by Harper Lin
“Yup.”
Rhonda narrowed her eyes and studied both girls. I guessed that she was using her mom powers to scrutinize them for any plans for teenage shenanigans. Eventually, she nodded. “You have to meet up with us for dinner.”
“No problem!”
Of course it was no problem. I was paying, and I’d promised them a decently nice restaurant. I had no doubts they’d show up wherever we told them to and probably fifteen minutes early. Unless something horrible happens to them. But I took another deep breath and reminded myself that I wasn’t going to think about that.
“All right, off with you!” Rhonda waved her hands at them. “Go, have a good time. And I expect you to check in by text every hour.”
“Okay!” Becky called as she and Amanda turned and walked away.
“Is it really okay to let them go off on their own like that?” I asked Rhonda nervously.
“You let them handle money and hot coffee, but you’re worried about letting them wander around a department store on their own?” Rhonda asked.
“Yes.”
“Fair enough. But, yes, I think they’ll be fine. They’re smart, competent girls. And it’s not like they’re six years old.” She turned and eyed the racks of clothing. “Now, stop worrying about that. We have shopping to do!”
Rhonda led Sammy and me through the racks, heading in the direction of the clearance section. I was grateful. I had looked at a price tag or two as we walked and almost choked. I showed one to Sammy, and her big blue eyes got even bigger.
“That’s a typo, right?” she whispered. “They put the decimal point in the wrong place?”
Even in New York, I hadn’t bought clothes that cost that much money.
At the sale rack, Rhonda started picking garments up and slinging them over her arm.
“Rhonda, I—”
“It’s fine. I’m just shopping,” she said without so much as pausing in her perusal of the racks. “I’ll pick some things up, you’ll try them on. If they look gorgeous and chic and Italian, you’ll buy them. Simple as that.”
“She would make a great personal shopper,” Sammy said.
“Too bad we don’t have a Neiman’s in Cape Bay,” I replied.
“She’d spend everything she made.”
“You think she doesn’t now?”
Sammy laughed. “She has picked up some cute stuff for you.”
I couldn’t disagree even though I worried about the prices even on clearance. Rhonda wound her way through the racks for a few more minutes before declaring it time for me to try things on.
“I don’t think they’ll let me take all that in the fitting room,” I said.
“It’s fine. I’ll swap things out for you as you try them on.”
I looked at Sammy for help, but she giggled at my predicament. I gave in and shrugged. “All right, give me the first batch.”
Rhonda pulled the first eight pieces off her pile, barely making a dent in it, and handed them to me. “Here you go! And don’t forget to come out and show Sammy and me everything you try on, okay?”
“I’ll show it to you if it looks good.”
“Everything!” Rhonda repeated.
I was afraid enough of her deciding she would just camp out in the dressing room with me that I agreed. Approximately twenty-four outfits later, I finally put on something that Rhonda liked. I wasn’t sure about it, but Rhonda loved it.
“I don’t know.” I looked at myself in the mirror outside the dressing room. “It’s not really—”
“Black enough?” Rhonda asked.
The dress had a black-and-white floral pattern, and I had to admit it was the white that threw me off. The cut was fine. The fit was fine. But the presence of the white and the pattern made me uneasy.
“It really does look good on you, Fran,” Sammy said.
I turned and looked at myself from the side. “I don’t know if it looks Italian enough.”
“The designer is Italian,” Rhonda said.
“That doesn’t mean it’s something Italian women would wear.”
“Haven’t we been through this?” Rhonda asked Sammy.
Sammy nodded, although she looked a little reluctant.
“You’re Italian, Fran,” Rhonda said. “And you’re wearing it. That means it’s something Italian women would wear.”
“But—” I was interrupted before I could say anything else.
“Francesca? Francesca, darling, is that you?” A familiar voice came from a few racks over.
“Mrs. D’Angelo?” Sammy whispered.
I nodded.
“Oh boy,” Rhonda muttered.
