dishes attract creatures that aren’t good for a restaurant.”
“You know how to remove fingerprints from glasses?”
“I have a lot of skills.” He nibbled my ear.
I giggled. “Don’t distract me.”
He sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you see the bruises?”
He nodded. “She’s got bruises on her wrists and arms. I’m sure there are more, but she keeps them covered up.”
“I suppose there could be a logical explanation, but I think they’ve been abused. When I was a teacher, we went to training seminars to help identify abused children. That’s why I didn’t insist they go back tonight. I have my phone on and there hasn’t been an Amber alert about any missing children.”
“Sometimes there are delays. Not all agencies are connected.”
“I know, but it’s two a.m. A few more hours probably won’t hurt. They were starving and cold.” I yawned.
Frank kissed me, and, within moments, I heard his even steady breathing.
The next thing I remembered was the smell of bacon and coffee and something sweet. I stretched and squinted at the light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows in my loft.
“Hmmm, is that pancakes?” Angelo asked.
“Yep, and if you want some, you’re going to need to wash first,” Nana Jo said.
I looked over the top of the sofa and saw Nana Jo, Angelo, and Lexi standing at the kitchen bar, while Dawson worked his magic on the stove.
“I ain’t dirty. I ain’t even been outside yet to get dirty.” Angelo held up his hands.
“Not good enough. You’re going to need a bath. You’ve got so much dirt on your belly, I saw a flower starting to grow out of your belly button.”
Angelo pulled up his shirt and stared at his belly button. “I ain’t got no flower in my belly button.”
“Sure you do. It’s just starting to grow, so it’s pretty little right now, but I know belly button flowers when I see them. Now, scoot.” She swatted the back of his pants and pushed him toward the bathroom. She passed Lexi and turned back. “You too.”
“Look, I’m not a kid, and I ain’t falling for that.”
“Right. You’re a young lady and too old to be walking around here like that.” Nana Jo flung a bath towel at her. “So, you just go into that bathroom and take a shower and be sure to clean yourself thoroughly, or I’ll be in there and see that you do.” She put a hand on her hip.
Lexi looked as though she wanted to come back with a smart remark, but she must have thought better of it because she merely stomped off.
“And don’t forget to wash your hair,” Nana Jo yelled at the bathroom door. She looked around at me and I smiled. “And you can get up and run down to the drugstore on the corner and pick up some clean underwear and socks.” She rolled up her sleeves and headed into my bathroom.
I looked over at Dawson. “How long has she been in that mood?”
He chuckled. “I don’t know. I just came over to put some rolls in the oven, and I was told to get my butt over here and start making some pancakes.” He walked over and handed me a steaming hot mug of coffee.
Frank must have left early this morning because I was alone and bundled up on the sofa. I quickly finished my coffee, got up, and looked for my shoes. “I guess I better get going.”
I stopped at the bathroom downstairs in the bookstore to take care of the call of nature. I also took the opportunity to wash my face and brush my teeth, then hurried out to carry out my assignment.
The drugstore on the corner was an old-fashioned five-and-dime. Not only did they sell the normal items you would expect to find at a drugstore in the twenty-first century, but they also sold clothes, toys, hardware, and lawn and gardening supplies. At one point in the store’s history, it had also sold ice cream, and the soda counter still remained. I forced myself not to go overboard and bought underwear and socks as ordered, but I also bought blue jeans and sweatshirts. I could wash their clothes, but this would give them some warm clothing. I rationalized the purchases by telling myself they could always take the clothes with them. My only splurge was to buy puzzles, coloring books, and crayons from the impulse shelf at the checkout counter.
I was back in plenty of time. I heard Angelo and Nana Jo in the bathroom. Apparently, he was still looking for his belly button flower. I opened the bathroom door and left the clean clothes on the counter and grabbed the dirty clothes discarded on the floor. I went to Nana Jo’s bathroom and heard the shower. I knocked lightly and then opened the door and placed the clothes on the counter. I quickly grabbed the dirty clothes Lexi’d placed on the floor and left.
My washer and dryer were in a closet in between the kitchen and the bathroom. I sorted the kids’ clothes, noting their undergarments weren’t sparkling white. They were dingy and threadbare. I hurriedly grabbed the sheets from my bedroom and loaded my favorite appliance, a red high-efficiency front load washer with bleach, detergent, and fabric softener and tossed everything inside.
Laundry loaded and ready to go, I ate my breakfast of coffee, bacon, and pancakes. By the time I finished, a laughing Angelo ran into the kitchen.
Nana Jo helped him climb up on the barstool, and Dawson put a plate with pancakes and bacon on it in front of him and poured a glass of orange juice.
Snickers and Oreo sat by his chair and waited for food to drop so they could devour it.
Lexi joined us, wearing the new clothes I’d purchased, which fit her surprisingly well. Her hair was still wet, but she looked clean and the bruises I’d seen on her arms were covered. She glared at Nana Jo, who merely pointed her to the empty barstool.
I took that moment to take advantage of an empty bathroom for a more thorough cleansing than I’d managed in the bookstore bathroom earlier. Thankfully, there was still plenty of hot water and the shower helped to not only cleanse my body but to stimulate my mind. Regardless of what Frank found out, I knew I had to call the police. Someone, somewhere, would be looking for these children.
Clean and ready to tackle my day, I emerged from the bathroom.
Nana Jo and Angelo were coloring at the kitchen table.
I looked around for Lexi but didn’t see her. “Where’s Lexi?”
“I sent her downstairs to find a book.” Nana Jo looked at me. My face must have looked anxious, because she pointed to a corner where Lexi’s and Angelo’s shoes were lined up by the front door. She wouldn’t get far in the middle of winter in Michigan without shoes. “Besides, Dawson’s downstairs too.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “We need to talk.”
Nana Jo nodded and got up from the table.
We walked over to the breakfast bar, close enough to still keep an eye on Angelo, but far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to overhear our conversation. I filled Nana Jo in on how Lexi and Angelo came to spend the night.
She listened attentively. “That boy has bruises on his back and arms.”
“I noticed some on Lexi’s arms last night too.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I was planning to go to the police station to talk to Stinky Pitt today anyway. Maybe he can help me find out where they belong and get word to their foster parents.”
Nana Jo nodded. “I suppose that’s the best thing to do.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the best thing or not, but I believed it was the right thing.
* * *
Christopher and Zaq opened the bookstore, and Dawson watched videos on the Internet of cake-decorating techniques while he experimented with various recipes. When I left, Lexi was sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, reading.
I walked over to her. “What’re you reading?”
She clutched the book to her chest. “That lady told me to pick out a book.” She pointed to Nana Jo. “And you told me I could . . .”
I raised a hand to still the accusation. “It’s okay. I was just curious which book you chose.” I didn’t have a large children’s book section, but I’d purchased a few that I loved as a child, including Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys, along with Encyclopedia Brown. I’d decided to stock up on children’s box sets for the Christmas season but had planned to reduce the section when the season was over.
