Part 13 (2/2)

Marci was there, too. She was avoiding Susan by staying in the living room and pretending to be interested in the statue of that Greek G.o.d.

I thought I saw Larry duck into the kitchen.

”Don't look at me that way.” Charles closed in on me and Nev in the small s.p.a.ce between the front door and the oil paintings he'd strung out for display along the living room wall. I wasn't sure which way was the way we were looking at him, but he blushed from chin to forehead. ”I've talked to my attorney. It's all on the up-and-up. He just so happens to be Angela's attorney, too, and he a.s.sured me I'm getting the whole kit and kaboodle. All I'm doing is inviting a few friends in. You know, to have a look around. No sales. Not before Angela's estate is settled.”

I didn't know if I should congratulate him or tell him I thought he was a greedy creep. Rather than do either, I reintroduced him to Nev, who'd talked to Charles, of course, right after the murder and who was looking around Angela's living room like he'd memorized the contents the first time he'd been there and he was just checking to make sure it was all still there. Knowing Nev, that actually might have been what he was doing.

In the spirit of the moment, I checked that mahogany buffet across the room and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the Limoges punch bowl was back where it belonged.

I'd just had a pleasant drive from Chicago to Ardent Lake with Nev. The sun was s.h.i.+ning. He had a second day off (and two in a row is something of a record for a homicide cop), and we'd stopped on our way out of town for what I'd found out was one of Nev's favorite foods-pancakes.

I knew he was in a good mood.

This did not explain the crease in his forehead.

”The brakes went on Angela's car a couple weeks before she was killed,” he said, as casual as can be. Not to me, of course. I already knew this. So did Charles, but that didn't stop his face from going pale. It might also explain why he excused himself and scurried away the moment someone in the kitchen called out a question about a vintage mixer.

”You think...” I looked toward where Charles had disappeared. ”You think the charm string was just a diversion.”

”I think...” Nev glanced around again. ”I think what I thought the first time I was here,” he said. ”There's a lot of money tied up in these antiques. And a lot of money always makes for a good motive.”

”So Charles didn't want just the charm string.” Careful to keep my voice down, I thought this over. ”He wanted it all. And the entire time...” I swallowed hard. ”You don't think he was just trying to steal the charm string with the fire and the break-in. You think all along that he wanted Angela dead.”

”Don't you?”

Before I had a chance to answer, there was a commotion on the front porch and I stepped aside to let the newcomer by. Turns out it was Mary Lou Baldwin, the nice Garden Club lady who'd come to Chicago to sell me those b.u.t.tons.

She smiled when she saw me. ”I might have known you'd be here,” she said, shaking my hand, then Nev's when I introduced him. ”Though I have to say, I'm pretty sure there aren't any b.u.t.tons around. I remember when Angela first talked about the charm string. She said they were the only b.u.t.tons Evelyn had left to her.” Mary Lou glanced around. ”Incredible, isn't it?”

”Not exactly the word I'd use,” I said.

She smiled. ”We all suspected Evelyn had a stash the likes of which has never been seen in the civilized world. I guess this proves it. But hey...” She rubbed her hands together. ”I own the Cottage, the B and B over on the edge of town. I'm always looking for furniture and paintings and gla.s.sware and such. I can't wait to get my hands on some of this stuff.”

”Not until after Angela's estate is settled,” I reminded her.

Mary Lou's grin widened. ”You've been talking to Charles.”

An elderly couple arrived, and as if we'd ch.o.r.eographed our movements, Nev, Mary Lou, and I stepped away from the front door and scooted by the Greek G.o.d. Since I was close, I took a look at a stack of old books piled nearby. The top book had a battered brown leather cover. It was a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, and I reminded myself to put in a good word with Charles for it. It would make a perfect gift for Stan's upcoming birthday. While I was at it, I took a look at the punch bowl on the buffet, too.

I'm not saying Nev's theory about Charles being our murderer wasn't valid, but I had to wonder...did Marci give in without a fight and bring back the stolen punch bowl just so we'd think more kindly of her when it came to examining her motives for Angela's murder?

”You are coming, aren't you?”