“Francesca! It is you!” Mrs. D’Angelo announced, loud enough for the entire store to hear. “And Samantha! And Rhonda! How lovely to see you all here. What a remarkable coincidence!” She grabbed both my hands in hers. “And you look lovely, Francesca! Are you thinking of buying that dress? You should! It’s quite slimming.”
I glanced down at my body and wondered if slimming was something I needed to worry about.
“What are you all doing here? Are you shopping for Francesca? That’s lovely, so lovely.” She turned her attentions to Sammy, much to my relief. My nose had started to stuff up as a defense against her intense floral perfume. “Are you going to get some shopping in too, Samantha? Oh, you should! It never hurts to spruce up your wardrobe a bit! Don’t you forget that either, Rhonda! You know as we get older, we have to start dressing more maturely, but that doesn’t mean we have to be unfashionable. We have to maintain ourselves! Keep ourselves looking young! And sprightly!”
She waved one hand around in the air as she spoke. As usual, I was struck by how long and red her fingernails were. At least this time, they weren’t digging into my arm as she counseled me on something I didn’t know I needed to be counseled on.
“What time is it?” she asked, without skipping a beat. Before any of us could say anything, she turned her wrist to look at her gold wristwatch. “Oh, my! I must be going! I have an appointment with that Diane Bernard to see about having my front walk redone, and if I don’t leave right now, I won’t have time to freshen up before she arrives. Such a sourpuss, that one! Her and her sister both! What’s her sister’s name?” Whether it was a rhetorical question or she just remembered the answer, she plowed on. “That’s it! Sabine! Sourpusses, aren’t they? But Diane does such lovely work. I’ve asked her to do it in brick—something classic, a herringbone pattern perhaps. In any case, I must be off if I’m to be ready to meet her! Goodbye, ladies!” She disappeared off through the racks without any of us having a chance to say a word to her.
“Does my wardrobe need sprucing up?” Sammy held out her shirt. “I mean, I know this is an old shirt, but I didn’t think it looked bad.”
“What about me?” Rhonda asked. “A seventy-five-year-old woman just announced to all of Neiman’s that I was getting old and needed to maintain myself! We need to hit the skincare counter before we get out of here. Are you going to buy that dress, Fran? You need to. It’s perfect.”
“Um, I don’t know.” Mrs. D’Angelo’s words rang in my ears.
“Come on!” Rhonda said. “Buy it! It looks so good!”
I agreed numbly. The rest of the afternoon, I felt like I had earmuffs on. I barely heard a word anyone said through our skin counter trip and our dinner and our drive home. I waved goodbye to Becky and Amanda as Rhonda dropped each of them off at their houses, but I’d been so distracted, I’d practically forgotten to be relieved when they rejoined us at dinner.
“Are you okay, Fran?” Sammy asked after they got out of the car.
“Yeah, um, just a little…” I trailed off as I touched a hand to my head.
“Tired? Headache-y? Distracted thinking about wearing that dress as you wander the streets of Rome on Matt’s arm?” Rhonda offered.
I managed a smile and a nod. “Yes.”
I couldn’t tell them that what really had me so distracted was that I knew who’d killed Georgina.
Chapter 18
When I woke up in the morning, for a few glorious seconds, I didn’t think anything about what I’d realized the day before. Then it all came rushing back to me, and my heart raced in my chest. I couldn’t stop thinking. It ran around and around in my head like a terrible song. Diane killed Georgina. Diane killed Georgina. Diane killed Georgina.
Even though I’d known all along that someone was responsible for Georgina’s death, suddenly attaching a name to the words “Georgina’s murderer” made me feel sick. And the fact that it was someone I—sort of—knew, had served in my café, and had, however briefly, spoken with made it even worse.
It was so obvious. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t put it together sooner. That brick, the one in the evidence bag with the bloodstain—it was too thin to be used on the exterior of a house.
But it was the perfect thickness for creating a decorative garden border or front walk. I’d held one before at the home improvement store and knew that it was still deceptively heavy. You wouldn’t need to be a former quarterback to give that thing some heft and fling it through a window. I shuddered to think about what would happen if one slammed into your skull. Exactly what happened to Georgina, that was what.