She relaxed and turned the book so I could see the cover. “The old lady said I might like this one.” She held up the book.
“From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, by E. L. Konigsburg, was one of my favorites.” I smiled. “However, I don’t recommend you keep calling Nana Jo an ‘old lady,’ or you’re going to find yourself in bigger trouble than Claudia Kincaid.” I tapped the book.
“Darn right!” Nana Jo said from the kitchen.
I winked at Lexi and noticed the first genuine smile in return.
“Will you two be okay here with Dawson while I run some errands?”
“Of course. We can take care of ourselves.”
“Good. Frank will bring you lunch if I’m not back before then, and if you’re good, I’m sure Dawson will let you sample some of his delicacies.”
“Hooray!” Angelo cheered.
* * *
North Harbor Police Station was on a small stretch of land on a street in between the two bridges that crossed the St. Thomas River, which separated North Harbor from South Harbor. The station was a large complex that served both towns and housed not only the police but also the court. In the past six months, I’d been to the police station so many times, the desk sergeant recognized me.
“You here for Detective Pitt?” The burly detective barely looked up from his computer.
I nodded and he indicated I should take a seat while he called.
I didn’t have to wait long for Detective Bradley Pitt.
“Mrs. Washington, I’ve been expecting you,” the detective said with the sarcasm I’d come to expect from him while he held the door for me to pass.
We walked in silence to the closet that had been converted to the detective’s office.
Detective Bradley Pitt was short, fat, and balding, which he tried to hide by allowing the hair he did have to grow longer so he could comb it over his bald dome. He was extremely fond of polyester and every outfit I’d ever seen him wear was made of the fabric, including his shirts. In addition to missing the memo that comb-overs didn’t hide baldness, he’d also missed learning he’d packed on pounds and his clothes were now too tight and too short.
I took a deep breath to stave off claustrophobia and followed the detective inside the closet and sat in the one guest chair. The space was so cramped I had to turn my legs sideways so he could close the door.
Once the door closed, Detective Pitt sat in his chair and leaned back. Unfortunately, the room wasn’t large enough, and he hit his head on the back wall. He muttered an oath and then leaned forward. “I knew as soon as I heard Harold Robertson was planning to marry your mother it wouldn’t be long before you’d be poking your nose into my case.”
“Harold Robertson didn’t kill Lydia Lighthouse, and, as a conscientious, law-abiding citizen, I would be remiss in my civic responsibility if I didn’t try to help.”
He made a sound as though he were sucking his teeth. “Yeah, right.”
Detective Pitt considered me a nosy busybody, and I knew he resented my involvement. However, there was something in Detective Pitt’s demeanor that told me he wasn’t as loathe to see me as usual. He looked around and fidgeted.
I waited silently.
Detective Pitt shook his head. “I know I’m going to regret this, but . . .” He slid a file he had on his desk across to me.
I picked up the file and stared at the detective. I’d helped the detective a few other times in the past, but there was always more of a fight. He resented a civilian, nay an amateur, meddling in police business. In the past, I’d begged, pleaded, and cajoled to see the official police files. Sure, he’d eventually complied, but it was never this quick and never without great protest. Instead of opening the file, I merely stared.
My expression must have spoke the question my lips hadn’t because he rolled his eyes. “All right, you’ve been right a couple of times and the last time you saved my bacon with the chief.” He bowed his head and muttered, “Although he’s still on me.” He took a deep breath. “The truth of the matter is, I’m still in hot water with the chief and there are some around here that would love to see me fall on my . . . face. Plus, the Robertson family is big in this community. They’re wealthy and influential. In fact, the chief ’s already heard from the mayor and a local congressman. They want a quick resolution and no mistakes. The chief wasn’t even going to give me the case, but we’re short staffed for the holidays. Detective Harrison broke his foot and has to have surgery.” He dropped his head. “I figure you’re going to find a way to prove Harold Robertson didn’t kill that woman anyway, so I might as well get you working on my side right from the beginning.”
I smiled. “Good. I’ll be happy to help, but I’m going to need your help with something too.”
His initial expression was shock, which was quickly followed by resignation. “Fine. What do you want, my kidney?” He reached in his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of antacid and popped one in his mouth.
“All I want is some information.” I quickly told the detective about Lexi and Angelo.
He turned his chair toward his computer and pecked for several moments. “No reports of missing children, but you’ll need to call Child and Family Services to be certain.”
“I was hoping you could call them for me and let them know the children are safe.” I gave the detective my friendliest, most sincere smile.
He grunted and got up from his chair. I turned my knees sideways so he could open the door, and he left.
I read through the file on Lydia Lighthouse. There wasn’t much there yet. The coroner hadn’t completed the autopsy but suspected the cause of death was asphyxiation from the scarf tied around her neck. The only other noteworthy item was learning Lydia Lighthouse’s real name was Lydia Jones.
By the time Detective Pitt returned, I had completed my review of the file.
“I called Child and Family Services. No foster children are missing. Are you sure the children don’t have parents?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure of anything. All I can tell you is what they said.”
“Well, Mrs. Masterson said she can have someone pick them up tomorrow.”
I bit my lip. “There’s no hurry.”
He looked at me. “You can tell her that when she comes to your bookstore.” He looked at the file on his desk. “Got what you need?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’d like to wrap this up by Christmas, so don’t drag your feet.”
* * *
Back at the bookstore, Christopher and Zaq had everything under control. Upstairs, Lexi was still reading and Angelo was licking a large wooden spoon. Based on the batter around his mouth, I’d guess it was chocolate frosting.
I transferred the wet clothes to the dryer and put another load in, then went to my room. I sat at my laptop and tried to create a spreadsheet with a list of suspects, along with possible motives. My list was fairly empty. In fact, at the moment, Harold was the only suspect I had. However, I was certain that would change later today when everyone got busy investigating.
I tried to think about Lydia and imagine who had a strong enough motive to want her dead. She certainly was able to generate a lot of strong emotions. I searched the Internet for her and found the site Nana Jo read from with reviews. She had angered a great many people, but, as far as I could tell, none of them were in North Harbor, Michigan. Yet, I did notice there was definitely a consistent theme in the complaints against her. She had bossed the bride and overruled her requests. Most of the couples claimed they were overcharged. However, I wondered if these charges were valid. Weddings were expensive. I could easily see a bride and groom getting in over their heads and their bank accounts.
I searched weddings and found tons of sites dedicated to elegant weddings, beautiful weddings, and unique weddings. I found everything from butterflies and doves to hot-air-balloon limousines for shuttling guests. Before I knew it, I’d fallen down a rabbit hole and had been looking at wedding rings and dresses for over an hour.
“I need to clear my mind,” I said to myself and opened my manuscript. I took a few minutes to remind myself what was happening when I stopped. “Oh, yeah, Lady Elizabeth was asking Thompkins if his son-in-law could help them.”
