John Monroe had been Sam’s partner in Homicide for five years, and I knew that Sam liked him and thought highly of him as a police officer. John arrived after the patrol cars, very tall and thin in a dark suit, with a short, rather squat woman trailing behind. He shook Sam’s hand. “So?”
Sam exhaled loudly and gave a quick rundown. John glanced at me, then peeked into the library at the few remaining guests, all looking shell-shocked and pale.
“Okay. Show me.” Sam started up the main stairway, and as I followed, the woman held up her hand.
“Ma’am, if you could stay here?”
I stopped and looked at John.
“Ellie, this is Miranda Beauregard,” he said. “She’ll be assisting me in the investigation. Miranda, this is Ellie Rocca. She and Sam are, well, friends.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Miranda said shortly.
“That’s true,” Sam said. “Ellie, why don’t you go to your mom? She looks done in.”
I turned and walked back to where my mother and the remnants of her guest list sat, the gray light filtering through the multipaned windows giving the whole setting a decidedly funereal air. Enza and Phyllis were with them, a few bottles of wine open, and an array of half-empty glasses in front of them.
“Enza,” I said. “I’m so sorry about this.”
She shrugged. “Hey, stuff happens.”
My mother, who had been staring at the floor, her eyes half closed, suddenly sat upright. She glared at Dominick.
“Did you kill her?” she asked.
Enza and Phyllis exchanged looks. Roberta and Peggy both stared at my mother, then at Dominick, who turned white.
“Leona, how could you suggest something like that?” he sputtered. “Why would I kill Connie?”
Ted put his hand on our mother’s shoulder. “Mom, don’t you think—”
“You know exactly what I think,” she snapped. “I told you Dominick was a murderer. How much more proof do you need?”
The young police officer who had been lounging against the wall straightened up. I’m sure he thought his job to watch the old folks was going to be a real snooze. Boy, was he in for a treat.
Roberta put her hand to her throat. “Leona, what are you talking about?”
My mother sniffed. “He knows about the gun,” she said, leaning toward Roberta. “He was going to get you. But Connie must have gotten in the way somehow, so she had to go first.”
The officer cleared his throat. “What gun?”
Dominick frowned. “Yeah, what gun?”
“The gun Roberta found in your room,” my mother said, leaning back and looking very smug.
“Ah, Mom,” Ted tried again.
“I didn’t find a gun in his room,” Roberta said, her other hand at her throat now, as though she were strangling herself out of pure frustration. “Why would you say something like that?”
Mom wagged a finger. “Don’t believe me? Just ask Justine. She’s the accomplice.”
Peggy got up, wobbled over, and leaned down to look Mom in the eye. “Leona, are you really sure about this?”
My mother looked up at Peggy, her mouth open to respond, but then shrank back just a bit. “Peg, dear, we talked about this.”
Peggy shook her head. “No, Leona, I don’t think so. I would have remembered.”
Mom’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “But…”
Peggy gently patted Mom’s hand. “I don’t think Dom here would have a gun. That’s against the rules.”
Mom swallowed. “Rules?”
Peggy nodded. “Yes, Leona. I’m sure The Manor wouldn’t let one of its residents have a gun.”
“The Manor?” Mom’s voice was thin and shaken.
Oh, Mom. My heart was breaking. She suddenly looked frail and confused, and much older than her age.
Aunt Rose made a noise from the couch. “Leona, honey, you always were one for your stories. Remember the time the cat went missing, and you told the whole neighborhood she’d been taken and sold to the deli down the street for salami? Oh, the fuss that caused.”
Mom narrowed her eyes. “The meat in that deli was always suspect. You both know that.”
“Oh, pish,” Aunt Rose said. “The meat was just fine. And the cat came back pregnant. Then you told everyone that our father was really working for the CIA.”
I glanced at the officer, who had visibly relaxed and was looking amused.
“He could have been,” Mom said stoutly. “He was away on some very mysterious trips.”
“He was an insurance salesman. His trips were to Hoboken.” Aunt Gloria shook her head. “And then there was the time that girl, Patty, disappeared, and you were convinced poor Henry Silvio had killed her.”
“Where did she go?” Mom challenged.