Mary Lou's question snapped me out of the thought, and I guess she realized it, because she laid a hand on my arm to make sure I paid attention this time. ”The festival? You've heard about it, right? I'm sure it sounds like small potatoes to you kids from Chicago, but hey, around here, we take our fun where we can find it. We're having a festival. Next weekend. To celebrate the draining of the reservoir. Oh, and there's a c.o.c.ktail party at the Big Museum on Sat.u.r.day night, too.” Mary Lou reached into her purse, pulled out two tickets, and handed them to me. ”My treat,” she said, her smile wide, and added, ”I'm on the board at the museum. I had to buy a bunch of tickets or I'd look bad. The whole weekend will be perfect for you, Josie. You like history. You'll get to explore the Big Museum plus we're all going to get a chance to see what's left of Ardent now that the water's been drained.”

It sounded like it would be interesting, and I was about to tell her as much when Mary Lou gave me a wink. ”I'll reserve a room over at my B and B,” she said, glancing from me to Nev and leaping to the mother of all conclusions. ”You know, for the two of you.”

”We aren't...That is, we don't...” I am an adult, and a divorced woman. I am mature and responsible and not usually bashful. But the more I tried to find the words to explain a relations.h.i.+p with Nev that even I didn't understand, the dumber I sounded, so I simply clamped my lips shut until I was sure I could talk without sounding like a moron.

”I'll check my schedule,” I finally told Mary Lou, firmly refusing to look in Nev's direction. ”It does sound like fun.”

As soon as Mary Lou walked away, I realized what I'd said. I'm sure my cheeks had been red before, but now I felt them burst into flames. ”I was talking about the festival,” I stammered, still refusing to look at Nev. ”I meant the festival sounded like fun. I wasn't talking about the part about her reserving the room for us together at her B and B, and-”

My words dissolved when he crooked a finger under my chin.

Did I feel better or worse seeing that his cheeks were as red as mine? I can't say. I am absolutely sure, though, that my heart jumped into my throat when Nev said, ”I think that part sounds like fun, too.”

”Excuse me.” That older couple behind us pushed their way past, and Nev dropped his hand. He didn't look at me again until they disappeared behind a stack of quilts, and when he finally did, I think he realized exactly what he'd said, too.

He cleared his throat. ”I hope...That is, that was out of line. I hope I didn't-”

”You didn't.”

”Because I didn't mean-”

”I know.”

”Because I wouldn't want you to-”

”I don't.”

How's that for being adults and talking about our relations.h.i.+p?

I like to think we actually might have gotten past the awkward stage if Susan didn't pick that exact moment to slip by. ”Excuse me. I'm so sorry.” She squeezed between me and Nev and we had no choice but to back away from each other. At least as far as we were able.

”I can't believe I left my purse in my office.” Susan shook her head, disgusted with herself. ”Not that I need a wallet or a credit card or anything, no one's selling anything here today, of course,” she added, and I wasn't sure if it was for Nev's benefit or mine. ”But I hate being without my cell phone.” She glanced over her shoulder. ”If you catch up with him, tell Larry I'll be right back. I'm not even going to take my car, I'm just going to run over to the museum and get my phone and run right back.”

I promised we would deliver her message to Larry and our closest-we'd-ever-come-to-a-magic moment interrupted, Nev and I made our way over to where Marci was looking at a collection of vintage salt and pepper shakers shaped like everything from lobsters to parrots. The second she laid eyes on us, she clutched her hands together behind her back.

”I returned every last bit of it,” she blurted out. ”Just like I promised. You didn't bring him...” Her gaze slid to Nev. ”You're not going to arrest me, are you?” she asked.

”I'm not here to arrest anybody.” His words were not technically true, since I practically went into cardiac arrest when he said what he'd said about the night at the B and B. ”We're just visiting.”

”Visiting. Yes.” Grinning, Marci slid around us, her eyes on a stack of Depression gla.s.s dessert sets.

Twenty minutes later, Nev and I found ourselves alone in the kitchen. I was checking out a set of juice gla.s.ses. He was watching the crowd out in the dining room. It was a perfect opportunity for us to be grown-ups and talk about the delicate topic Mary Lou had broached.

Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure that's exactly why the subject of murder came up.

”My money's on Charles,” Nev said out of nowhere.

I wasn't so sure, and I told him so. ”Charles might have wanted the antiques, and the money, but he doesn't have the nerve. Now Marci...” She'd just sailed past the doorway, her eye caught by some prize in the far corner of the dining room. ”She's plenty bold, she's already proved that. She could just be playing along with us. And Susan's no shrinking violet. I've been to her museum. It's impressive. It takes a lot of brains to keep a place like that afloat, and people with a lot of brains make clever murderers.”

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