“I was just wondering if perhaps your daughter, Mary, or your son-in-law might be able to help us, to understand some of the cultural and religious customs. I’d hate to do or say anything that might offend our guests. If they could recommend a book, I’d be happy to read up on Jewish culture, but I think if they wouldn’t mind coming by, perhaps they could help all of us gain a better understanding more quickly.”
Thompkins nodded. “I’m certain Joseph, my son-in-law, would be more than willing to help.” He paused a split second. “They both will.”
Lady Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you, Thompkins.”
When Thompkins opened the door to the library later and announced a guest, Lady Elizabeth hoped it was his son-in-law. She tried hard to hide her disappointment when the butler announced another name.
“Philippe Claiborne.” The butler turned and left.
Philippe Claiborne was a bright peacock of a man with dark hair and a pencil moustache. From his posture to the tilt of his head, his manner announced Philippe Claiborne was the center of the universe. The earth and all of the planets revolved around him. He walked with long, confident strides and made broad sweeping gestures with his arms, one of which held a long-stemmed cigarette holder, from which a cigarette dangled. He dropped ash with each sweeping gesture. His clothes were loud and trendy. He looked as though he’d just stepped off the silver screen.
“Lady Elizabeth.” He bent low and kissed the hand she extended to him. “I am Philippe.” He bowed again. “At your service.”
Lady Elizabeth was caught by surprise and hesitated for a few seconds before she acknowledged the introduction. “Mr. Claiborne, it’s my—”
Philippe Claiborne wagged his finger and tsked. “No. Excuse me, your ladyship, but Mr. Claiborne is my father. Please”—he stood very straight and cocked his head backward—“I am Philippe.” He flourished his hand.
“Yes, forgive me. Mr. . . . ah . . . Philippe.”
He grinned and strutted in a circle in front of the fireplace as he surveyed the room. He ran fingers across the mantle and examined a crystal ashtray.
“May I introduce my niece, Lady Daphne Marsh.” Lady Elizabeth extended an arm toward her niece.
Daphne stepped forward and extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Philippe.”
“Ah, but of course, you are the beautiful bride.” He brought Daphne’s hand to his lips and kissed it. When he stood, he looked at James. “And, this must be His Grace, James FitzAndrew Browning, the groom.” He bowed to James.
James stepped forward. “Yes. Thank you for coming.”
“Ah, but of course. Philippe is at your service, Your Grace.”
James rubbed the back of his neck and stared. “Yes, well, please call me James. I don’t go in for all that formal rot.”
Philippe wagged his finger at James. “Yes, but the formal ‘rot’ as you call it, it must be observed. We must have order and protocol. It is what makes England great, is it not?”
Lady Elizabeth glanced at James. His ears were getting red and his brow furrowed. “Well, I’m sure we can sort that out later. Now, Mr. . . . excuse me, Philippe, I’m sure you have a lot of questions for the bride and groom and I’ll—”
Philippe stood in the middle of the room with a broad smile and shook his head. “Excuse me, your ladyship, but Philippe has no questions.”
“But I’m sure you’d like to discuss things like flowers and seating and . . .”
Philippe shook his head.
“I don’t think I understand?” Lady Elizabeth stared.
“I beg your pardon, your ladyship, but Philippe has no need to discuss such things. Philippe never discusses such things.” He walked around the room as an appraiser would look at a valuable painting. “That is not how Philippe works.”
“It’s not?” Lady Elizabeth stared.
“No. Philippe is a man of passion, of feelings. He must feel what belongs. He sees the house and he meets the bride.” He bowed to Lady Daphne. “He meets the groom.” He bowed to James. “And he knows what is the right flower.” He walked up to Lady Daphne and extended a hand to her chin. He lifted her head slightly, as though examining a vase. “Exquisite. Delicate.” He smiled. “Lilies.”
Daphne gasped. “How did you know I like lilies?”
Philippe laughed. “It is obvious. No other flower would suit one with such delicate coloring.” He grinned. “Yes, lilies but, given the timing of the wedding, I think perhaps we should include something more to show the contrast between the delicate beauty of the lily. Perhaps the red poinsettia?”
Lady Elizabeth glanced at her niece. Philippe Claiborne could not know that Lady Daphne abhorred poinsettias and had only that morning declared the fact to her aunt.
“Well, I’ve never been fond of poinsettias,” Daphne said.
“Philippe understands completely, but your ladyship has perhaps not thought about how unlucky the lily is and the need to counteract that with something to bring luck, like the poinsettia.” He looked at Daphne as if to say, you poor child. “Philippe would never permit such a beautiful woman to bring bad luck into her marriage by including more than just a small few lilies, the flower of death, often given at funerals.”
Daphne’s face grew pale. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Her gaze went from Philippe to Lady Elizabeth and landed on James.
James grunted. “Lot of rot. I don’t believe in all that superstitious claptrap.”
“Rightly so.” Philippe preened his moustache. “That is why you have Philippe to think of these things and to insure your wedding, nay your future, is not marred by”—he waved his cigarette in the air and dropped ashes on the floor—“superstitious claptrap.”
“Look here, I think we may have been a little hasty when we asked you to come out here. After all, we’re not having a grand wedding. It’s just going to be a small wedding with a few friends and family. I hardly think we’ll need a wedding planner to help us. I think—”
“I think what His Grace is trying to say is we hope you won’t feel insulted by being called to assist with a small family wedding.” Lady Daphne glanced over her shoulder at James and gave him a look that caused him to sigh.
“Of course not. Philippe is happy to assist where he can. All of the great families of England, they reach out to Philippe. Large or small.” He waved his hand and picked up a silver lighter from a side table. “It is all the same. Elegance and culture are what matters. That is what Philippe will do.” He stood very tall and clicked his heels. “You leave everything to Philippe.” He bowed.
“Thank you, Philippe.” Daphne smiled.
Thompkins entered the room quietly and rolled a tea cart to Lady Elizabeth.
“Thank you, Thompkins,” Lady Elizabeth said.
James rolled his eyes and muttered, “Thank God.”
The smell of food wafted from the kitchen to my office and my stomach grumbled. I heard Frank’s voice and knew lunch had arrived. I hoped he’d brought enough for me too as I pressed “save.”
I followed my nose to the kitchen. Lexi and Angelo were perched on stools at the bar with bowls of soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Lexi slurped soup while hidden behind her book. Angelo kicked his feet against the bar while he bounced and told Frank about his new coloring book.
“That smells delicious.” I sniffed. “Is that corn chowder?”
Frank smiled. “Chicken corn chowder and I brought plenty.”
“Thank God.” I grinned as I recalled I’d just written that same line.
Frank looked puzzled.
“Sorry. I was writing.”
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” I glanced at the soup on the counter but hurried back into my bedroom. The quicker we talked, the quicker I’d get to eat.
