by Cat Chandler
Catherine’s twin gave a short nod before finally looking over at Nicki and acknowledging her presence. “Spy novels, I believe?”
Her underlying tone told Nicki just how little Cynthia thought of “spy novels”. But she really didn’t care about Cynthia’s low opinion of her books. She enjoyed writing about Tyrone Blackstone’s international adventures, and her books helped pay the bills. That’s all that mattered to her.
“Isn’t that a new look for you, dear?”
Touché, Nicki thought, although she was polite enough to keep her grin to herself. Maxie’s tone made it clear what she thought about the clearly dyed, black hair chopped off into a ragged pixie cut. It had a punk-lifestyle look to it that was completely at odds with the prim white blouse and matching sweater over dark blue pants and sensible, thick-soled shoes. Except for the same height and build as her sister, no one would ever mistake the fashionable Catherine and odd-looking Cynthia as twins.
“Her hair turned out great, didn’t it?” Ramona didn’t even glance at her aunt as she said it. “It turned out to be a good thing when that stupid Mira at her beauty shop ruined the mousy-brown color and deadly dull cut Aunt Cynthia had kept for years. This new cut is much more in tune with today’s dark vibe.”
Nicki at least agreed it gave off a dark vibe. Whether it was great or not, was a matter of opinion. But on Cynthia Dunton, it looked like it was at war with the rest of her.
“Your mother didn’t care for it,” Cynthia said. “And I have to agree with her. But it was the best that could be done under the circumstances.”
“Yes, well, sometimes we just have to march on,” Maxie said. “Why don’t we sit down and go over your mother’s writing? Maybe Nicki and Cynthia could get us something to drink. I’d like coffee, if there’s any available. No cream or sugar. If there isn’t any, a glass of ice water will be fine as well.” She gave a brief wave toward the kitchen before latching onto Ramona’s arm and propelling her toward the sofa.
“I’d be happy to help,” Nicki was quick to offer, since she wanted to have a look in the kitchen.
Cynthia didn’t say a word. She simply turned and walked toward the arched opening into the dining room.
Nicki followed, taking as much of a look around the room where Catherine had been murdered as she could before she stepped through the doorway leading into the kitchen. It was a reasonably sized space. Not quite as large as Nicki’s, but large enough to accommodate three or four people during a meal preparation. Cynthia headed straight for the coffee maker, one of the few appliances out on the otherwise starkly clean and unadorned counters. Nicki came up beside her and discreetly began to open the drawers under the countertop on her right.
“Are you thinking Catherine kept her coffee cups in the drawers?” Cynthia asked, never taking her eyes off the pot she was filling with water from the faucet hanging over the farmhouse sink. Nicki tried not to wince as Cynthia used tap water for coffee. “Of course not. Unlike Maxie, I prefer sugar in my coffee.”
“So you think she kept her sugar bowl in the drawers?”
“Maybe sugar packets.” Nicki managed to keep her voice pleasant despite the hostility she heard in Cynthia’s tone. “Or a spoon to stir the coffee?”
Cynthia turned to face Nicki, the coffeepot gripped tight in one hand. “I may not be as glamorous or famous as you or Maxie Edwards, but I’m not stupid either. What are you looking for?”
Nicki met the bald, direct question in the same manner. “For the knife drawer. I don’t see a butcher block with a set out on the counter, so I’m assuming Catherine kept all her knives in a drawer.”
The older woman pointed to a drawer on the other side of the sink. “She kept them in there. And when you’re finished looking, feel free to snoop around anywhere else in the kitchen.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Nicki forced out a sunny smile and a “thanks” before she stepped around Cynthia and opened the drawer that contained the knives. She sifted through them, looking for another Zelite knife. But no luck. She carefully ran a thumb across several of the blades before she closed the drawer.
