She thought about his words for a moment, then nodded. “That’s true enough, I guess.”
“Look,” he continued, “I’ve got a million platitudes I could spout, but the bottom line is that you got lucky with the people who adopted you. Not everyone is that lucky.”
“That’s for sure.”
Mac leaned forward. “We touched on it before, but seriously, why don’t you just ask the Jorgensens if they gave up a baby for adoption? That way, you get your answer without having to go through all that DNA rigmarole, and then the ball is in your court. You can decide to be friends with them or never see them again.”
She pondered his words. “The ball’s in my court. I like that.”
“But wait,” I said. “What if Matthew didn’t know there was a baby? If you bring up the subject, it could get ugly.”
Mac perked up at the idea of intrigue. “So you think Petsy could’ve had a child out of wedlock and given it up before Matthew found out. I like it.” He flashed Amanda a sheepish grin. “I can get a little carried away with my theories.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Amanda said. “But I was thinking. They call that house the Jorgensen house, right? So doesn’t that mean that Matthew’s family has always lived there?”
“Yeah,” I said, recalling that the place had been known as the Jorgensen house for as long as I could remember.
“So if Petsy had a baby by another man, I wouldn’t be related to Matthew.”
“True.”
“So then why do I look so much like his ancestor?”
“Wow,” Mac said, grinning. “Good deduction. I’m impressed.”
“Me, too.” I pursed my lips as I thought about it. “That never even occurred to me, but you’re right. You would have to be Matthew’s daughter.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad,” she said quietly.
“He’s a lovely man,” I said. “I have no idea how or why he ever hooked up with Petsy.”
“Does Matthew have a brother?” Mac asked.
Amanda gasped, then clapped her hands. “Good question.”
Mac grinned. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“And not a bad Elvis impression, either,” I said, laughing with him. After a moment, I sobered. “I don’t remember if Matthew has a brother, but it would be easy enough to find out.”
Then I remembered something. “Petsy said that Matthew’s nephews destroyed the paneling in the dining room. And Matthew told us that he has three siblings. One of them could’ve given up a child for adoption.”
“Maybe he’s got a sister,” Mac said. “She could’ve given up a child for adoption for any number of reasons.”
I frowned. “I guess I could find out the names of any siblings and track down where they’re living now.”
“If it matters,” Mac added.
“Right. We could still be talking about Matthew.”
We sat with our own thoughts for a moment; then Mac said, “Not to change the subject or anything, but do we know who killed the building inspector?”
Amanda winced. “I’ve been so hung up on my own problems, I forgot all about the murder of that poor man.”
“Your problem is important,” Mac assured her.
I gazed at Mac. “No, we don’t know who killed Joe Scully.” Turning to Amanda I added, “But we need to think about your situation, too.”
Especially since Joe Scully was already dead, while Amanda was very much alive. And as far as I was concerned, her problem was much more intriguing.
“So, we’ve got to find out who your parents are,” I continued. “And we’ve also got to find a killer. And as usual, we’ve got too many questions and not enough answers in both cases.”
“As usual,” Mac murmured.
Amanda looked a little puzzled by that comment so I hastened to explain as discreetly as I could. “Over the past few years, there have been one or two unexplained deaths that Mac and I have taken an interest in solving.”
Mac seemed surprised by my explanation, but I refused to increase the number of bodies. I figured that if Amanda knew the real body count, she wouldn’t want to hang around with me anymore.
“What should we do now?” Amanda asked.
“Good question. There’s so much going on.” I walked over to the sideboard and pulled a notepad and pen out of a drawer. “I think it’s time we made a list.”
Chapter Six
Okay, maybe making a list wasn’t the most exciting activity I could’ve proposed. But ever since we first met, Mac and I had somehow been involved in many of the murder cases that had occurred in town. It just seemed natural that we would get together and brainstorm motives and suspects and try to figure out who had the most to gain from the victim’s death.
It wasn’t as if our lives revolved around solving horrible homicides, but hey, after being suspected of murder on more than one occasion, I’d taken a real interest in coming up with alternative theories. Plus, Mac made his living by devising elaborate mystery plots and then laying down clues for his readers to try to unmask the killer before the end of the book. And in the case of Joe Scully, since the murder had occurred in my new client’s orangery, and since I was one of the first people to find him, and knew many of the people who might’ve held a grudge against him, I was eager to figure it all out.
Problem was, I had just now realized that I didn’t want to talk about any of it in front of Amanda. I had three reasons to keep her out of the loop. First of all, she was too new to Lighthouse Cove, and while I liked her, I barely knew her. Second, she was essentially my employee, so I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about me as I delved into grisly topics such as murders and weapons and suspects and motives.