“Probably the same place the cat went,” Aunt Rose cackled. “I went to school with her. She was younger, but I remember. Beautiful girl, but a bit of a flirt. Always going off with a boy. That’s why she never came back. Probably got knocked up!”
Aunt Gloria’s laugh turned into a cough, and Aunt Rose obligingly hit her on the back a few times.
Mom looked recovered and lifted her chin. “Dominick, I’m sorry if I misinterpreted some information,” she said stiffly. “Obviously, I need more reliable sources.” She glared at Peggy, who was back in her chair, looking sad.
Enza and Phyllis had been watching with interest. In fact, Enza had frozen with the wine glass at her lips, and had not even bothered to take a sip. She looked at me with raised eyebrows.
“Some family you got here,” she cracked.
I exhaled loudly. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Aunt Gloria held up her hand and waved. “Listen, Ellie, honey, if we don’t go soon, we’ll have to stay. I don’t drive too good at night, and with this rain...”
She didn’t drive too good in the daytime either, in bright sunshine, but no one had the nerve to suggest she give it up. She had a twenty-five-year-old Cadillac Coupe de Ville, fire engine red with a white leather interior, that she drove once a week to church, and once a month to visit my mother. She still volunteered part time at the elementary school she attended as a child, walking the twelve blocks to and from every day in all weather. Her hair was still coal-black, in the same style as her high school graduation picture. She also walked to the green grocer, the butcher, the drug store, and took public transportation to anyplace else she needed to go. Her car was her pride and joy, and it was meticulously cared for.
I looked outside at it, slick with rain in the fading light. “That’s okay. You two can stay with me. I don’t think we’ll be out of here anytime soon.”
Enza finally drank down her glass of wine in one gulp and stood, shook out the wrinkles in her dress, causing Dominick’s eyes to bulge out of his head. She came over to me, grabbed my arm, and led me out of earshot of my mother and her friends.
“Listen, nobody seems to be too broken up about that poor lady upstairs,” she murmured in my ear.
I heard footsteps and saw Sam come across the foyer. He came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed the top of my head.
“How is everyone?” he asked.
“Not very upset,” Enza offered. “In fact, I don’t think anyone cares at all.”
“Not true,” I argued. “Well, not entirely true. When you reach a certain age, every morning you can expect somebody you know to have died. These folks are just counting down the days until it’s their turn.”
She crossed her arms across her chest. “Well, that’s pretty grim.”
Sam tightened his arms around me. “They’re guessing she’s been dead barely an hour. They’ll need the guest list.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Also,” he said to Enza, “a list of your employees. And the name of the rental company.”
Enza made a noise. “Are you kidding? No one at Luxe even knew her. Why would the police need names?”
Sam let go of me and ran his hand through his hair. “You don’t know that, um…”
“Enza.” She stuck out her hand.
Sam shook it with a wry smile. “Sam. And how do you know that no one at Luxe knew her?”
Enza raised an eyebrow. “What are you, a cop?”
“Yes.” Sam’s smile grew. “As a matter of fact, I am. Detective. Homicide.”
Enza shook her head and looked at me. “Between this boyfriend and that family, you must have quite an interesting life.”
I sighed. “Yes, I guess you could say that. We should probably get comfortable. I have a feeling no one’s going anywhere for a while.”
The police officer must have taken my mother seriously after all, because John Monroe took Dominick and Roberta down to the station for questioning. Roberta turned white as a ghost at the request. Dominick patted her hand assuredly, and off they went. Miranda Beauregard looked around at the rest of us.
“Who found the body?” She asked.
Enza and I raised our hands.
Detective Beauregard nodded. “Good. This way please?”
We followed her back into the kitchen. A laptop and several notepads were scattered across the stainless steel surface of the long counter that ran down the middle of the room. Enza and I sat down on one side, and Detective Beauregard sat on the other, arranging things for a few minutes before fixing her attention on us.
“So, tell me.”
Enza and I exchanged glances.
“Well,” I began, “the party had been over for a while, but there was still a small group left in the library.”
“The same group that’s there now?” Detective Beauregard asked.
“Yes. I told them it was time to leave, and they told me they were waiting for Connie. Peggy said she’d gone to the bathroom. Roberta suggested she was checking out the kitchen. I went to the kitchen first—”
“Why?”
