“My heroes,” she said with a grin. “But I don’t expect any trouble, so go enjoy your lunch and I’ll see you in a while.”
“Okay.” But as I left the house, I couldn’t help feeling like a mother hen worried about her new chick. Especially after learning Amanda’s big secret. Even though we’d planned it out and I’d given her a supply of Baggies to collect DNA, I really hoped she wouldn’t go snooping around the house while I was gone. Snooping was my job.
I drove to the town square a half mile away and parked on a side street, then walked to Emily’s tea shop. I felt a little guilty that I hadn’t asked Amanda to join us for lunch, but I made a silent promise to make it up to her in the next few days. Today, though, I wanted to tell the girls about my visit with Rafe. And frankly, I also needed a little downtime away from work and stress and all the talk of murder that had overwhelmed my life for the past twenty-four hours. I needed some girlfriend time.
I had called earlier to let Emily know I was coming and she had promised to contact the rest of our friends. Sure enough, when I walked into her charming little tea shop, with its mint green walls and bright, pretty decor, Emily greeted me and led me straight back to her small private dining room, where our friends were already gathered around a lovely table covered in flowers and teapots and pastries.
“There you are,” Jane said, jumping up to give me a hug. “When Emily called to say you wanted us to get together, I knew you had something to tell us. Is it about that horrible Joe Scully?”
I went around giving hugs to everyone. “I suppose you’ve all heard what happened.”
“We heard you found him dead,” Emily said, slinging her arm around my shoulders. “You poor thing. How many bodies does that make now?”
My eyes widened. “Emily!”
She grinned, completely unrepentant. And this was why I had needed to see my friends. Who else could make me feel better about being a death magnet?
Emily squeezed my shoulders affectionately. “Well, really, Shannon. It must be some sort of record.”
Just what I’d been thinking, though I hadn’t tried to add them all up. For someone so prone to making lists, I had yet to write down the names of the murder victims I’d discovered. “I haven’t been keeping track.”
“I have,” Lizzie piped up. “This one makes nine.”
“That’s not possible,” I whispered. Was it? Nine dead bodies? I started to do a mental body count, then gave it up. I really didn’t want to dredge up the memories. I would accept Lizzie’s number, horrible or not.
“I thought it was eight,” Marigold said as she sipped her tea. “Oh, but I forgot to count that fellow who used to come here for vacations. What was his name?”
Great. I’d become a parlor game. “Come on, you guys!”
Jane pushed my chair back. “Sit down, Shannon. We’re just teasing you.”
“Yes, sit.” Marigold reached for the teapot. “After all, it’s not your fault you find dead people. We all have gifts.”
“Gifts?” I stared blankly at her, then grabbed for my teacup when she’d filled it.
“Sure,” Marigold said. “Some people sing. Some paint. Some fix things. And some answer the call from the universe when a dead person needs help. That’s you.”
Marigold had managed to make it sound almost poetic.
“Poor Shannon,” Marigold said softly. “You must be completely stressed out. Drink your tea and have a pastry.”
“I have to check on the kitchen,” Emily said, giving my shoulder a pat. “But I’ll be right back.”
“Will you be able to join us?” Lizzie asked.
“Yes, I promise.” She patted my arm. “Just hold off telling your news for a few minutes.”
“I will.”
While we waited for Emily, we thankfully got past the references to my “gift” and regaled one another with favorite pet stories. I told them of Robbie’s shenanigans and Lizzie recounted her kitty’s latest trip to the vet. We all loved our pets, and since none of us but Lizzie had kids, they were as neutral and happy a topic as we could find.
I piled my plate with Emily’s amazing savory pastries and finger sandwiches. Her wonderful tea was a special blend made for her by the Colonnades in Edinburgh and I swore I could’ve finished an entire pot all by myself.
I ate slowly, knowing that once I cleaned my plate, I would get to move on to the sweet pastries. It was a ridiculously decadent way to spend my lunch hour, but so worth it.
“I’m back,” Emily cried softly, and plopped herself down at the table. She poured herself a cup of tea and turned to me. “Now, Shannon, tell us everything.”
“I’m not here to talk about the murder,” I warned.
“So it was murder,” Lizzie whispered.
“It’s always murder,” Emily murmured.
“And if you’ve ever met Joe Scully,” Jane said dryly, “you would know for sure it was murder.”
Marigold turned to me. “Was he awful, Shannon?”
“Absolutely, yes, but I don’t want to talk about him.”
Jane reached for a miniature gâteau. “What did you want to talk about?”
I turned and smiled at Marigold. “I want to talk about your friend Raphael Nash.”
“Raphael?” She frowned. “Why?”
I flashed them all a devilish smile. “Because I met him.”
Marigold paled. “You did?”
“Shannon, where did you meet him?”
“How?”
“What does he look like?”
“Spill the beans!”
Everyone was speaking at once, but Lizzie’s voice predominated. “Start talking. What did you think of him? Tell us everything.”
“All right, all right.” I was conscious of Marigold sitting on the edge of her seat, so I reached over and squeezed her arm. “He’s a sweetie.”
She seemed to relax and so did I. I told them about the spur-of-the-moment decision to drive out to the Jenkins farm with Mac.