Frank followed me to the bedroom and closed the door after himself. “I lifted the fingerprints from the glasses and sent them to a friend.”
He didn’t mention the friend’s name or where he worked and I didn’t ask.
I’d known Frank Patterson long enough to know there were a number of things in his past that he couldn’t and wouldn’t discuss. “Did they find out anything?”
“It was a long shot, but I had a feeling this wasn’t the first time Lexi had gotten into trouble.”
“Agreed, but she is a minor. Aren’t her records sealed?”
Frank stared at me in a way that indicated things like rules for juvenile records wouldn’t be a problem.
“Never mind.”
“Alexis Gelano, age twelve. Daughter of Maria and Luis Gelano, deceased. One sibling, Angelo Gelano, age four.”
“What was she picked up for?”
“Stealing.”
I sighed.
“She stole bread and peanut butter from a neighborhood grocery store.”
“Aww . . . she was hungry.”
“Most likely.”
“So, where are they supposed to be staying? I talked to Stinky Pitt today and he checked with Child Protective Services and no children were reported missing.”
“Probably because the last known address was in Chicago.”
“Chicago? You have got to be kidding. How on earth did those two children make their way over ninety miles in the middle of winter from Chicago to Michigan?”
He shrugged. “Hitchhiked? Or they could have taken the South Shore Train for less than ten dollars.”
I shuddered. “Did your friend have a name and address for the foster family?”
He reached inside his pocket and handed me a piece of paper, where he had written down the name.
I stared at the paper, but my vision was blurry and I couldn’t read what was written.
Frank reached out and pulled me into his embrace. “They need to go back.”
“I know, but they were starving last night and their clothes were horrible. Plus, they might be beating them.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know where they got the bruises. They might have gotten them on their way from Chicago.”
“Stop it. I don’t want to be logical.”
Frank chuckled. Eventually, I pushed away and took a deep breath.
“Do you want me to call?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll do it, later.”
Frank looked skeptical.
“Chicago is on central time, so they’re an hour behind us. I’ll wait until after the meeting tonight.”
He nodded. “Okay, but I’m here if you need me.”
We rejoined the others in the kitchen. Nana Jo, Dawson, Jillian, and Emma were all joking and laughing and eating chicken corn chowder. I turned and looked at Frank, who leaned close and whispered, “There’s another quart in the freezer.” He kissed me and waved goodbye as he hurried back to the restaurant.
Thankfully, the soup in the freezer hadn’t had time to get hard. Ninety seconds in the microwave and I was a happy camper.
Once I was full, my brain started working again. “Aren’t you two supposed to be planning a wedding?” I asked Jillian and Emma.
“We are.” Jillian pulled a stack of bridal magazines from her backpack. “We’re meeting your mom here to get her approval for some of the details.”
Emma pulled out her phone and swiped until she found what she was looking for and then held up the phone for me to see. There was a lovely dress of deep burgundy. It was a body-hugging velvet dress with a retro style. The neckline and the dress were straight and it went to mid-calf. It was beautiful and very modest.
“Nice,” I said.
Emma smiled and then swiped her phone to reveal the back. The dress, which was extremely modest from the front, had a white scarf that started at the shoulders on the back and followed a deep V that ended in a bow right at the top of the model’s butt.
I raised an eyebrow. “Wow.”
“Too much?” Emma asked anxiously.
“That depends on who will be wearing it.”
“You,” Emma said timidly.
Nana Jo leaned over and looked at the picture. “Yowzer. That’s a beautiful dress and it’ll show off your assets to their best advantage.”
“I’m not sure I want my assets shown off.”
“I’ll bet Frank will love that dress.” Nana Jo grinned.
“I’m sure you’re right, but I don’t think he has the right legs for it,” I joked.
Nana Jo swatted my butt. “You know what I mean. He will be proud to escort you in that little beauty.”
Jillian looked anxious. “Please say you like it, because it was on sale and . . . well, we already ordered it. We had to order it today to make sure it gets here on time.”
“Look, the girls are under a time crunch, so it’s either that or the pink piñata dress.”
“I love it.”
“I thought that’d sway you.” Nana Jo winked.
I knew I’d been bamboozled, but I was okay with that. It really was a beautiful dress and it certainly looked better than any of the ones I’d tried on at the bridal shop. It was a little more revealing than my usual style, but it was a special occasion.
Lexi had joined us at the table.
“Emma and Jillian, this is Lexi. She and her brother, Angelo, are staying with me for a couple of days.” I pretended not to notice the light that flashed in Lexi’s eyes. I turned to her to complete the introductions. “Lexi, this is Jillian and Emma.”
“Who’s getting married?” She stared from one of the girls to the other.
Jillian laughed. “Don’t look at us.”
“My mom is getting married in less than two weeks.”
“Wow. I’ve never been to a wedding before.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat at the thought that she wouldn’t be attending this one either. I looked around for Angelo and saw him curled up on the floor with Snickers on one side and Oreo on the other.
Nana Jo whispered, “I thought Emma and Jillian could help while we go downstairs for our meeting.” She nodded at Lexi and Angelo.
I looked at my watch. It was almost two, the designated time we arranged to meet to discuss our findings. The tight timeline meant we needed to work quickly to get this resolved.
Nana Jo and I went downstairs. Irma, Dorothy, and Ruby Mae were in the back conference room waiting for me. There was what appeared to be small rectangles of cake on a plate on the table. I suspected it was one of Dawson’s samples.
“Let’s get this meeting started.” Nana Jo opened her iPad. “Volunteers?”
I raised my hand. I relayed what I’d learned from Stinky Pitt.
“So, Stinky Pitt is going to back off and let us solve another murder for him?” Nana Jo looked down her nose. “How magnanimous of him.”
“We’re saving his bacon. He should be grateful, the little ba—”
“Irma!” we all yelled.
Irma coughed.
“I thought you were going to get someone to look into that coughing.” Dorothy picked up the pitcher of water sitting in the middle of the table and poured a small amount into a glass and slid it across the table to Irma.
Irma took the water. “Thank you.” She opened her purse and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured a good amount into the glass and drank.
Ruby Mae shook her head as she pulled a pale green fluffy item from her knitting bag.
“I don’t think we should be too cocky. We may have just been lucky the other times. Besides, we really have our hands full. This time will be harder than all the others put together.” I sighed.
“What do you mean?” Dorothy asked.
“Well, all the other times, we’ve known something about the person who was killed. They were locals. None of us know Lydia Lighthouse or Lydia Jones, according to her police file.” I stared at the ladies.
“Poppycock! None of us knew Melody Hardwick.” Nana Jo looked down her nose at me.
“We didn’t know her, but Dawson did. Plus, she went to MISU,” I said quietly.
“She was enrolled at MISU, but she didn’t attend and no one on campus knew her.” Nana Jo looked at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You don’t think Harold actually killed that woman, do you?” Ruby Mae asked.