“It was closer. She wasn’t there. I told Enza and Phyllis I was looking for a guest, and Enza said she’d help look. So we—”
“Why?” Detective Beauregard shifted to Enza, who looked confused.
“Why what?” Enza asked.
“Why did you offer to help look?”
“So I could get the hell outta here, why do you think?” Enza said. “Duh.”
I managed to keep my face neutral.
Detective Beauregard looked at me again. “What next?”
“We looked in the ladies room, and the mens room. On the way back through the hallway, I noticed the door to the back staircase was ajar, so I said—”
“Was it ajar when you came through the first time?” Detective Beauregard asked.
I closed my eyes and tried to think. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” I opened my eyes and looked at Enza, who was chewing the red lipstick off her lower lip.
“I don’t think so either,” Enza said. “Which means whoever did this was still upstairs when we first started looking.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Which also means that whoever killed Connie slipped downstairs and got away while we were checking out the bathrooms.”
Enza sat up straighter and turned in her chair to face me. “Yeah, but he—”
“How do we know it’s a he?” I asked.
She cocked her head at me. “Strangled? Really? Would a woman do that?” Her hands were flying around, red nails flashing. “I mean, poison, sure. Or a gun. But to get that up close and personal?” She shuddered. “Hardly.”
“Good point.” I said.
“So how did we not see him?”
“Easy,” I said. “He went back into the kitchen.”
“No,” Enza said. “He didn’t know we’d go upstairs. We could have easily gone back the way we came in.”
“True.” I tried to visualize the hallway. “There are at least two closets back there. They were probably unlocked. He could have hidden there.”
“And after he heard us go up the stairs, that’s when he went through the kitchen?”
“I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “I mean, then someone else could have seen him.”
“Ladies?” Detective Beauregard said loudly.
“Yeah,” Enza continued, without so much as a pause. “But did he even know people were there? I mean, the party was over. Unless he knew that poor Connie didn’t drive herself. He probably thought we were the only ones left.”
I shifted my chair, so I was right in front of her. “But he would have heard them.”
“Right. And gone back, where?”
“The bathrooms have an exit to the outside.”
“Would he know that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Enza, did you not see the big red EXIT sign? You know, with the arrow?”
She pointed her index finger. “Excellent point. So, he left through that door…”
“Got in his car and drove off…”
“While we were staring at that poor Connie!” Enza finished triumphantly. She looked at Detective Beauregard. “So, listen, Ms. Beauregard. Detective. Miranda. Can I call you Miranda? All you gotta do is find out which closet he hid in. I’m sure he left traces. And then, check for prints on that back door.”
“The point is,” I said to Detective Beauregard, who was at this point staring at us with her jaw hanging open, “No one here right now did it. The killer is one of the other guests. You can send us all home.”
Ms. Beauregard—Detective—Miranda—closed her eyes and shook her head, as though trying to rid herself of a particularly persistent mosquito. “Are you kidding me?” she said at last, opening her eyes wide.
Enza threw her hands into the air. “Miranda, honey, it makes perfect sense. Get those crime lab boys here ASAP. You need to collect that DNA before it gets stale.”
I leaned toward her and dropped my voice. “I don’t think DNA gets stale.”
“Oh? Well, that’s good. But I’m tellin’ you, the sooner the better, you know? He could be on a boat to Panama by morning.”
Miranda cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows. “Ladies, this is a very interesting theory—”
“Theory my mother’s mustache,” Enza said. She sat back, waved her hands in the air again, then arranged them neatly on her lap. “This case is done.”
Miranda opened her mouth a few times, as though trying to find the words, but an older man in a wrinkled suit interrupted her. He looked vaguely familiar, so at some point, Sam may have introduced us, but I didn’t know who he was.
“Detective?” He asked.
Miranda looked at him, grateful for the interruption. “Yes?”
“We found something.”
Miranda nodded encouragingly. “Okay. What?”
He glanced at Enza and I, then focused back on Miranda. “It looks like the outside access door to the rest rooms, which is usually locked from the inside, was open, indicating someone may have exited the building that way. And we also found some overturned containers in one of the linen closets, along the back corridor.”
