Page 43 of The Rainbow Recipe
“Or maybe if the floor falls in, you’ll find the tombs,” she suggested.
She almost caught a glimpse of gold coloring his thoughts. Gold? Then a car rolled up the drive, and he emitted a wave of panic. Pris glanced over her shoulder at a black limo parking in the pull-off beside the Fiat. “Customer?” Although one did not panic over customers.
“Hardly.” He strolled away, leaving her to entertain the twins. The nameGladwellcame through loud and strong, though, and not with pleasure.
Even simple-minded Leo had way too much crammed inside his cranium to read clearly. Sorting out what he knew about Lucia’s stepfamily was an impossibility requiring a deep dive into memories she couldn’t possibly access.
Of course, if Leo meant to murder anyone, did she really want to know that?
Lingering out of sight in the gazebo, Pris studied the older man exiting the car and slapping Leo on the back. Vincent Gladwell had been right there with KK when she died. He’d lost his only daughter, and instead of planning her funeral, he was on a pleasure trip? That’s what Leo had said the Gladwells did when they visited.
His son, Matt, climbed out on the other side. Hadn’t Evie said she’d just talked to him back in South Carolina? Maybe they were holding KK’s funeral here? Why? She was English.
As the men walked toward Leo’s office, she could see the tension as well as sense it. Vincent’s mind was a bramble of fury. Matt’s seemed to have a single focus—wine. He left Leo and his father and aimed for the tasting room inside.
With her focus on the men, she lost track of the twins. Before she knew it, they darted out of the gazebo in pursuit of a farm cat.
At sight of them, Vincent halted. Pris heard one thought loud and clear—Damn bastards!—before a thicket of curses created another impenetrable mental hedge.
Guilt, murderous hatred, and fear seeped through the thorns.
Twenty-one: Evie
Afterthought,South Carolina
Evie testedthe back door of La Bella Gente’s unopened bistro. It was unlocked, as Roark had promised. A man with his acute hearing, who could open safes, had no difficulty with this flimsy doorknob lock.
It was still early morning, before the boutique next door opened, but the morning sun hadn’t filtered into the bistro’s kitchen area. She nearly stumbled over a stack of pallets and a few garbage bags waiting to be hauled to a dumpster. Apparently beautiful people didn’t like taking out trash.
She tapped the mic Reuben had given her. “Testing.”
“You’re good. Camera’s on the alley,” Reuben reported in her earbud. “I’ll let you know when the pest arrives.”
She’d sent anonymous messages to both Rhonda Tart and Jane Lawson suggesting this meeting place. She hoped they’d heeded her wise advice, or this was all for nothing.
Of course, given the relative cluelessness of both parties, she was probably just being nosy and accomplishing nothing anyway. Pris was over there with the real villains.
As Evie picked her way past the trash, hunting for a hiding place, KK flitted about in near invisibility. Apparently, she had little interest in the bistro. Did she even realize only a wall separated her from her favorite place, the glittery chrome-and-glass shop? Evie still couldn’t pinpoint why KK was clinging to this mortal coil. The ghost appeared purposeless. She’d always thought spirit energy needed a good reason to apply itself to staying in this plane of existence.
The dining room was mostly dusty empty space. No tables or good hiding places, just a serving counter and a...Evie studied the dark windows of a cabinet and opened it. Maybe for wine bottles? Although the shelves had never been installed. There were cartons leaning against the sides. She scooted them out of the way and stepped inside—perfect size. The window was a problem though.
She stepped out, set a broomstick and a rag inside as a test, and decided that in this dim light, she could stand against the wall and not be seen. “I’m in and ready,” she whispered into her mic.
“Lawson in alley,” Rube reported.
“This is almost exciting,” she whispered back.
Reuben had insisted a microphone was sufficient for listening in on the blogger and Rhonda and that she needn’t risk herself. Evie had to remind him that she needed to physicallyseepeople talking as well as hear them. Auras didn’t show up on equipment.
She leaned against the wall of the cabinet in the best position for observing the empty room and watched the Blogger Bigot ease open the kitchen door. As usual, Jane Lawson’s aura was murky, more with fear than anger at the moment. Of course, paranoia seemed to be her permanent state.
Right on time, Rhonda entered through the boutique door. Her aura displayed an unhealthy level of ambition and...greed? Hmmm, did that mean Rhonda was only after the money? If she really was Vincent’s mistress, she wasn’t getting much action with him in England all the time.
Dressed in upwardly-mobile fashion of designer dress and heels, Rhonda stopped halfway across the empty interior, looking a trifle surprised that Lawson in her usual khaki drab was already present. She’d probably expected to have to unlock the back door.
Evie winced. She probably should have locked it behind her.
“You have something for me?” Jane asked tactlessly, searching the shadows as she approached. “I don’t see why you couldn’t email it. The address is on my website.”