And then there was Sabine with her perfectly designed brick front walk and the way she’d hesitated to tell me who did it for her. I’d known in my gut that it hadn’t been there when she moved in. It was new, and her sister was the one who’d put it in. Her sister who was so grumpy and unpleasant. Her sister who had a perfect motive for breaking into the jewelry store—to “help” her sister’s boyfriend get the perfect engagement ring. I had no doubt that the Diane I’d met had the nerves and the cold, hard edge to do it either. I just had to prove it.
I dragged myself out of bed. Latte was as excited to see me awake as ever. I welcomed the distraction, even if it only took a few minutes to let him outside and feed him.
I took a quick shower and stood in front of my closet, staring at my collection of clothing. What do you wear to confront a murderer? Not that I wanted to confront her. But I knew that if I went to Mike, or even Ryan, with my flimsy evidence, they’d send me on my way. Maybe they would look into it eventually, but that was precious time that Georgina’s murderer would be walking free while her victim was quite literally cooling her heels in the county morgue.
I had to get Diane to confess. Failing that, maybe I could at least find some evidence. The ring would be ideal, but would that be somewhere that I could easily find it? Without breaking any laws? Of course, Mike had been careful to emphasize that I was not acting as an agent of the police. If I had been, I’d have to follow all their rules—rules like getting a search warrant before going through someone’s house. So since he also made sure I knew I wasn’t representing the police, maybe a little light breaking and entering wouldn’t hurt? If it helped solve the case?
Probably not. Even if Mike would be able to use any evidence I found, he’d probably throw me in jail for as long as he could just to teach me a lesson about minding my own business.
I looked at my closet again. The day’s agenda held, at a minimum, murderer confronting, evidence searching, probably not any breaking and entering—trespassing wasn’t a crime unless somebody complained, right?—maybe a little climbing around in Diane’s backyard? With any luck, I’d also be turning Diane over to the police and getting at least a solid pat on the back from Mike for my good investigative work. Maybe a reporter would take my picture for the newspaper. Okay, now I was dreaming. And I still needed to decide what to wear.
I decided you should look good to confront a murderer. Why not?
I pulled out my favorite pair of jeans and a cornflower-blue sweater that matched my eyes. I blew out my hair and curled it for the first time in ages. My hair was so heavy and thick that I kept it up most of the time while working in the café. I didn’t need anything to make me any hotter than I already got working over the espresso machine. Curling it the way I used to when I lived in New York felt good though. Maybe I’d try to do it more often. Its dark color did make my eyes pop.
After I put on my makeup, I checked myself out in the mirror. Would this look intimidate Diane? Probably not. I didn’t think much intimidated her, probably not even Mike. But at least I knew I’d look good.
I fished out a pair of practical, flat-heeled riding boots from my closet and pulled them on. Karen would have been disappointed, but at least I’d be able to walk without aerating the grass. Telltale heel holes wouldn’t help me be stealthy while poking around at Diane’s house.
Deciding I looked as good as I was going to, I headed downstairs to collect Latte for his walk. He jumped up and down, excited to head out. I felt bad that I was only going to take him around the block, but I needed to get to Diane’s before my courage failed me.
Latte and I went out and started down the sidewalk toward Main Street. When we got to the corner where we usually turned left, I turned right in the direction of Diane’s house. Latte got excited, thinking he was getting to go on an adventure.
But when we got to the next corner where we should have turned to circle back around to the house, I kept going straight. Latte’s steps got even bouncier than usual as he realized he was definitely getting to go on an adventure. I was kind of glad I couldn’t speak dog. It meant I didn’t have to tell him that we wouldn’t be going on an adventure and that I’d just decided to take a slightly longer walk than usual. I was pretty sure I was procrastinating. Either that or I was walking myself to Diane’s. But Latte would be more of a hindrance than a help there, so I knew taking him was a bad idea.
We kept walking.