I hesitated. “No. No, I don’t.”
“Good. Then what’s bothering you?” Nana Jo asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just afraid. What if I fail? Mom will be devastated.”
Nana Jo patted my hand. “You won’t fail. Now, stop acting like this is your first rodeo and suck it up and let’s get down to business.”
“Josephine, give the girl a break,” Dorothy said.
I stared at Nana Jo and then burst out laughing. “It’s okay. Nana Jo’s right. I can’t afford to wallow in self-doubt. We’ll just have to do the best we can.”
“That’s right.” She patted my hand again. “That’s all anyone can hope for. Now, let’s get back to work.”
“Well, I’ll go next if no one else wants to go.” Ruby Mae looked up from her knitting.
Everyone nodded their agreement.
So, she continued. “Well, I looked at that website Josephine told us about where the people gave reviews. One of the reviews was from Chattanooga, Tennessee. I didn’t know the couple who got married, but my cousin Flora Belle has a granddaughter who works at the Aquarium. That’s where the guy said the reception was held.” She paused to finish a row of knitting. “So, I called Izola, that’s Flora Belle’s granddaughter, and she remembered that wedding. Apparently, Lydia Lighthouse came through that place like a maniac. She was like a madwoman the way she yelled at the staff. Everything had to be perfect. If a flower was slightly off, she was a raving lunatic.”
“Well, we knew she wasn’t nice,” Nana Jo said with a bit of disappointment.
“Not nice? Izola said she spent hours begging and pleading with people not to quit. She had to pay triple salary to get people to work with her and spent the majority of her time running interference to keep Lydia from going off on people.” Ruby Mae looked up. “But, the biggest thing Izola told me was how the caterers, florist, and photographers complained because she didn’t pay them what she promised.” Ruby Mae looked around. “Well, you know if she did that in Chattanooga, she probably did it in other cities too.”
The others nodded.
“Well done, Ruby Mae,” I said.
“Yes. You’re absolutely right, Ruby Mae.” Nana Jo typed. “I’ll bet she did the same thing to the people here.”
“She certainly did to the florist.” Dorothy took a bite of cake and wiped her mouth.
“I paid a visit to Felicity Abrams of Felicity’s Florals.” Dorothy ate another piece of cake. “You know this is good stuff.” She chewed. “Felicity was really standoffish. At first, she didn’t want to say anything against Lydia, but I told her the woman was dead now, what difference could it possibly make?” She ate more cake.
“Dorothy Clark, if you don’t stop eating that cake and tell me what you found out, I’m going to scream.” Nana Jo glared.
Dorothy stuck out her tongue. “All right. Felicity said Lydia threatened her.”
“Threatened her? With what?” I asked.
“She told Felicity if she didn’t give her a discount on the flowers, she would make sure she was blackballed in the wedding planning community.”
“Could she do that?” I asked.
Dorothy nodded. “Apparently she could. Lydia Lighthouse was a rude, arrogant, mean-spirited woman, but she knew the right people. Apparently, one word from Lydia Lighthouse could ruin a business.”
“That’s what I found out too.” Irma took a sip from her glass and belched. “Sorry, were you done?”
Dorothy nodded. “I am now.” She slid her cake away.
“Teddy is this really nice accountant I met at the casino.” Irma took a compact out of her purse and reapplied her blood-red lipstick. “He didn’t know Lydia Lighthouse, but he did know that caterer, Rudy Blakemore.” She finished her lipstick and patted her beehive hairpiece to make sure not a hair was out of place. Satisfied with her appearance, she put away her compact. “Apparently, he overheard Rudy telling his partner he was glad someone did away with Lydia Lighthouse because she was dragging him into the poorhouse.”
“Well, well, well.” Nana Jo smiled. “Nice work, Irma. Did he say anything else?”
She shook her head. “No. That’s all he heard, but I told him to see what else he could find out.” She smiled. “He’s picking me up for dinner tonight, and I’ll see what else I can get out of him.” She coughed.
“That just leaves me.” Nana Jo swiped a few screens on her iPad. “Freddie’s son, Mark, got some of the same information Stinky Pitt gave to Sam. Lydia Lighthouse was probably strangled. I asked him to find out if the killer would have to be really strong or if it could have been done by a woman.”
“Good question. That will help narrow the suspects.” I smiled.
“Well, don’t get excited.” Nana Jo shook her head. “Unfortunately, because the killer used a scarf, it could have been a man or a woman.”
“Darn!” I said.
“However, we should find out more tonight.”
Something about the way she said we and the way she avoided eye contact made me suspicious. “We?”
“Yes. We’re having dinner tonight at the Avenue,” she said.
“Who do you mean we?” I asked.
“We, as in Grace, Harold, Jenna, Tony, you, and me.” She hesitated. “Margaret and Oscar.
I stared at her. “When exactly were you planning to tell me?”
She sighed. “Look, I don’t want to go to dinner with that stuck-up snob any more than you do, but if we’re going to find out who killed that woman so your mother can get married, then we need to talk to the one person who knew her.”
I glared, but she was right. I was only thinking about myself. This time was harder than any of the other times we had to investigate people. If I took time to analyze my feelings, I might acknowledge it was because this time my mom was involved. I loved my mother, but she had a strange power. Within a few hours in her presence, I wasn’t an adult anymore. I quickly morphed from a confident, independent modern woman into a timid, uncertain, guilt-ridden marshmallow. If I failed, I would have to live with the knowledge that I had ruined my mother’s life and all chances for her happiness. No pressure there.
Our meeting broke up with plans to meet again tomorrow. Nana Jo and I went upstairs to dress for round two of Meet the Robertsons. Emma, Jillian, and Lexi were still at the dining room table looking through bridal magazines. There were pictures they’d ripped out covering the entire surface of the table.
Angelo was sitting on a barstool.
“What are we going to do about dinner for them?” I whispered to Nana Jo as I glanced around the room.
She smiled and walked into the middle of the room. “Sam and I have to go. Who wants pizza?”
Every hand went up, including mine. Nana Jo glared at me and I lowered my hand. She reached into her purse and pulled out three twenty-dollar bills and placed them on the counter in the kitchen near Dawson, who was practicing his piping skills by creating designs on cardboard.
“Pepperoni. Pepperoni. Pepperoni.” Angelo bounced up and down.
“Vegetable or cheese?” Jillian shrugged. “I’m not picky.”
“Not picky, just no meat.” Dawson looked at Emma. “What about you?”
“Forget that, I want the works.” Emma ripped a picture from a magazine and added it to a pile.
“Me too. I like everything.” Lexi had Snickers on her lap and was flipping through magazines with one hand and stroking the poodle with the other.
“Good. One pepperoni, one veggie, and two with everything except the kitchen sink.” Dawson picked up his phone and was placing the order before we left the room.
