by Bailey Cates
“My name is Nancy Carter, and this is Nick Barker. We’d like to talk to you when you’re free.”
“Katie,” Lucy called, “I need you in the kitchen.”
Nodding back at my aunt, I told Nick and Nancy, “It might be a while. We’re pretty busy right now.”
She settled back in her chair. “That’s fine. We’ll wait.”
As I hurried back to fill an order of chicken and biscuits, I paused by my aunt. “How long have those two been here?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes. They haven’t come to the counter, though.”
“I know. They say they want to talk to us when things slow down.”
Now it was her turn to frown. “Why?”
“No idea,” I said, moving into the kitchen behind her.
Half an hour later, the rush petered out. Ben was able to take over the register, and Lucy and I went over to the waiting pair. It looked like they weren’t nearly as sanguine about waiting for us by then, while we were curious as all get-out.
Nancy introduced herself and Nick to my aunt, then said, “Can you sit down for a few minutes?”
We looked at each other and slid into the two other chairs at the table.
The woman said, “I understand you witnessed the death of Orla Black yesterday.”
Lucy licked her lips. “Yes.”
Nick and Nancy exchanged a look. “Would you mind relating what happened?” Nick asked in a formal tone. He reached into the briefcase that was still open on the table and drew out a notebook and a fancy-looking pen.
“Hang on,” I said. “We already told the police everything we saw.”
“Hmm,” Nancy said, flipping through her file. “Yes, we have the police report. That’s how we got your names in the first place. But we like to talk to witnesses ourselves.”
Nick nodded eagerly, his eyes bright behind his glasses.
“Why?” I asked. “Who, exactly, are you? And why should we talk to you at all? What happened yesterday was awful.” Could they be reporters?
Nancy carefully selected two cards from inside the briefcase and handed them to us. “We’re investigators for Firststate Mutual Life Insurance.” She looked over at Nick. “We should have explained that in the first place.”
He nodded and took a note.
Realization dawned. “And Orla had a life insurance policy,” I said.
He made a noise. “More like five.”
“Nick!” the woman admonished. His boss, I guessed, or perhaps his trainer.
Ducking his head, he muttered, “Sorry.”
But I was reeling. Five policies? Orla had been in her late fifties, like Lucy. Could she have been suffering from some terminal illness? My mind scrambled for an explanation.
“We need to talk to anyone who witnessed her death before we can pay her beneficiaries,” the woman said. “Will you help us?”
“Um, sure,” Lucy said. She went on to relate what she’d seen, leaving out the blank look in Orla’s eyes that she had mentioned to the spellbook club, but including the fact that Orla had stopped right in the middle of a sentence before stepping into the street. I explained that I had been distracted at the time and hadn’t seen the actual accident.
The veteran insurance investigator frowned, and Nick scribbled another note. “So, you were speaking to her out front here. Were you a friend of Ms. Black’s?” she asked.
“Orla was a customer,” I said. “I’d call her a friend, and I think Lucy would, too. But we weren’t close, if that’s what you mean.”
She sat back and folded her arms. Eyeing us, she asked, “Do you think it’s possible that she committed suicide?”
Lucy shook her head. “No. No, I don’t. She was taking a book to her granddaughter. And didn’t she say something about being late for a meeting with her lawyer, Katie?”
Something flickered in the woman’s eyes when Lucy said the word “lawyer,” and Nick jerked his head up to look at her.
I nodded. “She did. And there was nothing about her demeanor that hinted at depression or any kind of low mood.”
Nancy huffed out a breath. “Okay.”
“So, the policies won’t pay if Orla killed herself?”
“Nope,” Nick said.
She glared at him, and he ducked his head again.
“Have you checked with the medical examiner?” I asked. “Someone suggested that Orla might have suffered some kind of medical event that caused her to act oddly.”
The older woman’s eyes narrowed. “We will, of course, take any such findings into consideration. Thank you very much for talking with us. Did you get all that, Nick?”
“Yup.” He beamed at her.
“Well, sitting here watching everyone eating those delicious-looking pastries has convinced me to go off my diet for one afternoon,” Nancy said, and stood. “Nick, what can I get you? We’ll call it lunch and put it on the expense account.”
He stood as well. “Let me see what they have.”
Lucy went across the room to the counter and began pointing out possible selections.
Looking around, I saw the bakery had mostly emptied. Jaida still sat at the table in the corner, and our resident author was immersed in whatever tale he was telling himself on his laptop, noise-canceling headphones firmly in place. I rose and casually looked inside the briefcase. The cream-colored folder Nancy had referred to regarding Orla’s insurance investigation still sat on the table, shielded from the investigators’ view by the open lid of the case. After another quick glance around, I flipped it open with a fingertip. Lifting the edges of the pages, I saw the police report, and then a list of names with the heading BENEFICIARIES.
“This looks like just the thing to break a diet for,” Nancy said, turning away from the display with a hefty cinnamon roll on a plate.
