It wasn’t a surprise to find out that Florence Carmichael lived in Amelia’s old neighborhood. When she and John had been together, their home hadn’t been the largest on the block, but it was substantial. There was a day room and a sun room. The back porch was called a three-season room, meaning it could be used almost all year round, even at Christmastime, because it was weather proofed. The kitchen was fit for Gordon Ramsay to bustle about in. There was a fireplace in the living room. The basement was completely furnished. The washer and dryer had their own room. It was a lot of space for two people to drift apart in.
Amelia hadn’t been back to the house since the divorce was final. She hadn’t had any reason to go back to the neighborhood, period. Her friend Christine lived not far away. She ran a house full of growing boys alongside a husband as immature as any man in his forties. They kept her too busy for any regular grown-up play dates.
These days, Amelia’s life consisted of mainly Lila and Beatrice, Dan, and the kids. That was enough to keep Amelia happily out of her old neighborhood.
But this time, she had to go back and face those familiar cul-de-sacs and check out the scene around Florence Carmichael. Even in this fancy neighborhood, there were elite parts that Amelia hadn’t gone to even when she had been living as one of them. The Carmichael Estate was located there.
“Well, this is going to be a lot harder than I thought.” Amelia looked at the paper Adam had written the address on. He’d worked some kind of magic on his computer and managed to get Florence’s address. There were no other Carmichaels listed in the neighborhood, so this had to be the place.
A giant wrought iron “C” in an elegant circle with curlicues around it glared Amelia in the face. She eased her car up closer to the gate and looked around. There was a small box with a camera and speaker to her left.
“This is unbelievable.” She got out of the car and pressed the little red button, assuming that would get someone’s attention if there wasn’t an all-seeing eye watching her already.
“Hello?” came an electronic-sounding voice from the box.
“Hello.” Amelia cleared her throat. “I’m looking for Florence Carmichael. My name is Amelia Harley.”
“This is Florence Carmichael. What is this regarding?”
Amelia cleared her throat again. Her mouth went dry. She just let the words fall out of her mouth without thinking and hoped they’d make sense.
“I was told you were looking for a caterer for your son’s bar mitzvah. Candace Rosenbaum suggested I call on you.”
There was silence on the other end of the intercom. Amelia kept herself professional since she didn’t know if anyone was watching her, but she had the suspicion they were.
The only reply was a noisy buzz as the gate began to open.
Amelia’s heart leapt. She smiled to herself and thought Dan would get a real kick out of this when she told him about it. Maybe when she retired from the cupcake business, she’d start her own private investigation firm. With a little swagger in her step, she got back into her car and drove through the open gate.
However, when it clinked and clanked shut, she realized she was sort of trapped, and Florence might be the person who had killed Spencer.
“You didn’t really think this through, Amelia,” she muttered as she drove up the winding cobblestone driveway. The house was huge, but it had a forest of lush green trees and bushes growing around the entrance to camouflage its real size.
Florence Carmichael was the complete opposite of Candace. Her hair was dyed blond and hung loosely around her face. She wore yoga pants and expensive hot-pink gym shoes that matched her hot-pink tank top. She matched the Pink Cupcake. Amelia thought the woman could bring all kinds of attention to the truck if she’d pose outside holding a tray of samples. The image made her chuckle to herself.
“If this is Candace’s idea of some kind of joke, she’ll be sorry,” Florence barked as soon as Amelia got out of the car.
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t have a son, and I’m not even Jewish. What is this all about?”
Thinking quickly, Amelia slapped her forehead and gasped.
“Wait, please don’t blame Candace.” She pulled out her planner, which was stuffed with random notes and papers, making her look very official.
“I scribbled down a couple names at the gala the other night, and I may have crossed the wires somewhere. Are you having a birthday party? Or maybe you were throwing some kind of fundraiser?” Amelia tried to think up a couple more events. There had to be something this social diva was planning that could explain why Amelia was there.
“Are you talking about Senator Walker’s fundraiser?”
Amelia looked down, pointed at a note to pick up dishwasher soap, and nodded.
“I’m so sorry. That’s it, right here. Walker Fundraiser. You know, I always plan to get more organized, and I never seem to hit the mark.” Amelia giggled cheerfully. “Candace Rosenbaum said you were organizing a fundraiser and that you might be in need of a caterer.”
“I hadn’t really given it much thought. I’ve got a bathroom being redone, and it’s such an ordeal.” Florence looked at Amelia and at her car. It didn’t scream “high-end pastry chef.” All it really screamed was “needs new tires and an oil change.”
“Well, that’s all right. I’m sorry to barge in on you.” Amelia pulled out a couple hot-pink business cards and handed them to Florence as if she were afraid she might get bitten by the woman. “I’ll tell Candace at the wake that I spoke to you. Have a good day, Ms. Carmichael.”
“What wake?”
Bingo, Amelia thought.
“The wake for Spencer Randall. I believe it’s at three, or maybe it’s two. Better not go by me.” Amelia again put her palm to her forehead. “I’m a mess when it comes to scheduling these days.”
Florence’s tanned face went pale. Her frosted pink lips stood out garishly as she looked nervously at Amelia.
“Oh, yes. I heard about that.” She licked her lips tensely. “Amelia, would you like to come in for a moment?”
