Page 56 of Murder on the Page

I’d met Evelyn on numerous occasions. An ob-gyn until she retired, the successful Black woman had been one of Marigold’s best friends. She was intelligent and well-read and a dynamo in the African-American community in Asheville.

“Yes, Evelyn, hi. It’s Tegan Potts. Marigold’s niece.” Tegan paused, and I could see her shoulders shake ever so slightly. She was stemming fresh tears. “Thank you. That’s very sweet of you. Yes, she will be missed.” Tegan tapped her foot, listening. “Yes, she was a grand, wonderful lady. Um, Evelyn, I have to ask a sensitive question. Did you meet with my aunt Friday evening?” She listened to the response. “You didn’t?” Tegan made a face at me. “What’s that, Evelyn? Why do I ask? Because Auntie withdrew a large sum of money from her bank account that day, and I met with the attorney for her estate this morning, and he said she was going to leave that same amount of money to the theater foundation.” She paused, listened again, then proceeded to speak. “One hundred thousand dollars.”

Evelyn reacted so loudly with shock and gratitude even I could hear her from the other end of the telephone call.

“Yes, it’s a lot of money,” Tegan said, “but my aunt appears to have amassed a significant fortune.” She nodded. “Of course. The attorney will make sure the distribution reaches you. It could take a little time.” More nodding. “Yes, I know the foundation needs the funds. Tickets? Why, sure, I’d be happy to accept season tickets from you. Thank you for your time. Good-bye.” Tegan hung up the phone. “She was crying.”

“To be expected. They were contemporaries. For years, they worked together on the foundation.”

Tegan sagged and tears trickled down her cheeks.

I threw an arm around her. “Buck up. Hold it together a few more hours. I have to finish up at Dream Cuisine, but afterward I’ll make dinner for you at my house, if you want.”

“Can’t. Sorry. I agreed to have dinner with Mom and Vanna. . . and Rick.” Her nose wrinkled with displeasure.

“Any word from your soon-to-be ex?”

“Crickets. Which is fine by me. If he finds out about my inheritance—”

“I told you, he can’t touch it. Also you have the right to initiate the divorce, you know. It is not a one-way street.”

She wiggled her mouth right and left.

“You’ll need to secure an attorney,” I said.

“It appears I can afford one now.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“Winston is a slug.”

“A creep.”

“A fool.”

“An imbecile, jerk, loser,” she said.

“He brings everyone joy when he leaves the room,” I quipped.

That made her snort. “That is why I love you.” She jutted a finger at me. “You have some of the best comebacks.” She knuckled my arm. “Go. Do that thing you’re brilliant at. And save me one of everything you make.”

“Tomorrow you should show me the ropes here. Teach me what I’ll need to do to support you.”

“You already know how to do everything better than me.” She hugged me. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

The weather had grown cooler since I’d entered the bookshop. A stiff breeze was whipping along the street and cut through me. Teeth chattering, I protected my core with my arms and hustled to my Ford Transit. Luckily, I’d invested in seat warmers.

When I arrived at Dream Cuisine, I queued up some jazz music. I couldn’t listen to an audiobook while cooking. I might miss a step in a recipe. The first in the lineup, Kenny G’s “Songbird” piped through the Bluetooth speaker. There was nothing like cool jazz to put me in the mood for spending time in my happy place.

For the next hour, dancing slowly in time with the music, I made the batter for the extra scones and cookies I’d need for the memorial and froze it all; then I packaged up the cowboy cookies, inserted the appetizers for the office party into eco-friendly containers, and arranged the scones on pretty party trays, which I would retrieve the following day. After I stowed everything into the walk-in refrigerator—I would deposit it all into the catering van in the morning—I decided to make a detour before heading home.

Wind was whisking through town and kicking up leaves and debris as I drove. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to swing by Marigold’s house again. Was I silly enough to hope the last few days were all a bad nightmare and I’d see her in her living room nestled in her favorite chair?

Yeah, no such luck. The house was dark and dreary. No exterior or interior lights had switched on automatically. I wondered if Vanna had spoken to a Realtor. If she had, keeping the house dark until it was up for sale could be a tactic. If that was the case, however, why wouldn’t she have mentioned it to Tegan when they’d exchanged text messages? Perhaps she would tell her at dinner tonight.

As I passed by, Graham was sitting on a rocking chair on his porch, puffing on a cigarette while peering at a cell phone. The light from the phone’s screen illuminated his face. He did not look happy. Not keen to have him think I was spying on him, I sped out of sight.

At home, I slipped on my favorite leggings and a soft hoodie sweatshirt. I didn’t have much of an appetite, so I ate a quick snack of cold salami, sliced carrots, and Manchego cheese, and served Darcy a gourmet salmon treat. Then I poured myself a glass of Pinot Noir, set it on the table beside my oversized armchair, and switched on the gas fireplace in the living room. I snuggled into the chair, and Darcy hopped up and curled into my lap. His purring gave me comfort.

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