I wasn’t really in the mood for a fancy dinner at the Avenue, but I reminded myself it wasn’t about me. I needed to get information, and this would help. I hesitated about what to wear. I had two new outfits. One was a cocktail dress I was saving for a date with Frank. The cocktail dress would be appropriate for the setting. However, I knew Frank had to work and wouldn’t be joining us, and I selfishly wanted him to see me in the dress. So, I opted for a black pencil skirt with boots and a nice top. I gave myself a good look from all angles in the floor-length mirror in my bedroom.
I picked up the jeans I’d worn earlier and a piece of paper floated onto the floor. When I picked it up, I saw it was the paper Frank gave me earlier with the name and telephone number of the foster family. I picked up the note, took a deep breath, and took out my phone and quickly dialed the number before I lost my nerve.
“Hello?”
“Hello, may I speak to Mr. or Mrs. Hooper?”
“Mrs. Hooper speaking.”
“I was wondering if . . . do you have a foster daughter named Alexis Gelano?”
She released a heavy sigh. “What’s she done now?”
“I was just—”
“I’m not responsible. Whatever she’s done, I’m not responsible. My sister works as a paralegal and I’ve been assured whatever trouble she’s done, you can’t hold me responsible.”
“I’m not trying to hold anyone responsible. I was . . . well, I was wondering if I could speak to her.”
“She’s not here.”
“Where is she?”
There was a pause. “Look, who did you say you were?”
“I’m just . . . trying to find her. That’s all. What about her brother, Angelo, is he there?”
“No. He’s not here either. Look, who are you and why are you wanting to speak to them?”
“My name is Samantha Washington. I was hoping Lexi might be interested in an afterschool program. Perhaps you could tell me when you expect her?”
“I dunno when she’ll be in, but she’s too young for any programs.”
“Could you call—”
She hung up.
I held the phone for a few seconds and heard a noise behind me. I turned. My door was slightly ajar and Snickers snuck in. I grabbed my handbag and Snickers and I joined the others in the main room.
Nana Jo was dressed in a lovely emerald-green dress and heels.
“You look lovely,” I said.
“Thank you.” She smiled. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
The pizza arrived and Dawson grabbed the money from the counter and ran downstairs.
Angelo jumped up and down. “Yay! Pepperoni. Pepperoni. Pepperoni.”
Nana Jo and I said our goodbyes and hurried downstairs.
The drive from downtown North Harbor to downtown South Harbor was short. Despite a continuous blanket of snow that had fallen throughout the entire day, the roads weren’t bad.
I pulled up to the front to let Nana Jo out, and a young man in bright red livery rushed out to valet park the car.
I rolled down the window. “That’s okay, I can park myself. I just want to let my grandmother out.”
“Just let him park the car,” Nana Jo said as she got out of the car. “I want to talk to you.”
I wasn’t accustomed to valet parking or dinners at fancy restaurants that had valet parking, but I grabbed my purse and got out. I took the ticket the young man gave me and hurried inside.
I stopped at the grand staircase just inside the building. “What’s up?”
“I know you’re worried about not solving this murder and disappointing your mother, but I want you to know I have faith in you—” She held up a hand to stop me from interrupting. “I have faith in you and I know your mother does too. We have a lot more faith in you than in Stinky Pitt.” She pursed her lips and frowned.
“I appreciate your faith, but—”
“Regardless of what happens, this isn’t your fault. If by some miracle you don’t find the murderer, which I don’t think will happen, mind you, but if by some stretch of the imagination you lose your gray matter and suddenly become brain dead and don’t solve this murder, then we’ve got an ace up our sleeve.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Ace? What ace?”
She pointed.
I turned and my sister, Jenna, and her husband, Tony, pulled up outside.
“Best attorney in the Midwest,” Nana Jo said with pride. “Your sister is a pit bull and she’ll rip apart any evidence that dingbat of a district attorney tries to throw at her.”
My brother-in-law got out and walked around to escort Jenna into the building.
“What are you two staring at?” Jenna asked. “Let’s go. I’m starving.” She walked past us and went downstairs to the restaurant.
Tony shrugged and followed his wife.
I looked at my grandmother. “Pit bull?”
She nodded. “Pit bull.”
Harold and Mom were already downstairs when we arrived. The last to arrive were the couple with the shortest commute. Margaret and Oscar strolled in right as the waiter was showing us to our seats.
Harold had requested a table that was positioned in between a large picture window and the fireplace. The table offered excellent views of the icy winter wonderland that was Lake Michigan in the dead of winter, with the heat and atmosphere of a warm, crackling fireplace. Margaret headed toward the seat closest to the fireplace, but Harold was quicker.
“Margaret, I’m sure you don’t mind if Grace sits here closest to the fireplace.” He pulled out the chair and helped Mom sit, not waiting to hear whether Margaret minded or not.
Margaret obviously minded, because she sulkily stood nearby.
“Margaret, why don’t you take this seat near Sam and me,” Nana Jo said with so much syrup in her voice I had to glance back to make sure who was talking. She winked and whispered, “I’m going to need insulin before the night is over.”
Margaret plastered on a fake smile and sat down in the seat Nana Jo indicated.
I took the seat on one side, while Nana Jo sat on her other side. Tony and Jenna sat on either side of Oscar, and the stage was set.
I stole a glance at Nana Jo, who raised an eyebrow and then lifted her hand. “Waiter.”
When the waiter arrived, Nana Jo ordered a Wild Turkey for herself. She turned to Margaret. “What would you like?”
Margaret smiled. “I’m not much of a drinker . . . I’ll have what she’s having.” She pointed to Nana Jo.
I opened my mouth to warn her bourbon might not be the drink for someone who wasn’t accustomed to it, but a look from Nana Jo stopped me.
“I’ll have a Pellegrino.” I decided I might need to keep my wits about me for whatever Nana Jo was cooking up.
The waiter took our drink orders and quickly returned.
Nana Jo raised her glass. “To Grace and Harold. May you both have a long, happy life together.”
We all lifted our glasses. “To Grace and Harold.”
Nana Jo tossed back her bourbon like someone doing shots.
Margaret stared at her and took a sip of her drink. From the scowl that followed, it was clear bourbon wasn’t her favorite.
“It’s best to just close your eyes and knock it back in one fell swoop.” Nana Jo smiled at her.
I stared across the table at Jenna, who merely shrugged and sipped her sangria.
Margaret looked at Nana Jo and then put her head back and swallowed her bourbon. “Ugh. That burns.”
“Isn’t it wonderful.” Nana Jo waved to the waiter. “Two more.”
“Oh, no, not for me.” Margaret shook her head.
“Perhaps something a little milder,” Nana Jo offered. “A cosmopolitan.”
“What’s in it?” Margaret asked.
“It’s just cranberry juice, lime, Cointreau or triple sec, and vodka.” Nana Jo rattled off the ingredients like a bartender. “I think you’ll like it.”
