A Premonition of Murder (21 page)

I stood up, grabbed my purse, and blew him a kiss. “Like they say, timing is everything.”

23

“I can't believe this happened to you,” Ali said consolingly. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with the Dream Club tonight? We can always reschedule.” It was our regular meeting day and I was eager to discuss new developments in the case. The members were scheduled to arrive in a couple of hours.

“I'm fine,” I told her. “A hot cup of tea and I'll be as good as new.” It was four o'clock, and I'd returned to the candy store after doing some shopping in town. My mind was still reeling after my morning at Beaux Reves, but I knew it was better to get on with business as usual and not dwell on my terrifying experience. I'd downplayed the awful basement scene to Ali. I was afraid she'd have nightmares for weeks if she knew exactly how bad things had been for me. “How's business today?”

“A bit slow,” Ali admitted. “The lunch crowd was fairly good, and a few people came in for tea and pastries about
an hour ago. I told Dana she could leave early; she's putting in way too many hours with us. It's starting to look like a full-time job instead of a college internship.”

Ali was in constant motion as she talked, cleaning fingerprints off the glass cabinets and washing down the white marble prep counter. She'd opened a huge box of jelly beans and was arranging them in colorful swirls on a three-tiered serving plate. “You look like you haven't stopped all day,” I told her. Everything was sparkling, and I spotted freshly baked brownies on the counter. They had marshmallow topping and a dusting of chopped nuts. They're one of the most popular menu items and are baked with a touch of Kahlúa.

“I haven't stopped for a minute,” she said, brushing a stray lock of blond hair out of her eyes. “I've been working on something new I want to show you.” She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a large tray with a domed lid. “I should have done this ages ago,” she said, lifting off the covering. “Voilà!”

I looked at the artfully arranged tray filled with bite-sized portions of lemon squares, tiny wedges of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, blueberry buckle and apple pie served in cute little jars with gingham tops, and a nice selection of brownies and cookie bars. “It looks delicious, but what is it?”

“It's a tasting tray!” she said proudly. “This way when someone wants to do a big order for a party—like the Harper sisters—they can try samples before they buy.” She pushed a tiny cherry pastry toward me. “Here, try one of the cherry tartlets. I came up with the recipe today.”

I took a bite and sighed with pleasure. “It's delicious,” I said appreciatively. “And the tasting tray is a great idea.” I wasn't just being polite. In the past, Ali's ideas have been so over-the-top, we couldn't really implement them. This
idea was practical, made sense, and I was sure it would draw in business. I'm proud of Ali; she's becoming a better businesswoman every day.

“Of course, the Harper sisters already know what everything tastes like because they're in the Dream Club, but our other customers don't.” She paused and refilled her glass of sweet tea. “I think we really need to expand our party menu. When Rose and Minerva mentioned the event for their pastor, it made me think that we might be missing out on a great opportunity. The tasting tray is the first step.”

“I think you're right,” I said, reaching for another tartlet. These things were seriously addictive. I was going to ask Ali how she managed to shape the pie pastry into such tiny thumbprint shells when the bell above the shop door jangled. We both looked up as Laura Howard strode in.

Laura Howard!
The last person in the world I expected to see at Oldies But Goodies.

“Ladies,” she said coolly, slipping into a seat at the counter with us. She glanced quickly around the shop as if checking to make sure we were alone. “I'm simply perishing outside. Do you suppose I could have some of that sweet tea?” She pointed to the icy carafe we always keep on hand for customers.

“Of course you can,” Ali said quickly. We exchanged a look as she filled the glass for Laura and added a sprig of mint at the top.

We waited while Laura took a long swig of the tea before speaking. “I was in the neighborhood and remembered you mentioning the shop at Abigail's memorial service.” She gave a keen look at the gleaming countertops and spiffy bins of old-fashioned candy, and I was glad that the shop was in tip-top shape. I had the feeling Laura was the kind
of woman who wouldn't miss a trick. She was put together like a fashion model today in a pale yellow linen sheath, with a triple strand of pearls and what looked like Louboutins on her feet.

“How are you doing?” Ali said softly. “I know you and Abigail went back a long time.”

For a moment, Laura hesitated, and I thought she might cry. “A
very
long time,” she said with a wry smile. “It's funny, you don't really think of getting older and time passing, do you?” She was staring past us at a collection of baking utensils and I knew her thoughts were far away. She gave a little flutter with her hands, and I noticed she was still wearing her walnut-sized diamond ring.

“Time slips away from all of us,” Ali said sympathetically.

Laura turned back to us as if she knew her thoughts had drifted. She nodded her chin with a sad look in her eyes. “And then life events happen. Your children grow up, a close friend dies, your husband takes up with a younger woman”—she gave a derisive little sniff—“and suddenly you feel old.”

Ali and I exchanged a look. Since Laura had mentioned the divorce, I supposed it was common knowledge and we were free to comment on it. I decided not to mention rumors of her own “dalliance.”

“Will you be okay?” I said. I meant financially, not emotionally, and wondered how she would answer.

“Can I try one of these?” she asked, pointing to the tray with the goodies. She either was stalling or needed a moment to compose herself before continuing.

“Yes, of course,” Ali said, pushing the tasting tray toward her. “Have whatever you want. It's a tasting tray.”