Deciding she couldn’t possibly sink any lower in Cynthia’s opinion, Nicki stepped over to the small built-in desk next to the door leading to the outside patio. There were only a few papers on top, and the only one that caught her eye was a receipt from an auction house. The item listed was a Madame Alexander doll. Nicki had seen four of them in a glass-enclosed case in the corner of the living room. The amount paid wasn’t excessive, so she set that aside and opened the only small drawer the desk had. All it contained were a few pens and pencils, a grocery list and a large sticky note pad. Sighing, Nicki closed the drawer and turned to face Cynthia who was staring at her.
“Find what you were looking for?”
Nicki smiled and pointed to the tray sitting on the kitchen counter. “I see the coffee is ready. Can I carry that in for you?”
Cynthia didn’t answer her but kept her stare fixed on Nicki’s face. “Before you ask any prying questions that will upset my niece, I’ll be happy to tell you the same thing we both told the police chief. I was home alone when Catherine was murdered, and my niece was alone in a friend’s apartment as well. Neither one of use can account for our time during the murder, but then since neither one of us killed Catherine, we don’t have to. And a little help with this tray would be nice.”
Again Nicki ignored the hostility clearly ringing in Cynthia’s voice. She walked over, picked up the tray, and without another word said between them, led the way back to the living room.
Maxie and Ramona were still occupying the sofa. Maxie was reading over a journal while Ramona sat watching her, her arms folded in front of her and a bored expression on her face. She looked up when Nicki and Cynthia came into the room.
“I guess you found everything okay.” Ramona jerked her head toward Maxie. “She’s still looking mom’s stuff over.” Her gaze shifted to her aunt. “She said it might take a while to get anything published, and even then any money would go into the estate.”
“Ramona is concerned that her education will be disrupted if she has to wait for the funds.” Maxie closed the journal in her hands and set it on the far side of the table before moving the rest of the papers aside as well. “You can set the tray down right here, dear.”
“I’m not that concerned,” Ramona declared. “Aunt Cynthia showed me a copy of mom’s will. She left her whole estate to me, and my aunt is the executor.”
“Executrix,” her aunt corrected before looking over at Nicki. “And before you ask, I had a copy of the will because Catherine insisted I have one. She put everything into a trust for her daughter to be overseen by me until Ramona turns thirty-five.”
“Probably because dad’s trust says until I turn thirty.” Ramona stuck her lip out in a pout worthy of any toddler. “Doesn’t seem fair. But at least Aunt Cyn can give me the money I need.”
“To study abroad?” Maxie smiled when Ramona shot her a mutinous look. “Your mother told me you were interested in going to school in Europe for a year.”
“I’m going to travel, but not to study. I’m going to take some time off from school.” Ramona reached over and started to dump sugar into one of the coffee cups. “I don’t know for how long yet. But I’m leaving right after the memorial service. Aunt Cyn said she’d give me the money.”
“When is the memorial service?” Nicki asked.
“Mom’s friend, Suzanne, is arranging it. She said she’ll let me know, but promised it would be in a couple of days. A week at the latest. And then I’m gone.” Ramona sat back, leaving the coffee cup on the table after she’d taken only one sip.
Maxie shook her head. “That’s a shame. The Ladies in Writing Society is planning on having a memorial lunch for your mother at our next meeting in a few weeks.” She glanced over at Cynthia. “We’d hoped you’d both be able to attend.”
Ramona looked away and shrugged. “I’ll be in Paris by then.”
Chapter Forty-T
wo
Nicki and Maxie had let themselves out of the house, leaving Ramona and her aunt sitting silently in the living room of Catherine’s cottage. Halfway down the stone walkway, Maxie let out a heavy sigh.
“It’s a sad thing when someone you know is mourned so little by the family.”
Nicki glanced back over her shoulder toward the porch. Cynthia Dunton was standing in front of the living room window, looking out at them. “I think the daughter has her defenses solidly up, and is hurting more than she’s letting on.” She turned her gaze toward the car where Matt was leaning against the trunk, waiting for them. “But I’m surprised by Cynthia’s reaction. Catherine was her twin.”
“Who was her polar opposite and according to what Suzanne told you, hung onto the purse strings.” Maxie pointed out.
