“Aaron’s lawyer didn’t really have to tell me anything,” Penelope said from her corner of the booth after digging into a small bowl of salad and drinking down her hot water and lemon. She sat back, her neck a stone column, hair like a wig plopped on her head and left uncombed. “But he figured since Aaron Cane was dead, there were no client privileges left. And anyway, he said he’d never dealt with him before getting that letter about an appointment.”
They were huddled around a table set with a vase of fainting red tulips. Zoe kept trying to make the tulips stand up while Jenny and Tony went over and over the menu.
There were people Jenny knew at other tables. Mostly Dora’s friends. Jenny spotted Millie Sheraton, whose daughter had needed a fairy tale book—she raised a hand and waved. There was Vera Wattles, a widowed neighbor on Elderberry who had a passion for romance novels; Pastor Everett Senise from the United Baptist Church, who loved a good mystery; and Priscilla Manus, who, as the president of the Bear Falls Historical Society, was always on the lookout for histories other than her own—be they historical romance or a history of a great war.
None of them came over to talk, which Jenny found odd with this voluble group.
Delaware came to take their orders and smiled appreciatively when Tony and Jenny ordered rare steak and fries. Delaware took Zoe’s order for a burger, then leaned down close to say something in Zoe’s ear. Delaware nodded her head fiercely, then looked up at the ceiling before she went off toward the kitchen.
“What’d Delaware say that was so important the rest of us couldn’t hear?” Jenny leaned close to ask.
Zoe made a face. “Just said she doesn’t believe a word of what folks are saying about me. Which only makes me wonder what the devil they are saying.”
“She meant to be nice,” Tony said. “This’ll be over soon.”
“Hope I’m still walking the streets when it is.”
Penelope cleared her throat. “Are any of you interested in what I learned from the attorney?”
They looked guilty. The meeting had a purpose to it. Penelope had taken the letter from the Traverse City attorney, Justin Princely, and promised to follow up.
“Sorry. What did Justin say about Aaron Cane?” Tony leaned in close.
“Just that he wasn’t really his attorney. He had a problem that he wanted to discuss, is what he wrote to Justin. And Justin—as you saw—wrote back to confirm the appointment Aaron wanted.”
“Did he keep it?” Zoe asked.
Penelope nodded. “Aaron showed up right on time, but it seemed he’d changed his mind about whatever it was he came for. Justin said Aaron got more and more nervous as they talked until he was about ready to jump out of his chair.”
Zoe was disappointed. “But Aaron must have said something—”
“He did. He did. He kept saying, ‘I don’t want this to trouble Abigail. I don’t want Abigail troubled over this.’”
“Justin said that when he tried to pin Aaron down, he wouldn’t give him any explanation. Finally, he handed him the letter—same one we’ve got. Justin read it and said it looked like blackmail to him. Justin said to take it to the police, but Aaron refused. Said he didn’t need trouble like that. Just as long as Abigail was all right.
“Justin asked him if he was a wealthy man, and Aaron Cane shook his head and said, ‘Nope. All I’ve got is my social security and that’s all I need.’”
Zoe was sitting on the edge of her seat but had to sit back when their food came. They went through the “Pass the mustard and ketchup, please” and “Is this your knife or mine?” and other such dinner trivialities until Zoe gave a huge groan and demanded to know what else Aaron said to the attorney.
“What was the purpose of the whole thing?” she asked.
Penelope shrugged. “Who knows?” She looked across the table, snaked her arm around her dish, snapped up one of Jenny’s French fries, and popped it into her mouth. “Zoe said Abigail is coming to your house tonight. I’d like to be there. Maybe we can get this blackmail business cleared up. I’ve been asking around town and everybody who would talk to me seems to think Abigail’s been heartless with her brothers. She got all the money and wouldn’t share it. Doesn’t sound that way, though. From what Aaron said to Justin, he was protective of her.”
Penelope reached out again and took two more French fries this time, eating them slowly, one by one.
“I don’t see why you can’t be there.” Jenny eyed her. “We’re all working to clear Zoe. I’m sure Abigail wants to find the truth as much as we do.”
Penelope’s hand started to slide across the table one more time when Jenny tapped it with her fork.
“If you’re hungry, I’ll order you your own fries,” Jenny snapped at her.
“No thank you.” Penelope sat back, looking over Jenny’s head. “I don’t eat much. That’s why I’m so thin. You should try it.”
“You better not be charging me for these dinners,” Jenny sniped back at her.
Tony and Zoe looked as if they were about to burst into laughter.
Penelope ignored them all. “I’d like to meet this Abigail, make up my own mind about the woman.”
She reached into her purse and drew out copies of the two letters. “She’s got to know something about these. After all, the writer speaks of ‘you three’ and ‘what he did’ and being ‘cheated’ out of something. Must be the father they’re talking about, don’t you think? Who else could they be covering for? When you’ve got old money like the Canes, there are always secrets and vicious hatreds buried somewhere near the roots of the family tree. Maybe Abigail will tell us what it’s all about tonight.”
The bell over the door tinkled. Two couples Jenny knew slightly walked in and stood looking around for a table. One of the women saw Jenny. Jenny waved, but the woman turned away, putting her head down and speaking to the other three. One by one they looked over at Jenny’s table. None of them waved. One of the men made a face and nudged the other guy.
Delaware hurried out from the kitchen, stopping at the cash register counter to pick up four menus, then scurried to the waiting people. Jenny couldn’t help but watch, having an idea what was coming. In a minute, one of the men nodded in the direction of the booth where Jenny and her friends sat. The two couples turned and left the restaurant.
Delaware stood where she was, her back to them. She set the menus carefully beside the register. She glanced over at Jenny, who still watched. Delaware shook her head almost angrily and went off to check on another table.
“That was about me,” Zoe said. “Guess people don’t like to eat with killers.”
“Don’t be silly.” Jenny turned offended eyes on Zoe. “Everything’s not always about you, you know.”