And third, I had no choice but to consider Amanda a suspect. I really didn’t want to, because, as I mentioned before, I liked Amanda. But again, she was new in town, and frankly, she seemed to have a lot of secrets. Plus, she had talked to Joe Scully in order to get information about me. Knowing Scully, I wouldn’t have put it past him to turn around and insist on payback from her. Would that be enough to drive someone like Amanda to murder? I doubted it. In fact, I couldn’t see Amanda killing anyone ever. And yet, I still had to circle back to the fact that I barely knew her. Yes, I liked her. I even trusted her, sort of, despite all the ways she had been less than truthful with me.
The bottom line was that I wanted to wait until Mac and I were alone before enthusiastically digging into the reasons why certain people deserved to be on our suspect list and what their various motives for murder might have been.
Truly, we knew how to have a good time.
After I’d brought out more cookies and chips, I picked up my pen. “First, let’s figure out how we can broach the subject of baby Amanda and the Jorgensens.”
“There’s no way I can talk about this with Petsy,” she said firmly, with a shake of her head for emphasis. “She’s just too formidable.”
I had to agree with her. I didn’t want to talk to Petsy about the weather, let alone something private. The woman was scary.
“But you could talk to Matthew,” I said.
She took a deep breath. “I’d have to build up to it.”
“We could do it together,” I offered. “Find a way to start a conversation about Baltimore or families or children or, I don’t know. But somewhere in the middle we could casually mention that you were adopted.”
“I’m not sure how a subject like that would come up naturally.”
“What if I brought it up?” I said. “I could say something like”—I struck a pose and began—“‘Matthew, it’s so interesting that Amanda looks like your ancestor in the painting. Did you know she was adopted? Maybe the two of you are long-lost relatives. Wouldn’t that be remarkable?’” I glanced at the two of them. “How does that sound?”
Mac grinned. “Not awkward at all.”
I laughed. “Okay, fine. But you get the idea.”
“Sure. You’re just trying to start a conversation.”
“Exactly.”
“And that could work.” He turned to Amanda. “What do you think? Would you be comfortable with that approach?”
Another deep breath, then a halfhearted smile. “Nothing about any of this will be comfortable, but at least the conversation will be started.”
“What about talking to the daughter?” Mac asked. “Think she knows anything?”
“I doubt it,” I said, and glanced at Amanda.
She gave a clueless shrug. “I don’t think so, either. She’s kind and friendly, but she seems a little removed from the family dynamic. And who could blame her?”
“How do you mean?” he asked.
“She moved away to San Francisco,” I explained. “And when she was younger, they sent her to boarding school.”
“By her request?” he asked.
“Possibly,” I said. “If Petsy were my mother, I’d be begging to go away to school.”
Amanda said, “But Lindsey and Matthew are great together. They talk and laugh and enjoy each other’s company. Then Petsy comes around, and Lindsey clams up. It feels like it’s a pattern they’ve been following for years. Can’t blame Lindsey for that, either.”
“Agreed,” I said. “She’s probably spent a lifetime being slapped down by her mother.”
“In that case,” Mac said, “it sounds like Matthew would be the best person to start a conversation with.”
Amanda thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think so, too.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get the conversational ball rolling if you want me to. And I’ll try not to embarrass you.”
“You couldn’t,” Amanda insisted, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “I’m just so grateful for your help.”
There was a break in the conversation and we all reached for chips and cookies. A moment later, Mac said, “You know, I’d like to revisit the DNA angle. But first, I’m wondering if you have a strict time limit set for finding out if you’re related to these people.”
Amanda frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, were you hoping to find a long-lost relative in order to get a kidney transplant or something?”
She chuckled. “No. I don’t need any kidneys right now. I just want to know who I am. I’d like to get to know my birth family. I want to know where I belong.”
I glanced at Mac and could tell what he was thinking. Be careful what you wish for. I didn’t say it aloud, but I totally agreed. Especially after meeting Petsy Jorgensen. I would never want to learn that she was my mother.
“In that case,” Mac said, “I think you should go ahead and try to find one of their hairbrushes. I’ll take it to my buddy in San Francisco and we’ll get the analysis done.”
“You’d do that? Thank you so much.”
I wrote hairbrush on my list. Because making lists was one of the great joys in my life.
“When you find the brush,” Mac said, “try to pick out strands of hair with the root attached. Otherwise, it’s not much use.”
“Okay,” she said. “Are there other ways to get DNA?”
“There are dozens of ways.” He grinned. “Want to hear them?”
“Sure.”
“Some are a little grisly.”
Amanda made a face. “I figured, but give me some ideas anyway. I might not be able to find anyone’s hairbrush.”
“Good idea. So, you can also look for chewed gum, or dried blood, fingernail clippings, a used tissue, a toothbrush, even a sweaty T-shirt. You want more? I can get into bodily fluids.”
“You should probably stop right there,” I said. “We don’t want to get totally grossed out.”
“I’m already there,” Amanda said, grimacing.
“Sorry,” Mac said, but he looked rather pleased with himself.
“I just realized,” I said, glancing from Mac to Amanda, “we should probably try to find two different hairbrushes.”
“Good thinking,” he said. “We should analyze both Matthew’s and Petsy’s DNA.”