I flipped the cover of the file closed and moved quickly away from the table. As I did, my wrist hit the edge of the briefcase lid, which thudded down and created enough air current to blow another page half out of the folder. I barely had a chance to glance down at it before the older investigator was at my side.
“Oops,” I said, pasting an apologetic expression on my face.
Nancy gave me a long, assessing look before scooping up the file, returning it to the briefcase, and placing it on the floor. Then she set her roll on the table and sat down. “Do you have an interest in life insurance, Ms. Lightfoot?”
I smiled, feeling the heat in my cheeks. “I’m getting married soon. I suppose we should start thinking about such things.”
“I can put you in touch with an agent if you like,” she said.
“Maybe you can just tell me—could I buy a policy on my husband without him knowing?”
She’d taken a bite of cinnamon roll and now chewed it with slow appreciation. When she’d swallowed, she said, “It doesn’t work like that. He’d have to take a physical and agree to the stipulations set out in the policy.”
“Makes sense,” I said cheerfully. So much for the old movie trope of killing someone for life insurance they didn’t even know they had.
“Here’s one of our sales agents’ cards.” She handed it to me as Nick came back with a selection of cookies and two cups of coffee. He set one in front of her.
“Thanks.” I took the card and backed away.
“Katie,” Jaida said from behind me.
I whirled. She pointed to the chair beside her. I went over and joined her.
“What were you thinking?” she asked in a low voice. “She almost caught you.”
“You saw?” I whispered.
“And heard.” She nodded at the earplugs now sitting on her keyboard. “Did you find anything out?”
“You heard Orla had five life insurance policies?” I barely breathed the words.
She nodded. “Crazy.”
“I
saw a list of beneficiaries.” Quickly, I grabbed her legal pad and jotted down the names from memory.
Fern O’Cleary, Finn Black, John Black, Nuala O’Cleary, and Aiden Black
Jaida looked over my shoulder, and I turned to see the insurance investigators packing up and leaving. Once the door closed behind them, we were able to speak in normal tones.
“All family, I take it,” Jaida said, perusing the list I’d made. “That makes sense. There’s viable insurable interest in each case.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“When the death of the insured person would cause financial loss for the beneficiary. Or another kind of loss that might be compensated for by money—caregiving, for example. Close family is automatically considered to have an insurable interest.” She sat back, looking thoughtful. “Five policies seems excessive, but I wonder if each was relatively small. That would be a way to break up the payments among several people.”
“And create a lot of people who might want their money sooner than later,” I said.
She made a face. “I still don’t see how it could be murder.”
I held up a finger. “Someone could have been across the street and beckoned to her.”
Jaida rolled her eyes. “Right.”
“It’s possible.”
“Okay, what else?”
I held up a second finger. “Poison of some kind. Slow acting.”
“Hmm.”
The third finger came up. “Or some kind of drug. Hallucinogenic. A plant derivative like nightshade or oleander could have the same effect.”
My friend was looking interested now.
“Or it could have been some kind of magical spell or curse.” I dropped my hand. “I know how that sounds, but it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve run into murder by magic. Even Ben thought of it.”
“True,” she agreed.
“I saw something else in that file,” I said. “And I bet you can help.”
“Really? How?”
“At the last second, I also saw a name. Michael Barrion. Is it familiar to you?”
She shook her head. “No. Should it be?”
“It was followed by the letters A, T, T, and, I think, Y. An attorney?”
“Hold on a sec,” Jaida said, and began typing on her laptop. “Here it is. Yes, Michael Barrion is a lawyer in Savannah.” She met my eyes. “I haven’t run into him, though, probably because he specializes in divorce and insurance cases.”
I leaned forward. “Orla told us she was on the way to see a lawyer. Do you think that could be him?”
Slowly, Jaida nodded. “It’s possible.” She licked her lips, and I could practically see the thoughts ping-ponging in her brain. “Especially if Orla wanted to cancel a life insurance policy that someone else held on her.”
Surprised, I asked, “Couldn’t she just tell the insurance company?”
“Once she signs the papers, whoever pays for it owns it. She couldn’t have taken it away from them.”
A group of tourists came in the door then, and I rose. “Listen, what are you doing after we close?”
“Supper with Gregory, but not until seven.”
“Want to take a walk down to the riverfront with me a little after five, then? I’d like to talk to a few people down there, and could use the company.”
“Sure. I’m heading over to the courthouse to file some paperwork now, but then I’ll pop home and pick up Anubis. He hasn’t been getting out as much since he can’t come to the office with me. We’ll meet you back here at five.”
“Perfect,” I said, and went to help Ben with coffee orders.
Chapter 9
A little after three o’clock, Bianca came into the Honeybee with her daughter. Lucy and I spied them from where we were working out a new recipe for peanut butter cake in the kitchen. My aunt dropped everything and hurried out front.
“Colette!” she exclaimed. “We haven’t seen you for so long. How have you been, honey?”
“Pretty good,” she said. She was slim, and tall for her age. Her eyes were a lighter green than her mother’s, and fringed with long lashes. “And how are you, Mrs. Eagel?”