“That was smart, to bring Mac along,” Lizzie said.
“I thought so, too.” I told them about the dilapidated farmhouse and the barn, and how I would love the chance to renovate them both. I mentioned the wind turbines and the solar-powered tractor. And I told them how handsome I thought he was and so nice and sweet.
And then I mentioned the cows.
“And we’ve come to the end of the story,” Marigold grumbled, her forehead riddled with frown lines.
“No, we haven’t,” I insisted, laughing. “He says he’s going to hire a guy who’s an expert with cows. He knows how to set up a milking parlor and he’ll be doing all the work.”
“Yay!” Lizzie cried.
“There, Marigold,” Jane said. “Isn’t that great news?”
Clearly nervous, she twirled her napkin tightly in her lap. “If only I could believe it.”
“Why wouldn’t you believe him?” I asked. “I believe him. He seems way too honest to ever tell a lie.”
“Maybe she’s been lied to before,” Emily murmured.
“Haven’t we all?” Lizzie said with a worldly shrug. “You get over it and move on.”
“I’m telling you, he’s a good guy,” I said. “There is no way that Rafe would have Marigold out milking cows. Besides, if he tried, you’re completely capable of saying no.”
Marigold sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s true of course, and yes, he really is sweet and he has the most beautiful eyes. And I never doubted his honesty.”
“It’s just his desire to have cows,” Emily said.
“Ten cows,” Marigold emphasized. “He mentioned he might buy a few, but what’s he going to do with ten cows?”
“Rafe says that if he gets too much milk, he’ll start an ice cream company.” I took another bite of a tiny sandwich and sighed
happily. Honestly, between my friends and good food, I could feel my worries draining away. For now.
“My hero,” Lizzie said with a sigh.
In fact, there were sighs heard all around the table. I wasn’t sure if they were meant for Rafe’s beautiful eyes or his idea of starting an ice cream company. But I had a feeling.
“That was my very thought,” I said, laughing. “The man is a hero.” Then I turned to Marigold. “I don’t blame you if you don’t trust my opinion on the subject. What if I ask Mac to come over and vouch for him? He believes in Rafe completely and Mac is no pushover. He’s a hard-nosed, cynical Navy SEAL who’s dealt with the absolute worst dregs of humanity in his career.” I wasn’t sure Mac would appreciate that particular description of himself, but I hoped he would consider the circumstances.
“That’s a great idea, Shannon,” Lizzie said. “Marigold, would you like to talk to Mac about it?”
She made a waving motion with her hand. “I don’t want to bother him about something so trivial.”
“Your future is hardly trivial,” Jane insisted.
“Mac cares about you, Marigold,” I said. “He cares about all of you. This town is his home and he loves it here, and he considers you all his friends. He would never allow someone to hurt any of us.”
Jane sniffled and I knew I’d breached her soft heart with my words about Mac. But I kept my gaze on Marigold. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ask him to stop by your shop later this afternoon or maybe tomorrow. Is that all right?”
“Well, if it’s not out of his way.”
Emily chuckled. “It’s not out of his way.”
Lizzie laughed then, and finally Marigold smiled. “All right. Thank you.”
“And really,” I added as an afterthought, “Rafe might find that he hates having cows around. They don’t smell wonderful, for one thing. He might get rid of them despite the ice cream dreams.”
“That’s possible, too,” Marigold mused.
Jane leaned forward. “Okay, we’ve heard about the farmhouse and the wind turbines and the possible ice-cream-giving cows, so now tell us all about Rafe.”
“He’s just adorable,” I said, smiling broadly. “Tall, dark, and handsome. And genius smart. I couldn’t understand half of what he said, but I enjoyed hearing him say it.”
As the others chatted about everything, Marigold reached over and grabbed my hand. “Thank you.”
I squeezed hers back. “The fact that Mac and I like him doesn’t mean you have to run off and marry him. We just want you to be happy, whatever you decide to do.”
“I know, and I appreciate it so much.” She gazed around the table, her eyes glistening. “I’m so lucky to have such good friends in my life.”
“We’re all lucky,” I said, and reached for a mini cream puff topped with hot fudge, just to prove it.
• • •
“I’m back,” I said as I walked into the Jorgensens’ dining room. “How’s it going?”
“I’ve been dying for you to get back,” Amanda whispered.
“Why?” I asked, alarmed. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing important,” she murmured. “It’s just that Matthew is home. I still haven’t seen Petsy yet.”
“Well, then, everything is perfect.” I almost rubbed my hands together eagerly, but I thought that might be a little over the top.
She grinned. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Did he stop in here and talk to you?” I asked.
She shrugged. “He just said a quick hello and mentioned that he would stop by later to chat.”
“I guess we’ll have to be satisfied with that.”
“I guess.”
“I really want to get up there today,” I said, staring at the ceiling as though I could see through to the attic.
“Me, too. The wait is killing me.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” I said, pulling a small box from my bag. “I met my friend Emily at her tea shop, so I brought you a couple of pastries.”
“Oh, I’ve been in there,” she said. “It’s charming. So you know the owner?”
“Yes, the Scottish woman.”