When we got to Diane’s street, I turned. I told myself I just wanted to walk by and make sure I knew where it was. Then I’d take Latte home and come back on my own. It would be good for Latte to have such a nice, long walk. I watched the house numbers as we passed, looking for the one I’d found online the night before as I dug around researching Diane. When I came to it, I was surprised. The whole house was as neat and tidy as her sister’s hadn’t been. There was exquisite stonework outside, of course, even more impressive than what I’d seen at Sabine’s, but on top of that, the house and yard were immaculately maintained. The house’s white paint looked like it had been painted yesterday, and the blue on the shutters was so vibrant it almost glowed. The grass was a perfectly uniform height without a weed to be seen. I also had a feeling that I’d found the green thumb in the family, and it wasn’t Sabine.
While Sabine’s garden had been pretty with lots of fall color, Diane’s garden was amazing. She had the most incredible array of flowers—in bloom, no less. There was an assortment of bushes with leaves in the process of changing color for the fall, brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges. I wondered what they were and where I could find them for my own garden. It was too bad Diane would be going to jail. I would have loved to hire her to landscape my yard. Based on the number of other plants I saw, I was pretty sure she had one of those amazing gardens with year-round color. I’d always wanted one of those. It was too bad I had no gardening skill whatsoever. I was pretty sure I could kill silk flowers. I wondered how hostile Diane was able to create something so beautiful. Or maybe I wondered how someone who created something so beautiful could be so hostile. Either way, I was baffled.
Something possessed me to turn up the front walk. I’m just going to look, I told myself right up until my finger pushed the doorbell. This one definitely worked. Not only was the little light lit up, I heard it ring loud and clear inside the house. I waited patiently, or as patiently as I could anyway, for Diane to come to the door. I counted to one hundred to make sure I wasn’t rushing. I pushed the doorbell again. I counted to one hundred. Still nothing.
I decided that since she wasn’t home, or at least was acting like she wasn’t, it wouldn’t be totally out of the question for me to look around a little bit—like I was a friend, checking on her, or a potential home buyer, one of those ones who goes up to houses
that aren’t even on the market and offers an astronomical sum to convince the owners to sell. Although, if I was going to do that, I’d do it for one of the houses on the beach, not this one. It was cute and all, but not so cute that I’d ever even consider paying three times the market rate for it in the imaginary world where I had that kind of money, of course.
I leaned over and looked in one of the windows next to the door. It was bright inside even though, as far as I could tell, the lights were all off. Diane had great natural light in the place. I didn’t see any sign of Diane though. Or of the ring. I leaned over to the other window. More of the same. Latte pulled at his leash, bored by the inactivity.
“Shh,” I whispered. “Stay. We’ll go in a minute. I just want to look around a little.” He calmed down but kept walking back and forth behind me, pulling his leash to its limit.
The other front windows were over the garden. It looked like there was space for me to walk down behind the plants, especially if I scooted down sideways. Latte would be a problem though. I didn’t think I could wiggle my way back there without him trampling everything. Fortunately, he wasn’t much of one for wandering off.
“Latte, you behave,” I said quietly and dropped the leash. He seemed to listen to me and understand. He just took a couple of extra steps and sniffed a perfectly mowed section of grass. I hoped he wouldn’t pee on it.
I sidled down behind the plants and looked in the first window. It was another room, also bright with sunlight. Based on the furniture, it looked like a very well-decorated living room because of course, the inside of her house would be as stunning as the outside. But other than that, I didn’t see anything useful. No Diane, no ring. I made my way to the next one. Same room, but I scanned it carefully again in case I could spot something important. Nothing.
I peeked around the corner of the house to see if there were any windows. There were two more, probably still of the living room, but I wanted to look through them anyway. One was the living room, but the next was frosted over, and I couldn’t see anything. It was either the ring-hiding room or the bathroom. The bathroom seemed a more likely candidate unless she was hiding the ring in the bathroom. But a bathroom seemed like a poor choice, too many drains to drop something small and incredibly valuable down.