Enza sighed happily. “We are so good at this,” she said to me. Then, she looked at Miranda. “And you? You’re welcome.”
Detective Beauregard sat with my mother and her sisters, as well as Peggy and Phyllis, and asked questions, but I had a feeling her heart was not in it. Ted and Cal came up from the house to take Mom and Peggy back to The Manor. Phyllis claimed exhaustion and practically ran out the front door. I invited Enza back to the house with me. Enza glanced at my two aunts, huddled together.
“They’re staying with you?” she asked.
“Yep. It’s my bit to keep New Jersey roads safe.”
“You don’t mind a bit of company?” She leaned toward me and dropped her voice. “We could talk about who killed that poor lady. I don’t have a whole lotta confidence in Miranda here. Why can’t your boyfriend handle this? He looks like someone who could get the job done.”
I had to agree with her there. Sam had tactfully kept his mouth shut, but I could tell his mind was racing.
“Well,” I explained, “he’s technically a suspect. And he’s too close to the case. I don’t imagine the higher-ups would approve.”
Enza made a rude noise. “Yeah, well, the higher-ups can take a—”
I could only imagine what they could take, as a flurry of activity signaled that my aunts were ready to go. Both stood, straightened their clothes, patted down their hair, and sniffed expectantly.
Enza tilted her head at them “They always do that? Move in unison? I mean, that’s a little scary, no?”
I smiled. “You get used to it. Wait until they start filling in each other’s sentences. Then it gets really weird.”
I herded my aunts outside. It had stopped raining, but was dark, and the drive down from the clubhouse looked a bit foreboding.
“It’s not much of a walk.” I told them encouragingly. “You remember where I live? Right at the end there.”
“We have to walk? In that mud?” Aunt Rose asked. “You do remember how old I am, right?”
“I’ll drive you ladies,” Enza offered. “Can’t have one of you breaking a hip. Who would you sue?” She looked at me. “Which house?”
I pointed, and my aunts gratefully piled into the back of Enza’s Mercedes. Sam and I watched as the car careened down the drive, braked, then swung left to stop in front of my house.
“Did she just go about fifty miles an hour to go two hundred yards?” Sam asked as we walked.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“She’s an interesting woman.”
“She certainly is. She thinks you should be handling the case. Her confidence in Miranda is shaky.”
“Detective Beauregard is perfectly capable,” Sam said, his voice neutral.
“I’m sure she is. But is capable enough? It seems to me this case needs your particular brand of brilliance.”
“And now you’re just flattering me.”
“Possibly. I’m trying to increase my odds of getting you in the sack later on.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Ellie, seriously? I’d say the odds are already stacked in your favor.”
“Thanks. So I guess I can’t get you to help Enza and I figure out what happened here?”
He stopped and stared at me. “Excuse me? Did we not have an agreement that you were not going to play detective?”
I tugged at his arm to keep him walking. “I thought we had an agreement about us being a great team.”
“We are a great team. And I know you feel a very personal connection to this. But you need to stay out.” He stopped again. “And Enza? What has she got to do with anything?”
“You should have heard us in with Miranda.”
“Detective Beauregard?”
“Whoever. Enza and I put the whole scenario together in, like, two minutes. We figured everything out except who actually did the killing. We think alike.”
“Oh, that can’t be good.”
I grinned in the darkness. “Maybe we can brainstorm a little?”
He put his arm around my shoulder and drew me close. “Maybe we can talk about going to a Mets game next weekend?”
“What? A baseball game? Have you met me?”
“And here I thought you were perfect.”
We went the rest of the way in happy silence. I was in love. At my age, it seemed close to a miracle that I would find someone who fit so perfectly into my life. We had known each other barely a year, but I was never so sure of anything as I was sure that Sam was the man for me.
I could hear Boot yapping happily as we climbed my front porch. Through the open door, I could see Enza, crouched down, her arms around my dog as Boot tried to lick the makeup off her face. Considering that Enza’s stilettos looked impossible to walk in, it was quite a feat.
“I see you’ve met Boot,” I called as Sam and I entered.
Boot was now trying to climb up Enza’s knees and onto her lap. Enza straightened, and Boot slid down, only to wrap herself around Enza’s ankles.