Matt grinned at the two women walking toward him. He ran a hand through his thick dark hair, leaving a strand of it sticking straight up. Seeing it, Nicki smiled. The picture he made reminded her of the first time she’d seen Matt, during a Skype call, when both of them had been sitting under some kind of grade-school-hallway lighting with a beige wall in back of them. Nicki’s was in the small apartment in San Francisco that she’d been living in at the time, and Matt’s was behind his desk in his cramped office in Kansas City. That was almost three years ago.
Maxie was right. He’d needed to do something other than stand on the sidelines while they had talked to Ramona and Cynthia. If nothing else, to take his mind off his rumbling stomach. Nicki could hear it when they got closer. She guessed that half an English muffin and the quick cup of coffee he’d confessed to having for breakfast after a long night of working late, was wearing off. She was always amazed at the amount of food Matt could eat, and was certain that by now he was probably starving.
“Find out anything interesting?” he asked, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“There’s not one other Zelite knife in Catherine’s kitchen,” Nicki said. She settled herself next to Matt and mimicked his stance of leaning against the car trunk. “And Catherine left everything in a trust to her daughter, which Cynthia will control.” She turned her head to look at Matt, her lips twitching up into a smile. “And neither of them have an alibi for the night of the murder.”
“And neither of them seem too upset about Catherine’s death,” Maxie added with a sniff and a frown. “They’re even allowing Suzanne to plan the memorial service. Oh, and Cynthia had a disaster at the hair salon, resulting in a cut and color that is most unfortunate.”
“Beatrice Riley mentioned the same thing.” When both women gave him a questioning look, Matt nodded. “She said Cynthia stopped by a week ago, to introduce herself and bring Mrs. Riley a plate of chocolate chip brownies.” His eyes laughed at Nicki from behind the large lenses of his glasses. “She said they were the best brownies she’d ever had. That was right before she mentioned Cynthia’s hair. Cynthia told her that some new person at her shop had simply ruined it so badly that she’d ended up with orange hair, and she’d covered her head with a scarf she was so embarrassed.”
“Something I would have continued to do rather than walk around with that shaggy look she has now.” Maxie crossed her arms and tapped one foot. “I don’t know who deserves to be shot more. The woman who turned her hair orange, or the one who fixed it.”
Nicki bit her lip to keep from laughing. After all, such a hair disaster as Cynthia Dunton clearly experienced was no laughing matter.
“Did Mrs. Riley have any other tidbits of information?”
Matt leaned back a little more, raising his face to the sun as his stomach continued to grumble.
“Well, she recognized you as the person who solved that winemaker’s murder.” He smiled at Nicki. “Her words, not mine. She also said she’d ‘swear on a stack of Bible’s to Chief Turnlow himself’ that no one else came out of the house after she saw you and Rob go in, and she didn’t see anyone go into the house all day, except for Catherine.”
“And unless she’s changed her habit, which is highly unlikely, she wasn’t monitoring the street from five to six o’clock because she was making her dinner and then watching the news.” Maxie nodded at Nicki’s raised eyebrow. “Everyone in the neighborhood knows Beatrice’s schedule.”
Matt straightened out his long frame and grinned at Maxie. “Beatrice has a whole list of who she called ‘uppity people’, and I’m afraid you were on it.” He laughed at Maxie’s snort. “And so were Catherine and Ramona. According to Mrs. Riley, neither of them so much as looked her way, not even when she was out on the porch. She thought Catherine wouldn’t have been at all happy if she’d known that Beatrice had a key to her house. I guess a tenant there about five years ago, gave it to her to help water her plants when she was gone. The landlord has never changed those locks.”
“A key?” Nicki pushed away from the car, her brow furrowed in thought. “Does she still have the key?”
Matt nodded. “I asked her that very same question. She said she went and checked the minute she heard someone had entered into Catherine’s home and killed her. Beatrice said the key is right where she left it.”
“Oh,” Nicki deflated a bit. “I guess that would have been too easy.”