Laura took a lemon square and savored it with little cat
bites. “Delicious. I can see why you've made a success of this place.” She wiped her hands on a napkin. “To get back to your question, Taylor, I made a mess of things when I signed that prenup. Who knew it would come back to haunt me all these years later? It's going to be impossible to break, and my husband has the best lawyers in town.” Her eyes welled up a little and she dabbed at them with the edge of her napkin.

“There's the tontine,” Ali said. “That might be your salvation.”

“Yes, the tontine,” Laura said sarcastically. “Everyone thinks I've made a fortune on it, but I may not see any of that money for years.”

This came as a total surprise to me. “Why not? I thought it was a very valuable piece of real estate.”

“It is. Or at least it
was.
I'll have to wait years to put it on the market, so it's not going to be a source of ready cash for me. It seems they're opening a very swanky girls' school just half a block away. It will knock the price of my property way down. In fact, it already has.”

“Are they allowed to open a girls' school there? I thought they had to maintain the historical integrity of these older buildings.”

“Normally it wouldn't be permitted. But the builder is being very clever about it. He's using the same footprint as the original mansion and simply changing the inside. And it's already been approved because it counts as an educational institution. It's not like he's putting up a string of a condos; that would never fly. Plus he has connections with every politician in town.”

“What's the problem with having a girls' school close by?” Ali asked.

“Traffic, noise, parking. All negatives. One of my friends is a real estate agent, and she recommended that I hold on to my property for a few years. The value has taken a tumble, but maybe in time, it will come back up. Who knows?” She gave a little shrug. “The girls' school might not be as much of a disaster as people are predicting.” She glanced at her watch. “I'd best be on my way.” She gave us a warm smile. “Nice place you have here. I'll take a dozen brownies,” she said, pointing to the ones that were fresh from the oven. “In fact, I'll take the whole tray. I'm having a few friends over tonight for a wine-and-dessert party. I plan on drowning my sorrows in white wine and chocolate.”

*   *   *

“There goes her
motive,” Ali said to me a couple of hours later as we were setting up for the Dream Club. “She's not going to be making any money off the tontine right away, so there wouldn't be any reason to kill Abigail.” Ali arranged some chocolate truffles—homemade, a new recipe—on a hand-painted plate and stood back to admire her handiwork.

“Yes, but she didn't know that,” I countered. “She probably knew her husband was on his way out and she was going to be destitute. I'm sure it never occurred to her there would be any problem in selling the land right away.”

“She seemed so sad,” Ali said softly. “I don't really think she's capable of killing anyone, do you?”

“Probably not.” The truth is, Ali doesn't think
anyone
is capable of killing. “Should we be using that plate?” I said, pointing to the truffles. “It's from the Harper sisters and is at least a hundred years old.”

“Of course we should,” Ali said, placing it gently on the coffee table. “Minerva told me just last week that beautiful
things are meant to be used and enjoyed. Her feelings will be hurt if we stash it away someplace.”

“Whatever you say.” The upstairs looked perfect, and I checked to see that there was hot tea, iced sweet tea, and a small pot of decaf coffee for Lucinda. Barney and Scout were snoozing side by side on the windowsill, and the plantation shutters were open to the soft night air.

“If we take Laura out of the mix,” Ali said, sinking into an armchair, “where does that leave us, as far as suspects? Did you come to any conclusions at the mansion today?”

“Not really.” I still couldn't think about Beaux Reves without getting a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd had a horrible shock being trapped in the basement, but did it really change anything? It could have been a mistake—maybe that board had been placed there ages ago—or maybe it was just someone's idea of a joke.

“We have Angus and Sophie,” Ali said thoughtfully. “We know they lied about that alibi. The Seven Sisters was closed that night. They couldn't possibly have had dinner there.”

“Yes, but they cleared that up today.” I quickly told her about Sophie's claim that Angus had gotten the name wrong. “Apparently the Sisters is a real restaurant, and it was open that night. I checked.”

“I suppose that might clear them. Their motives were weak.”

“Well, Angus needed money; that's not a weak motive,” I objected. “And I'm pretty sure he was stealing objects from Beaux Reves.”

“Plus you just don't like him, do you?” Ali said with a laugh.

“No,” I admitted, “I don't. And as for Sophie, she's still a question mark. There's something a bit off about her, but
I can't put my finger on it. She reminds me of an actress in a play. A bad actress.”

“A bad actress? Why's that?” Ali stood up and moved to the landing. Dream Club members had arrived and were tromping up the stairs. We were expecting a small group tonight: the Harper sisters, Persia, Sybil, Lucinda, and Dorien.

“Sophie seems like someone who knows her lines, but she's not believable. And she stands to inherit a fortune if Abigail really did change her will.”

“Money. It's always about money,” Ali said with a sigh. Sometimes I think she is too good for this world.

“That's the way Noah looks at it,” I reminded her. His favorite saying is
Follow the money
.

*   *   *

“Last night I
dreamt about a fish on the wall,” Dorien Myers said a few minutes later. Ali had agreed to let Dorien go first tonight. Dorien had seemed agitated when she plunked herself into a side chair, and we knew she was dying to tell us about her dream. “I have no idea what it means, but I blame it on my ex-brother-in-law.”