Margaret nodded and the waiter was off in a flash.
We made small talk about the weather for several minutes until the waiter returned.
Again, Nana Jo tossed back her drink quickly. “Skoal.”
This time Margaret was more cautious and sipped her Cosmo. “That’s delicious.” She sipped again.
“Drink up.” Nana Jo encouraged Margaret and then motioned for the waiter to provide two more drinks for her and Margaret.
By the time the waiter brought Margaret’s third drink, her eyes were bright and shining and what I thought was a permanent frown had been smoothed. Her lips hadn’t yet made the upward turn into a smile, but the edges were smooth and friendlier.
“That’s really nice of you,” Margaret said as the waiter replaced her empty glass with a full one. “You say it’s called a Cosmopolitan?” She sipped. “Was it named after the magazine?”
Nana Jo shrugged. “No idea.”
Margaret giggled. “It’s very pretty.”
“Yes. It’s lovely.” Nana Jo smiled.
By the time we ordered dinner, the Ice Princess, Margaret Robertson, had melted. She wasn’t as stiff and snobbish as the last time we’d dined together. In fact, by the time her dinner of grilled Scottish salmon with fingerling potato salad, Dijon dressing, Spanish olives, red onion, and frisée arrived, she was downright pleasant.
“Now, tell me exactly when you met Lydia Lighthouse,” Nana Jo said.
Margaret furrowed her brow as though trying to remember something. Eventually, she laughed. “You know, I can’t really remember.” She leaned close to Nana Jo as though relaying a dire secret. “She really wasn’t very nice.”
“You don’t say?” Nana Jo asked while signaling to the waiter to bring two more drinks.
I’d lost count of how many they’d had. I think it was five, but it might have been six. I had no doubt Nana Jo could handle her alcohol, but Margaret was an unknown. She didn’t strike me as a big drinker. Add to the fact she hadn’t eaten food yet and she’d mixed her drinks, with the Wild Turkey, numerous Cosmos, and the wine Harold ordered to accompany the meal, Margaret was well on her way to a hangover of massive proportions.
Margaret shook her head. “No. She was rude. I’m not surprised someone stabbed her in the back and strangled her.” Margaret ate her salmon. “Why, this is really rather good.” She leaned down the table and yelled to Mom, “Grace, did you try this salmon? It’s delicious. I think you should have this at the wedding.”
Mom looked at Margaret and forced herself to smile.
Margaret dug into the salmon and ate with a hearty appetite. “This has to be the best salmon I’ve ever had.”
“Great.” Nana Jo tried to steer the conversation away from the salmon and back to Lydia Lighthouse. “You must have known Lydia for a long time, for her to come all the way from Virginia to Michigan for the wedding.”
Margaret continued on eating. “Well, I’ve known her for years, but we were never what you might call close.” She ate. “Didn’t think I was good enough for her.” She laughed. “Can you believe that?”
“Absolutely not,” Nana Jo lied. “Why, you’re a descendent of... who was it?”
Margaret nodded. “Exactly, and Lydia claimed she was a descendant of Stonewall Jackson, but you know what?” Margaret leaned close to Nana Jo.
“No, what?”
“I was having lunch at the club with Mimi Orwell.” She leaned closer to Nana Jo and nearly fell. She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand to help steady herself. “Mimi is part of the UDC and she told me Lydia tried to join but had been rejected.” She grinned at Nana Jo.
“Really? Rejected.” Nana Jo tsked. “Scandalous.”
Margaret went back to her salmon, and I mouthed, What is the UDC?
Nana Jo shrugged.
“What’s the UDC?” I asked.
“United Daughters of the Confederacy,” Margaret said. “It’s a wonderful organization.”
I stared at Margaret. “Like the Daughters of the Revolution?”
She nodded.
“So, all of the members are women who can trace their lineage to soldiers who fought for the Confederacy?”
Margaret must not have noticed the frost in my voice, which I didn’t bother to hide.
She merely nodded. “Not just fought, but they had to have fought honorably.” She ate her potato salad. “So many men took the oath of allegiance but broke their vow and either abandoned their post or defected to the Northern cause.”
I put down my silverware. “That’s disgusting.”
Margaret mistook my meaning. “Isn’t it? When you’ve sworn an oath, it’s binding for life. It’s sacred, like marriage.” Something must have finally gotten through to Margaret that perhaps she should temper her comments because she suddenly stopped talking and stared into space.
“Are you okay?” Nana Jo asked when Margaret didn’t move.
She turned to stare at Nana Jo and there were large tears in her eyes. “Oh God.”
Despite my frustration with Margaret, I was concerned by the sudden change in emotions. “What’s wrong?”
“Marriage vows are sacred.”
“Yes, of course they are,” Nana Jo agreed. “Now, why was Lydia rejected?”
Margaret didn’t seem to be in any mood to talk about Lydia Lighthouse, the United Daughters of the Confederacy, or anything else. She burst into tears in the middle of dinner.
“Good grief.” Nana Jo put down her fork. “I was so close,” she muttered. “Sam, help me get Margaret up to their room.”
Nana Jo and I helped Margaret to her feet, but she was no longer crying silently. By now, she was sobbing.
“Perhaps I should . . . um . . . well, you know?” Oscar said as we dragged his wife past his chair.
“Just give Sam your key.” Nana Jo grabbed Margaret around the waist so she had her full weight.
I reached for the key Oscar held out and then helped to take my share of Margaret’s weight.
Margaret’s sobbing became more and more intense with each step. We’d just made it to the elevator when she let out a wail.
Nana Jo merely rolled her eyes and muttered, “Darned sissy. She only had six Cosmos.”
The elevator door closed and we rode up to the third floor with a woman who was crying hysterically.
I glared at Nana Jo and would have given her a reprimand, but I needed all of my strength to drag Margaret down the hallway to her room. When we got to the door, we propped her against the wall. I slid the card key into the lock and tried to hold the door open with my foot, but Margaret had slid down the wall and was now sitting on the floor.
“Crap,” Nana Jo said as we tried to pick her up.
However, Margaret was now dead weight. We made several unsuccessful attempts to lift her off the floor and were both winded and tired.
“Good grief, she must weigh a lot more than she looks,” Nana Jo replied as we stopped for a rest.
“I have no idea, but there’s no way we’re going to get her up by ourselves. We’re going to have to get Tony and Harold to help us.” I tried to get my breath. “Do you have your phone?”
Nana Jo shook her head. “I left my purse downstairs.” She looked at me. “You?”
I shook my head. “I guess one of us is going to have to go downstairs and get help.”
“Oh, no you don’t. We’re not giving up that easy.”
I stared at my grandmother. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re going to search her room once we get her inside.”
“Oh, no we aren’t.”
“Don’t be such a prude.”
Margaret let out a loud belch and then started to laugh.
We stared at her.