“She’s been so sweet to me.”
I smiled. “I’ll bring you along next time and introduce you.”
She blinked twice and I worried that she might start to cry. “Shannon, that’s so nice of you. I don’t know what to say. I’ve only known you a few days but you’ve already been such a good friend to me.”
I shrugged, a little embarrassed by her glowing words. “I just figure that if you’re going to live here, you’ll want to meet some nice people.”
“I’ve met a few, but believe me, I can use all the friends I can get. So thank you again.”
“You’re very welcome.” I wanted to add that I already considered her a friend, too. So what held me back? Was I still suspicious? Did I really think Amanda could’ve killed Joe Scully? I thought about it and realized the answer was no.
She took a bite of the mini napoleon pastry and moaned. “Oh my God. This is fantastic.”
I grinned. “Yeah, Emily knows what she’s doing.”
“She’s a goddess. Thank you for thinking of me.” She held up her hand. “I need a moment of silence.”
I laughed, but stopped immediately when we heard footsteps on the staircase. “Do you think that’s Matthew?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you ready for this?”
“Absolutely.” But she was taking deep breaths, clearly not as calm and collected as she wanted to be. But neither was I.
Seconds later, Matthew walked into the room. “How are you ladies doing today?”
“Couldn’t be better,” I said with a smile.
Amanda had to swallow the pastry before she could reply. “Just great. How are you, Matthew?”
“I’m super.”
“You were gone all morning,” she said, with concern in her voice. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fantastic. I spent the morning at an art gallery showing and sold two paintings. Oh, and I received a commission to do a third.”
“Wow, that’s wonderful.”
“It’s pretty darn great,” he said, nodding. “So, since I’m too wound up to work this afternoon, I thought I would invite you both on a tour of my studio.”
“I would love to visit your studio,” I said. “Amanda?”
“Absolutely. I’ve been dying to see your work.”
“Well, then,” he said jovially, “I’ll lead the way.”
As we followed him across the foyer to the staircase, I said, “Your house is so beautiful. Would you mind if I ask questions as we go?”
“Not a bit.”
Glancing up, I said, “Your coffered ceiling is gorgeous. Did the same person design the entire house or have you had more work done over the years?”
“The overall design and decorative elements are the work of the original owner. But of course we’ve updated the bathrooms and kitchen and expanded a few closets, that sort of thing.”
“Well, the overall design is just stunning.”
“Thank you,” he said, turning to smile at me. “I agree, although Petsy would love to trash most of it.”
I was taken aback by his words, although I shouldn’t have been surprised, given Petsy’s antagonistic nature. But still, who wouldn’t want to live in this incredible home?
“Would you say she has more of a modern sensibility?” I asked, searching for ways to sound neutral when it came to discussing his evil wife.
“No, she likes the classic style well enough,” Matthew said. “Maybe it’s just this house that she has a problem with. She calls it a dusty old mausoleum.” He chuckled. “I suppose we do have a little dust, and yes, maybe it’s old. But I love it.”
“I
do, too,” I said fiercely. “I specialize in Victorian home construction and restoration and yours is one of the most elegant examples of the period that I’ve ever seen.” I ran my hand along the wall as we climbed the stairs. “These panels are spectacular. Oh, that reminds me. Do you still want us to stain this faded panel? I’m sorry it slipped my mind with everything that’s been going on lately.”
“We have had a few busy days around here,” he said lightly. “It’s no wonder we’ve all forgotten this and that. But yes, I would love to have it fixed whenever you can get around to it.”
“I’ll work on it tomorrow,” Amanda said.
She and I exchanged a look and I made a mental note to arrange time to shop for stains. I thought we might again broach the subject of purchasing some sort of a shade for the window that was responsible for the fading.
We continued climbing up to the third floor. On the way, Matthew pointed out several landscape paintings that one ancestor or another had purchased over the years. As we passed the second floor I glanced down the hallway where the portrait of the Regency woman hung. I looked at Amanda and wondered if she was thinking of the face of that beautiful woman displayed on the canvas. It was too bad that woman couldn’t talk to us and tell us her story. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to go to such lengths as sneaking DNA-encrusted hair roots out of the house.
On the third floor, the staircase opened onto the massive studio. I took a few steps into the room and gazed around. Everywhere I looked, there was something to admire or to surprise us. As Matthew had promised, the light was indeed wonderful. At the far end of the room, four steps led up to the round tower room, with its circle of bay windows. Several easels were set up in that area, probably to catch as much light as possible.
“This is . . . amazing,” Amanda murmured as she turned around to take it all in.
“It’s a beautiful room,” I said.
Along one long wall were shelves that held hundreds of books on all kinds of art and architecture, on perspective and home design and portraiture. In and among the books were oddities. A miniature model of the Eiffel Tower, the bleached skull of a horse, a clear box filled with starfish. All types of dried flowers were hung in bundles from the rafters. There was a peculiarly shaped vase that held wooden spoons. A life-sized model of a hula dancer stood in one corner, her grass skirt fluttering in the breeze coming from an open window. It was such an incongruous sight in the midst of all this artistry that it made me laugh. Matthew seemed happy with my reaction.
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