“Can’t decide whether to report ’em to our local law enforcement, or head over there myself and score whatever they’re sharin’ amongst their secretive little selves.” Dwayne grinned up at Violet from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.
Violet threw a look my way. “I can’t get him to take me seriously.”
“Jane’s your lead investigator.”
“I know, I know.” Violet sighed.
I broke in. “I just got a call from Sean Hatchmere. I’m meeting him at the Crock tonight.”
“Good,” Violet said with feeling. “That’s what I’m paying for! Still no luck with Gigi?” I shook my head. “Well, maybe Sean can help you there. He doesn’t like his sister much, though. Nobody does—did—except Roland.”
Violet and I left Dwayne on the dock as we headed through his cabana and out to our cars. A brisk breeze whipped past, running like a ribbon through the tree boughs. I paused to look around me, waiting for Violet to get into her car, a white Mercedes convertible, which she did after searching in her purse for her cell phone. I watched her unlock the vehicle by remote while she connected to her housekeeper, outlining what she wanted done with the red wine stains on the carpet. As she drove away I had a mental picture of her alone in her mansion, drinking wine, worrying about whether she would be indicted for murder.
She’d married a series of husbands and never improved her financial situation with each divorce. She’d married for love, I guess. Or the hope of love and companionship.
It was ironic that the wealth had come to her from her own family, a group of relatives she’d been separated from for years. She might be facing a murder trial in her future, but at least she could pay for it with Purcell funds.
I climbed into my Volvo wagon and headed home. Another blast of hail came at me like a round of artillery. It made me wonder what I was going to wear to my midnight rendezvous with Sean at the Crock. I found myself beginning to look forward to the event, now that I’d mentally conditioned myself.
And there was always the chance that I might see Megan Adair, one of the Crock’s bartenders and the woman who’d dropped The Binkster, my newly adopted pug, on my doorstep.