I frowned. “And you know they probably sleep in separate bedrooms.”
“So how am I supposed to sneak into both of their rooms?”
“We might be able to do it on different days,” I suggested. “Or we could ask Matthew or Lindsey for a tour of the house.”
“I could see asking Lindsey. As long as Petsy isn’t home.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “None of this happens unless Petsy’s out of the house.”
“Matthew’s already offered to show us his studio.”
“Oh, that’s right. And while we’re up there, one of us can beg to use the bathroom.”
“And while we’re in the bathroom, we scout around for some hair,” she said, rubbing her hands together.
I was glad to see her finally getting into the spirit of the search. And that reminded me of something. I jumped up and jogged into the kitchen, grabbed what I wanted, and returned. “Here are a few Baggies,” I said, handing them to Amanda. “You can carry them with you, put whatever you find in there, zip it up, and stick the Baggie back in your pocket.”
“That’s so smart.” She stood up and shoved them into her back pocket. “Thank you.”
Mac grinned and nodded. “I think you’re good to go.”
• • •
With our new plan of action worked out, Mac and I drove Amanda back to her truck parked on Cranberry Circle.
I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost quitting time. You might as well take the rest of the day off and save your energy for tomorrow and the next day.”
“Sounds good to me, boss,” she said with a grin and, after thanking me again, jogged to her truck.
As soon as she started the truck’s engine, Mac slowly drove off.
As we turned onto Main Street, something occurred to me. “Would you be willing to drive out to the old Jenkins farm before you go home?”
“Where’s the Jenkins farm?”
“It’s about two miles east of town.”
“Take Main Street?”
“Yes. Then turn right on Queen Anne Hill Road and go for another mile or so.”
“Who are the Jenkinses?”
“The farm belongs to someone else now. It’s some guy who wants to marry Marigold.”
I must have sounded annoyed, because he flashed me a look. “Are you opposed to the idea?”
“I’m not for or against it. Yet. I’ve never met him before. None of the girls have met him. In fact, we’ve never even seen him.”
“Sounds suitably suspicious,” he said. “Let’s go check him out.”
On the way out of town, we talked about Amanda.
“I don’t want her working alone inside the Jorgensen house,” I said. “I think Petsy overheard our conversation in the hall with Matthew and I have no idea what she’ll do.”
Mac scowled. “Do you think Petsy would try to hurt her?”
I thought about it. Amanda was young and in great shape from the kind of work she did. Petsy was thin and probably worked out regularly, but she didn’t have the kind of agility and strength that Amanda had.
“No,” I said finally. “She wouldn’t be able to hurt Amanda physically. But she can be cruel and I refuse to give her the opportunity.”
And if she did try to attack Amanda, I would pull my crew off the job and walk away. But I doubted it would come to that. Petsy was rude and imperious with me and my crew, but I couldn’t picture her being violent with anyone. In any event, I would be sticking close by most of the time, so Amanda and I would present a united front.
Fifteen minutes later, Mac turned into the long driveway leading to the farmhouse on the old Jenkins property. I was surprised to see three gi
gantic wind turbines standing several hundred feet away where the Jenkins property began to rise slightly higher than the rest of the land.
These weren’t the old wooden windmills that the town was famous for. No, these were modern, streamlined steel towers topped by blades that looked more like powerful propellers than the fan-shaped blades of an old-fashioned windmill.
“Marigold told us he’s a wealthy entrepreneur,” I said. “I guess he’s into alternative power sources.”
“Wait a minute,” Mac said. “Is this Rafe’s farm?”
I gaped at him. “You know this guy?”
“I met him a few weeks ago when I went to the pub for a beer with Eric. Great guy. Really smart. I mean, like, genius smart. I told him I wanted to pick his brain sometime.”
“Because Jake Slater might have to save the world from an errant wind turbine?”
He grinned at me. “It could happen, right?” He parked the car in front of a three-car garage that had seen better days. “Let’s go see what’s going on.”
“Wait, Mac,” I said, grabbing his arm. “I know you won’t say anything, but try not to make this look like I’m here to check Rafe out. Marigold really likes him but she says she won’t marry him because he’s a farmer. She doesn’t want to milk cows for the rest of her life.”
“Who does?”
“It’s just that she was raised Amish . . .”
“Ah. So she’s had enough of cows?”
“Yes. But if he’s a nice guy, I don’t want to offend him. I just want to meet the guy who’s apparently crazy about one of my best friends.”
“I’ll be cool.” He leaned over and kissed me. “Promise.”
Of course he would, I thought. Still, a little cloud of guilt continued to hover over me.
As I jumped down from Mac’s SUV, a man walked out of the farmhouse and stood on the front porch. From where I stood, he looked tall, dark, and handsome. Three lovely qualities in a man.
The house was another matter, though. It was utilitarian, to put it nicely, and the pale yellow paint had faded and peeled until the house looked parched and sickly. The porch roof leaned precariously and I worried that it might collapse on top of its good-looking owner at any moment.
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