“Well, what do you suggest?” Nana Jo put a hand on her hip.
I thought for a moment and then opened the door to the room and went inside. I opened the closet and found a blanket. I grabbed it and went back into the hall. I put the blanket on the floor next to Margaret, who was no longer crying, laughing, or belching. She was snoring. Margaret Robertson was sitting on the floor in the hallway outside of her hotel room, sound asleep.
Nana Jo and I laid her down onto the blanket. Then I unlocked the door and slipped a slipper I’d found under it to hold it open. Then we grabbed the edges of the blanket and dragged Margaret into the room.
Once we had her inside, I pulled the slipper from under the door and it swung shut.
Nana Jo flopped down onto one of the two queen-sized beds in the room. “That was a lot of work.” She fanned herself.
“You shouldn’t have gotten her drunk.”
“How else was I supposed to get her to open up and tell us about Lydia Lighthouse.”
I sighed. “It didn’t get us much.” I stretched.
“I don’t know. I think we got quite a bit.”
“Well, you can tell me about it later.” I looked at Margaret wrapped in a blanket, lying on the floor. “How do we get her off the floor and up onto the bed?”
“Why do we have to move her? Can’t we just leave her?” Nana Jo asked.
I tilted my head and stared at her. “You have got to be joking. We can’t just leave her on the floor.”
“Why not?”
I stared at Margaret. “Because it’s not the right thing to do.”
Nana Jo huffed, but she got up and then spread her legs wide and crouched down onto one knee. Then she took several deep breaths. “All right, help me get her arms.”
I helped to lift Margaret into a sitting position with her weight resting against my legs.
“Now what?”
“I’m going to count to three and then I’ll stand up and pull her over my back onto the bed.
“Are you sure you can handle that? She’s pretty heavy and you’re o—”
“Call me old and you’ll be the next person who gets tossed in this room.”
My grandmother wasn’t young, but she was also not frail. She had a brown belt in aikido and I’d seen her take down grown men on several occasions.
I nodded. “Okay.”
“One. Two.” Nana Jo grabbed hold of Margaret’s arms. She took a deep breath. “Three.” She gave a loud cry and then rose from her knee. She pulled Margaret while I used my knees and body to help push her up. As Nana Jo rose, she lifted Margaret off the ground and flipped her over her back onto the bed.
Margaret never woke but lay sprawled across one of the beds.
“Are you okay?” I gasped for breath and stared at my grandmother.
She nodded. “Yep. I’ve never tried that one before, but it wasn’t so bad once I got my leverage.”
We looked at Margaret.
“Now, are you going to help me search this room or what?” Nana Jo turned and began rifling through the drawers.
“What exactly do you expect to find in their hotel room? An extra pair of scarves?”
Nana Jo continued to search. “Anything that helps us know why Margaret hired someone she obviously didn’t like very much to come and plan her brother-in-law’s wedding.”
I hated the idea of searching through someone else’s belongings, but maybe Nana Jo was right. Margaret and Oscar were the only ones who knew Lydia Lighthouse. Maybe there was some reason why she did it. We searched through clothes and toiletries, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
I was just about to give up when the telephone rang.
Nana Jo and I stood up and stared at each other. Then I reached over and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
It was Jenna. “Oscar and Harold are on their way up to the room, so if you two are doing anything you shouldn’t, stop it!” She hung up.
“They’re coming.”
We tidied up. Nana Jo took a towel from the bathroom and wiped down the room.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of fingerprints.” She quickly wiped every drawer, knob, and handle. “I saw it on Perry Mason.”
I waited anxiously by the door. When she was done, she tossed the towel on a pile in the bathroom, where we’d seen other dirty towels. We opened the door just as Oscar was about to knock.
“I was just about to knock.” He smiled.
“No need.” I handed him his card key. “We just managed to get Margaret onto the bed.” I stepped aside and let Oscar and Harold enter. “Where’s Jenna?”
“She and Tony are watching the purses downstairs with your mother,” Harold said.
Oscar stood at the end of the bed and looked at his wife. “Sound asleep.” He turned to face us. “Not sure how you both managed, but thank you.”
“No problem at all.” Nana Jo pushed me out of the room. “Well, we’ve got to be going. You take care,” she shouted as we hurried down the hallway.
“What’s the big hurry now?” I asked once we were safely in the elevator.
She pulled a small piece of paper, which was folded up, from behind her back.
“Where did you get that?” I gasped.
“Hidden in a box of feminine supplies in her toiletries in the bathroom.”
“But, what is it and why did you take it?”
“It appears to be a marriage license.” She read it. “Between Maggie Anne Tuttleford and Buford Jones.”
“Who’s Maggie Anne Tuttleford?”
“If I was a betting woman, which I am, I’d bet my life savings Maggie Anne Tuttleford and Margaret Robertson are one and the same.”
I sighed. “So, what. Margaret was married before she married Oscar. Big deal.”
The elevator descended.
“It’s no big deal now, but it must have been a big deal to her if she went to all that trouble to hide it.”
We walked out of the elevator and headed back to our table. “What made you look in her feminine supplies?”
Nana Jo snorted. “Woman that old doesn’t need feminine supplies anymore.”
“Fine, but how are you going to get it back in there? She’s bound to notice it missing.”
“Tomorrow we’ll come over and pretend we made arrangements for lunch. Once we’re up in the room, I’ll ask to use the bathroom. People always think old ladies have weak bladders.” Nana Jo marched back to the table.
I was glad she’d called herself old and not me.
Harold had already taken care of the bill. When we arrived, Tony had taken all of our tickets to the valet and was arranging to have our cars brought around. So, Nana Jo, Jenna, and I sat with Mom and waited.
“Did you find anything?” Jenna asked.
“How did you know we were searching?” I asked.
She gave me a look that said, Are you joking?
Nana Jo handed over the marriage license she’d pilfered.
“Margaret never mentioned anything about being married before, but I’ll ask Harold.” Jenna looked it over and then copied down the names before she handed it back. “I’ll have my investigator look into it and try to find out who Maggie Anne Tuttleford and Buford Jones are.”
Harold returned and we headed to the front. All of our cars were lined up at the front.
I hugged my mom before she got in the car.
“Thank you, Sam.”
“For what?”
“For using your abilities to help Harold and for getting those wonderful girls to help with the wedding. They’re both so energetic. It’s nice to be around young people. It makes me feel young again.” She smiled.
I hugged her again.
Tony pulled up and Jenna got into her car. “What time is the meeting tomorrow?”
“Noon at Frank’s restaurant, but I think we’re going to be meeting here instead.”
She nodded. “Good. I’ll meet you here.”
My face must have registered surprise because Jenna laughed. “Close your mouth. I have information to report.”
Before I could ask, Tony pulled off and they were gone.
The valet pulled my car up and Nana Jo and I got inside. As I pulled away, I looked at Nana Jo. “Tomorrow should be an interesting meeting.”