“Yeah,” Enza said. “Dogs and kids love me.” She nodded toward my kitchen, where my aunts had made an automatic stop. “I think they’re going to try to feed us again. Not that I couldn’t do with a little something-something, but…”
I hurried into the kitchen. Sure enough, Aunt Rose had turned on the oven and Aunt Gloria was pulling things out of the refrigerator. Cait came running down the stairs, saw what was going on, and started to laugh.
“Aunt Rose, we just ate, like a few hours ago,” Cait called.
Aunt Rose sniffed. “It was four hours ago, and having a person brutally strangled right in front of you can cause the appetite to flare a bit.”
“It did not happen right in front of you,” I corrected gently, trying to wrestle a large aluminum tray back into the fridge.
Aunt Rose knocked me back with her hip. “This ziti was delicious. Gloria, is the oven big enough for the chicken too?”
Aunt Gloria nodded, took the tray from her sister and slid it into my oven. “I’ll make room. Was there any bread left over?”
It hurt to see the two of them, bustling around my kitchen, both of them completely in sync. My own mother would have been totally out of place with them, her mind confused and wandering, eyes tired and unfocused.
“How is it the two of you are still running around like twenty year olds?” I asked them.
Aunt Gloria looked at her sister, and they lifted their shoulders exactly the same way.
“Lots of wine?” Aunt Rose suggested.
“Church every Sunday?” Aunt Gloria countered.
“Garlic with every meal. Even breakfast.”
“Never married?”
“No sex?” Aunt Rose giggled. “No, never mind about that one.” Her sister cackled, and they both shook with silent laughter.
Enza came up behind me and murmured, “They could have been in Vaudeville.”
Cait carried plates into the dining room, and Aunt Gloria pulled a few wine bottles off the counter and handed them to Enza.
“Be useful,” Aunt Gloria said. “Did you do the cooking?”
Enza took the bottles and shook her head. “No. That was Phyllis. She’s a royal pain in my keister, but she’s worth it. Those meatballs?”
Aunt Gloria found the corkscrew. “A religious experience. Here. Open up. My nerves are shattered.”
Sam had stepped back out to the porch, phone to his ear, but now he came in again, clapping his hands together. “More food? Excellent. Can I help?”
“Who was on the phone?” I asked.
“No one.”
“Or John?” I lifted one eyebrow, which I could not really do well, but liked to think it made me look like I knew something that no one else did.
Sam smiled. “Not my case.”
Enza managed to herd him into the living room and onto the couch, even though she had her hands full of wine bottles, glasses, and a corkscrew. “But Sam, we’re just friends here, right? Talking?” She had two glasses poured and was handing him one before I even sat down.
Sam sipped his wine and glanced at me. “Yes, it was John.”
“And?” I asked.
“Her earring was missing.”
Enza’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that important?”
He shrugged. “It might be. Anything that’s out of the ordinary could be important.”
Enza looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Like finding a body isn’t out of the ordinary?”
“Well,” I reminded her, “he is a homicide detective.”
“Where’s that wine?” Aunt Rose called from the dining room. We got up and moved, sitting ourselves around my table which now looked liked the buffet table from the party, but in miniature.
Aunt Gloria bowed her head. I hadn’t said a prayer before a meal in decades but knew the drill.
“God,” Aunt Gloria intoned, “Bless this food, for which we are grateful, especially the meatballs. Bless our company, those we love and those we will come to love. Protect our servicemen, and help us be kind to others. And let the police find the son of a bitch who killed that poor woman. Amen.”
A murmur went around the table.
My daughter Tessa grinned. “Mom, why don’t we pray before dinner?”
Aunt Rose rapped the table with her knuckles, and everyone, except her sister, jumped.
“You don’t pray?” she asked accusingly. “What kind of good Catholic girl are you?”
Enza tore apart a piece of bread. “Probably the same kind as me. A bad Catholic girl. Could you pass the chicken, Sam?”
I focused on Tessa. “We go to church, honey.”
“Just on the holidays,” Tessa countered. As she got older, her willingness to argue over everything and anything grew.
“They’re called the High Holy Days,” Aunt Gloria corrected.