“Uh huh,” Matt agreed. He put an arm around her shoulders. “And Beatrice Riley had heard all about your interrogation methods, too. So she’s expecting the same treatment.”
Nicki wasn’t too sure she liked the sound of that. “What has she heard?”
“That you bribe with treats, dear. It’s all over town, of course.” Maxie eyed the tall editor. “What did you promise Beatrice to get her to talk?”
“I told her Nicki could make just about anything she’d like, but that her raspberry tarts were really good. So that’s what she wants. And she’ll be at the Ladies in Writing charity event on Saturday, so she can pick them up there.”
When Nicki groaned and smacked him in the arm, Matt took a quick step away from her. “What was that for?”
Chapter Forty-Three
Maxie slid into the driver’s seat of her car and shut the door. She tapped her polished nails against the leather-covered steering wheel before she turned toward Nicki.
“Suzanne is doing the memorial service? I still can’t believe that’s what I heard Catherine’s daughter say.”
“That’s what Beatrice said too,” Matt volunteered from the back seat. “I think she called it ridiculous.”
“Of course it is. What grown daughter can’t be bothered to plan her own mother’s memorial service,” Maxie snapped. “And I didn’t get so much as a text message from Suzanne about it.”
Nicki’s eyes opened wider as she stared back at Maxie. She’d only known the genealogist for two years, but in all that time she’d never heard Maxie raise her voice or show the least sign of being angry. Maxie had proclaimed on more than one occasion that any negative emotions were a waste of energy. And at her age, she didn’t have that much to waste.
“I’m sure Suzanne only wants to help,” Nicki ventured. “She and Catherine were very close friends.”
“More like joined at the hip,” Maxie said as she put her foot clad in a fashionable high-heeled sandal onto the brake and pushed the start button for the engine. “So of course she’d want to be part of the memorial.”
After she’d pulled out onto the street, Matt leaned forward and rested his arm on the edge of the front seat. “Then I don’t understand why you have a problem with her planning the memorial service?”
“I don’t have a problem with it. We have a problem, meaning the Ladies in Writing Society has one.”
“How so?” Nicki asked.
Maxie turned off the square, away from Matt’s hotel.
“Where are we going?” he asked. “The hotel is the other way.”
“To Suzanne’s of course. She simply isn’t capable of planning a memorial and the Society’s charity event at the same time. Especially since Catherine was the organized one of the two of them, and
she was co-chair along with Suzanne.”
Suddenly Maxie’s concern became crystal clear to Nicki. The charity event, with baked goods, arts and crafts and donated items for sale, along with several demonstrations in painting, ceramics and cooking, was scheduled for this Saturday, to coincide with the festival going on in town this weekend. And that was just three days away.
“With everything going on, I hadn’t given it a thought, and if any other of the members were chairing it, I’m sure it would be just fine. But Suzanne gets flustered so easily, and I haven’t received any progress reports from her in the last few days. I might have to reassign an emergency chairwoman to get us through this last push. Especially if Suzanne is going to be spending all her time planning Catherine’s memorial.” She pursed her lips. “Let me think.”
“Maybe you could think while we stop at a drive-thru and grab a quick bite?” Matt asked.
“We can get something in town after we call on Suzanne,” Maxie said. “It will be my treat, dear.”
Nicki grinned when Matt gave a huge sigh and plopped back into his seat. She turned to wink at him just as he gave a clearly longing look at Mel’s Burgers as they whizzed past. With an air of nonchalance, she held up a paper bag she’d left on the floor next to the passenger seat and jiggled it.
“What’s that?” Matt asked, eying the bag.
“Maybe some brownies that didn’t quite make it onto the plate that I left with Ramona and her aunt.” Nicki gave a startled yelp when a long arm flashed over the seat back and grabbed the bag right out of her hand.
“You’d better not be messing with me, Connors,” he said as he quickly unrolled the top of the bag. He looked up and gave her a huge smile.
“I’d never be that mean to you, Dillon,” she laughed.