“Pshaw. I keep telling you to call me Lucy. And I’ve been just peachy, thank you very much for asking. Now, what can I get you to eat?”
The eight-year-old looked up at her mother with a question in her eyes.
Bianca smiled and tucked an errant brown curl behind her daughter’s ear. “You can have anything you want. We’ll have a light dinner.”
Colette grinned and went to stand in front of the display case, carefully perusing each tray for the perfect after-school snack. Lucy joined her, pointing out the different choices.
Bianca left them to it and came back to the kitchen with a canvas bag. “I had this stuff in the car and thought I might as well bring it by for tomorrow night.” She opened it enough that I could see inside. “Four colors of glitter, spray glue, and feathers,” she said. “I also found some old-fashioned rickrack and a bunch of tiny, fun stickers. I know you mentioned you’d get the dyes, but I saw some Paas kits on sale and picked up a few—regular, metallic, and neon. While I was at it, I grabbed some crayons. Remember doing that as a kid? Writing your name—or whatever—in wax and then dyeing the egg?”
I nodded. “That was as fancy as it got back then. This egg-dyeing party is going to be a lot of fun.” I pulled out a set of shiny flower stickers. “And perfect for all ages. Margie’s twins can do some of the simpler decorations, and Colette can try some of the more complicated stuff. And I want to try to give a marbled effect to a few using oil in the dye.” I returned the stickers to the bag. “Oh, and I have the natural pigments all ready to go. Turmeric, beet powder, and two kinds of tea. I even got some annatto from the dairy. They use it to color their cheddar cheese.”
Bianca leaned forward. “I think we might be more excited about this than the kids.”
I grinned. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
The bell over the entrance dinged. I glanced out and saw that Lucy and Colette had moved to the reading area, and Colette was rubbing a very happy Honeybee behind the ears.
I handed the bag back to Bianca. “Thanks for getting all this stuff. Can you stick it back in the office until we need it tomorrow night?”
“Sure,” she said.
Adjusting my apron, I went out front to help the new customer. “Well, hello there,” I said when I saw it was Randy from the firehouse.
Had he ever come into the bakery without Declan? I couldn’t remember ever seeing him out of uniform, either. Today he wore pressed khakis, a stonewashed T-shirt with a soft-looking collared shirt over it, and loafers.
“Hi,” he said, looking around. His eyes finally settled on me. “I thought your friend might be here.”
Then I remembered when he’d first seen Bianca. “Oh, gosh. I totally forgot to tell her that you wanted to meet her,” I said.
Right then, she came out of the kitchen. Randy gaped at her. She shot me a questioning look, and I saw her hand go into the pocket of her jacket where Puck the ferret had no doubt tucked himself out of sight.
“Um, Randy, this is Bianca Devereaux,” I said. “And, Bianca—”
He cut me off. “I’m Randy Post. I work with Declan McCarthy.” He stuck out his hand.
She hesitated before shaking it. “Hello.”
“Hello,” he breathed. “I saw you in here the other day.”
Right before Orla died, I thought.
“And I knew then that I needed to see you again.”
She looked confused.
“Please tell me that you’ll go out with me,” he said.
Subtle. I bit my lip to keep from smiling.
“Oh, gosh. I don’t—” Bianca began.
He held up his hand. “It doesn’t have to be a date date. Just a
drink. Or coffee! I love coffee. We could have coffee here, if you’d like, just to talk and get to know each other. You know, so it’s not weird or anything.”
I coughed to cover a laugh. This guy had it bad. I couldn’t blame him, of course. Bianca was gorgeous, smart, kind, and wealthy. But he knew only the first part.
Wait. Was that true?
“How did you know she was here?” I asked.
“I saw your car,” he said to her as if she’d asked the question.
“My car.” Her tone was flat. “Yes, men do seem to like that car.” She drove a red Jaguar.
“How do you know what Bianca drives?” I asked.
“Declan told me. He told me all about you,” he said.
Her eyes widened.
Randy continued. “About your little girl, and your work with charities in the community, and your wine shop. In fact, I was on my way there to introduce myself when I passed by and saw your car parked on Broughton Street. I figured you must be in here.”
“I’m sorry,” she managed. “I don’t remember ever seeing you before.”
He waved that away. “Oh, that’s okay. It was just one time. But you’ll like me if you give me a chance.”
Well, at least he doesn’t lack for confidence.
But Bianca was shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I’m very flattered, but I’m going to pass. . . .”
“Mom,” Colette said, coming up behind us with Lucy at her side.
Bianca turned and put her hand protectively on her daughter’s shoulder.
“Can I take this home? It’s a new Felicity story.” She held up an American Girl book that she’d found in the library area. “And it’s a choose-your-own-path, so I can pick my own ending!”
“I like Felicity, too,” Randy said. “But I like Caroline just as much.”
“Me, too!” Colette piped, then tipped her head to the side and looked up at him. “Wait. You don’t read American Girl books, do you?”
He laughed. “I’ve sure read a few. I have a niece who’s a little younger than you are. I know more than you might think about those books, not to mention Disney princesses and how to make friendship bracelets.”