“We call them holidays,” I shot back, then reined in my defensiveness. “There are way too many High Holy Days to keep track of. We just hit the really important ones.”
Both of my aunts sniffed, in unison, with equal attitude.
“But we don’t pray,” Tessa pressed.
I looked at my lovely, feisty daughter and smiled. “Maybe you don’t, dear,” I said. “But I pray all the time. Especially for strength to keep from sending you off to a boarding school, preferably somewhere in the Swiss Alps.”
Tessa, in her quest to become the master of all things sarcastic, knew a good one when she heard it.
“Point taken, Mom.”
Cait had been watching Enza and me. “The two of you are certainly getting along,” she said.
Enza washed down a mouthful with some wine. “Ellie and I have a common goal. Justice. We managed to piece together the entire crime. Without the murderer, of course, but we are, what?” She looked at me and grinned. “Sympatico?”
Sam cleared his throat deliberately. “Ellie has, in the past, gotten a little too close to actual danger in her quest for, um, justice. In fact, she has pretty much vowed to stay away from all crime solving altogether. Right Ellie?”
“Of course,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate full of food.
“That’s a shame,” Enza went on. “’Cause I gotta tell you, I don’t think Miranda is up to the job. This case could benefit from a little outside interference.”
“Detective Beauregard,” Sam said smoothly, “along with Detective Monroe, is more than qualified to handle this case. No outside anything is needed.”
“Good,” Tessa said. “I hate it when Mom decides to snoop around.”
I looked at her in surprise. “Really? You never told me that.”
“You never asked,” she shot back.
I put my fork down in exasperation. “Tessa, my asking or not asking has never stopped you from expressing an opinion. In fact, you sometimes express opinions randomly at the most inopportune times.”
“Well,” she sniffed. “I’m saying it now.”
“Oh, so you’re worried about me?” I asked. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Of course,” she answered without skipping a beat. “If something happened to you, I’d end up with Dad and that drippy girlfriend of his.”
“You’ve known Lou your whole life,” I argued. “She’s a great person.”
“Maybe. But she’d be a crappy stepmom.” Tessa pushed her plate aside. “And I’d have to live in Dad’s apartment, and my room there is, like, the size of a closet. I think it is a closet. Can I go?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head slightly. “Please.”
As soon as we heard her step on the stairs, Aunt Gloria and Aunt Rose started snorting with laughter.
“She’s just like you,” Aunt Gloria gasped. “Just exactly like you when you were her age.”
I glared at them both. “I did not behave like that.”
Aunt Rose had to compose herself by emptying her wine glass. “Yes you did. Leona used to call us up after you went to sleep and cry.”
Cait was choking down silent laughter. Enza was carefully pouring more wine. Sam sat with his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips.
“Not funny,” I said loudly.
But…it was.
The party really got started after Ted and Cal returned, and despite their assurances they could not—repeat, NOT—eat another bite, my aunts got up, fussed, reheated things, and opened more wine.
“How’s Mom?” I asked.
Ted, knowing that when it came to Aunt Rose and Aunt Gloria, resistance was futile, drank some wine and dipped a bit of bread in warm marinara sauce. “She’s fine, I guess. She caused quite a bit of a scene when she got back, I have to say. She kept demanding that Dominick be arrested. She yelled at the director and insisted that his room be searched for the elusive gun. Then she went after that poor woman, Justine?” He started to laugh. “As though Justine could be an accomplice.”
Cal was slumped in his chair, shaking his head. “The police had just notified the director of Connie’s death, and the residents hadn’t been told. And there was Leona, ranting about murder and revenge. Everyone was confused.”
“And traumatized,” Ted added.
Aunt Gloria made a face. “I love my sister, you know I do, but such a drama queen!” She pushed a newly warmed plate of chicken Marsala toward my brother. “Eat.”
Enza, her eyes big and bright from maybe too much wine, leaned forward. “Were they back from the police? Dominick and Roberta?”
“No. I don’t think so,” Ted said. He looked at Cal. “I’m not sure. Did you see them?”
Cal maneuvered some ziti around a meatball. “No.”
Enza raised her eyebrows in Sam’s general direction. “So I imagine they’re still being questioned?”