“Oh, my. I’ve upset you.” Amelia carefully stepped up to Florence and gently put her hand on her forearm. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” Florence said as they walked into the great foyer that Amelia could have pulled her car into and still had room for the kids’ bikes and a water heater. “It’s me. Please, have a seat.”
What Amelia would call the front room was an amazing space filled with stark white furniture and dark oak accents including a fireplace so big Amelia was sure she could stand in it. But off to the far left corner, there were tarps hanging over various pieces of furniture and across the marble floor. Pieces of plaster and piping were scattered around. The inside of the bathroom was exposed as if a tornado had touched down on that tiny corner of this huge house.
“Pardon my mess. The bathroom was supposed to take only one week to finish, and here we are in week three.”
“Isn’t that always how it goes?” Amelia tried to sound understanding. “And things always break when we are least capable of dealing with them.”
Florence nodded and looked away wistfully as if she were on stage acting.
“I don’t know if you were aware of this, Amelia. May I call you Amelia?”
“Please.” Amelia took a seat on the white sofa that was so perfectly soft yet firm she was sure her butt felt like it was in heaven. Florence sat on the edge of the armchair across from her.
“Amelia, Spencer and I were engaged to be married.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.” This was a new bit of information. It was nowhere on Spencer’s social media, but whatever.
“Sure, we had some troubles. But what couple doesn’t?”
Amelia waited.
“He was a bit younger than me, and you know how men are. They feel they have to sow their wild oats or else they aren’t real men.”
“Yes. I do know how men are.” Amelia sighed. That was probably the only truthful thing she had said so far to Florence.
“I was okay with that. See, Spencer and I had a rare relationship. It was the kind of thing that some people just didn’t get. But when I proposed to him, he…”
“I’m sorry, did you say you proposed to him?”
“I did.” Florence leaned back, smiling as if this brazen display of authority was something to be proud of. It was weird and went against nature in Amelia’s eyes. What kind of glutton for punishment was she? “I gave him a Rolex. It was a beautiful thing with rubies. A limited edition. I was sure that no one else would have that watch. He wore it all the time.”
Tears started to fill Florence’s eyes, but Amelia couldn’t tell if they were really for Spencer or for herself.
“When I proposed to him and presented him with the watch, he cried. Can you actually believe that? A man like Spencer crying.” She sniffled but pulled herself together quickly. “We made love all day that day. He only left for a short while to go to the gym and pick up some food.”
Going to the gym after making love all day? Who does that? Amelia thought.
“Things had been going perfectly until Candace heard about our engagement.” Florence narrowed her eyes. “At the last gala I attended, she was practically throwing herself at him. Of course, she’d thrown herself at every other man in the place, why would Spencer be any different?”
“But Spencer told her he was engaged to you, right? Nothing happened between them?” Amelia wasn’t sure what to think about all that she was hearing.
“Amelia, let me tell you something. A man can’t control himself. If a woman serves it up to him on a platter, he’s going to go for it. I don’t blame Spencer. I blame Candace. And all the others who treated him like nothing more than a piece of meat. She’s the one who should be dead. Not Spencer.”
The way those words came out of Florence’s mouth made Amelia’s blood run cold.
“You don’t hold him even a little responsible for his own behavior?” Amelia should have stopped those words and just said Yes, Florence, you are right, Florence. Anything you say, girl. But she didn’t.
“I don’t know who you think you are, coming into my house to talk about my fiancé this way!” Florence shouted, making Amelia jump. “He loved me the most! He proved it by…” She didn’t finish that sentence, but Amelia wondered if her last words to that sentence weren’t dying for me.
When Florence stood up, Amelia instantly went into defensive mode. Sure, it was obvious the fifty-something cougar worked very hard to keep her figure. But Amelia was prepared to fight dirty. She hadn’t trimmed her nails in a few days. Scratching was an acceptable form of self-defense. Just like running and hiding and screaming.
Thankfully, she only stomped to the door and pulled it open.
“I won’t be using you for Senator Walker’s event,” she cried as Amelia quickly hurried to her car. Once she was behind the steering wheel, she locked all the doors. “Don’t you ever come near me again, or I’ll kill you! Do you hear me? I’ll make sure you never sell another cookie again! I know people. You can’t bad-mouth my fiancé and get away with it!”
She continued shouting from her open door as Amelia got her car started and pulled away as quickly as possible. She said a quick prayer that Florence opened the gate, or else she was sure she’d crash through it if she had to. Thankfully, the gate opened automatically.
“Senator Walker is a crook anyway.” Amelia shook her head as she quickly got off the Carmichael property and headed home.
But one thing played over and over in her head. The bathroom was being redone, and there were several pipes lying around just waiting for a hot-tempered woman to lose her cool and put one to good use upside a cheating boyfriend’s head.
It wasn’t that long ago that Amelia had felt the same way Florence did. Had she thought she could get away with it in this life and the next, she would have snuffed John’s candle out without giving it a second thought. Leaving the children without their father was a small price to pay. She hated him for what he had done. But that was natural.
Betrayal was cruel because it usually involved one party taking complete advantage of the trusting nature of the other party.
But unlike Florence, Amelia wasn’t going to hitch her wagon to a man who didn’t want to stay faithful. What good could possibly come out of that? How lonely Florence must have been to settle.
“She might have been tired of settling,” Amelia said to the steering wheel as she drove home. “She might not even realize what she did.”