Sam’s lips twitched as he tried to hide a smile. “I imagine they snuck in the back door and are now asleep in their beds.”
“Let’s look at this,” I said, carefully looking away from Sam. “Unless we’re talking about some random strangler who just happened to pick Connie out of all the guests, whoever did this must have known her. And that means someone from The Manor. Except that everyone from The Manor had an alibi for the time of the murder.”
“True.” Sam said evenly. “Which means by some coincidence, another guest, or perhaps even someone working the event, knew her previous to her moving into The Manor. After all, she wasn’t born there. She lived a long life and presumably knew all sorts of people.”
“She knew a lot of the same people we did,” Aunt Gloria said. “She grew up just four blocks from us. Now, that’s quite a distance when it comes to the old neighborhoods, but she went to the same high school as us. We were talking to her about that, playing the catch-up game.”
“So, professionally speaking, you could be a suspect,” Sam said, smiling openly now. “How about it ladies, care to share with us?”
Aunt Rose waggled a finger at him. “Don’t mess with us, young man,” she cautioned. “We grew up wild in the mean streets of Newark. We’re capable of anything.”
Ted rolled his eyes. “Your mean streets were the closest thing to Mayberry I think I’ve ever seen. Ellie and I never felt anything but safe. Hell, we knew everyone on the whole block, and we were just visitors.”
Aunt Gloria sighed. “It’s different now, but not by much. Every neighborhood has its ups and downs. Ours too.”
There was a general shuffling as the table was cleared, and I led my aunts upstairs. Ted and Cal already had the guest room, so I showed them into my room, where they could share the king-size bed and private bath. I’d bunk with Cait or Tessa.
“Let me change the sheets,” I offered, “and I’ll get you clean towels. I have extra toothbrushes, and we can find you both something to sleep in.” I looked at the two of them, standing together by the window, hands folded in the same way, heads tilted at exactly the same angle.
“We can change our own sheets, thank you,” Aunt Gloria said. “We don’t need maid service.”
I grinned. “Right. Will you come downstairs?”
“Ellie, dear, it’s barely nine o’clock,” Aunt Rose said. “Of course we’ll be down. We could both use a nightcap.”
I dug up clean sheets and left them. As I came downstairs, I could hear Sam laughing. His laugh always warmed my heart—it was big and real and deep, and made anyone who heard it smile, even if they weren’t in on the joke.
Enza, it seemed, was the main source of entertainment, standing in front of the fireplace, her hands moving, brightly colored nails flashing. She was still in those high heels, her legs long and sleek. She’d been wearing a clingy sheath dress and short jacket, and after a long day of setting up, running around, serving food and murder, she looked as fresh as she’d looked this morning.
I, on the other hand, felt wrung out. Pardon the cliché, but—yes, like a dishrag.
Enza saw me, and she waved me down the stairs. “I was just telling them all about how we cracked this case wide open,” she said.
I glanced at Sam, who looked amused, even interested.
“I’m sure the police would have figured it all out,” I said, leaning against the chair by the fireplace where Sam sat. “They’re pretty good at this sort of thing.”
Enza tossed her head. “Just think of all the time we saved them. I’m telling you, Sam, Ellie and I could finish this if you let us.”
I looked from Enza to Sam. Somehow, in slightly more than five minutes, she had managed to establish some sort of relationship with him that allowed for not only familiarity, but also a sense of coconspiracy.
“Sam and I have an agreement,” I said. “I don’t snoop.”
She glanced around the room, spotted her large purse, and scooped it up. “In spite of the circumstances,” she said, “it was quite lovely meeting you all.” She jerked her head. “Ellie, wanna walk me out?”
I got up and followed her outside. As soon as I closed the front door behind me, she looped her arm through mine, and we walked to her car together.
“Listen, your Sam in there is one sharp guy, and he knows this whole thing could get bungled fast. I think you and I should try to figure a few things out.”
“Enza, I promised Sam—”
“Maybe, but I didn’t. Just see what you can find out from him, and in a few days maybe we can meet for coffee, you know? Just to talk things out?”
She got into her Mercedes, made a U-turn in the street, and roared off, her brake lights flashing briefly as she almost, but not quite, stopped at the end of the street before disappearing down the hill.