Olive and Let Die (11 page)

“Well, I haven't moved everything from my storage unit from my place in Oswego, so there's not a lot here. Just clothes, bedding, and some beer in the fridge.” He paused. “I went out to run some errands, and when I returned, I must have spooked whoever it was. I heard someone on the fire escape as I came in. He was gone by the time I got to the door and out onto the stairs.”

My heart leapt into my throat. I willed myself to calm down. Petty thefts happened all the time in the Bay, though less frequently when the tourists weren't around. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. But I can't say the same for Monty's files. They're scattered all over my living room floor.”

ELEVEN

I frowned. “Monty's files? What would anyone want with a bunch of old paperwork about arrowheads?”

“Exactly,” Jack said. “I'd barely gotten the boxes unloaded from my Jeep, so I have to think the guy was watching me, waiting until I left. The collection is fairly large, but it's not terribly valuable monetarily. To a scholar like my sister, yes. But the items themselves are relatively common.”

“Does it look like any of the files were taken?”

“I can't tell. I don't think so. But the only way to know for sure is to go through them and put them back together. Trish will kill me if any of the documentation is missing.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Just before I called you. They don't seem concerned, just asked me to come down and fill out a report later. It's probably a waste of time. I think whoever it was got mad
there was nothing in the apartment worth stealing and just decided to be destructive.”

That made sense. I reviewed what I had to do that afternoon. “I need to get Melanie over here, then go see Clive at the funeral home about Doreen. I could come over tonight and help you sort out the papers.”

Jack laughed. “You shameless minx. I've never heard it called that before.”

I was glad he couldn't see the flush that crept up my neck and face. “Oh, stop. You know what I mean.”

“I do. But I couldn't help myself. How does tomorrow look? Some of the guys from the Bay Coast Guard Station asked me out for a beer, and I thought it would be a good way to get to know them.”

It was still a novelty to me that Jack had asked for a transfer. I sorta, kinda hoped it was because of me, but I did my best not to read too much into it. Still, if he was making friends here, there was a better chance he'd want to stay.

“Sounds good. Tomorrow Dolly and I will have to get the food prepped for the weekend service at the restaurant, but we can do that in the morning. Then I'll have the afternoon free.”

“See you then. I'll try not to be hungover.” He laughed and rang off.

I checked the display on my screen. Good. Enough battery left to call Melanie. She picked up herself without letting the call roll over to the wandering Caitlyn.

“Hello.” Her voice held the barest nervous edge.

“It's Georgie. You're coming over to the mainland this afternoon, right? We have a meeting with the funeral home,
and we should go to the bank and let them know about Doreen. I assume she had her account here in town.”

Silence, then a long exhale. “Can't you just take care of it? I don't know anyone in town anymore.”

Maybe you shouldn't have stayed away for two decades, I thought. You might know people. Like your own granddaughter.

“No, Melanie, I cannot just take care of it. You are named as Doreen's executrix in the will, so you're the only one who can act officially.” A thought struck me and I wondered why it hadn't occurred to me before. “Why exactly would Doreen leave everything to you anyway? According to the police, she knew your new name. Seems odd, considering even I didn't know it.”

There was another dramatic pause. “Fine. I'll explain it when I see you. Let me see if I can get us a ride over around two o'clock.”

“Don't worry. Caitlyn knows how to get a ride.” Would she take the bait?

“Of course she does. She's very capable. Not that I like to tell her that very often. She'll get complacent.”

That got me nowhere. I'd just have to wait and confront her later.

“Fine. Two o'clock. Meet me here at the restaurant.” I hung up.

I had an hour to kill, and it was a beautiful fall day, so I decided to take a walk. The Bay's shops were mostly closed up as I passed them, but by the weekend they'd be bustling with tourists as long as the weather held. My friend Midge Binford waved to me from the door of the T-Shirt Emporium, so I stopped in.

“Hey, Georgie. Seems like ages since I've seen you.” She shook out a long-sleeve T-shirt and refolded it so that “Bonaparte Bay—Heart of the Thousand Islands” was visible, then stacked it neatly onto a pile of similar items. “What's new?”

I couldn't even begin to answer that. “Oh, not too much. Getting ready to close up for the season, same as you. I was just going up to the Bean for a quick latte. Want to join me?”

She looked around the shop. “Why not? This stuff will be here when I get back. Let's go.”

The Bay's coffee shop was located a block or two up Theresa Street. Its bright green door picked up the green of the letters overhead: “Express-o Bean.” I ordered a vanilla latte with extra foam and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Midge opted for a cappuccino. We took our drinks outside and sat at a metal-mesh bistro table.

“How'd your season go?” I asked between slurps. “We did all right at the Bonaparte House.”

Midge tucked an errant strand of glossy brown hair behind her ear, showcasing a rose gold hoop earring that glowed pink in the autumn sunshine. I'd seen a similar pair in Roger's Jewelry Shoppe. “Oh, can't complain. The economy seems to be picking up and the Canadian dollar is close to par, so there've been lots of people from across the border.”

I nodded. Most businesses in town took Canadian money at par, meaning that one Canadian dollar equaled one American dollar, regardless of the current exchange rate. Some years we made money on the deal, others we lost. It was just part of doing business along the international border. “What's new with you, Midge? Is Jennifer settled in at Cornell?”

“Oh, yes. She couldn't wait to get back to school. Thank
goodness for scholarships, though. Otherwise I'd never be able to afford to send her there.” She frowned. “It's not like I get any help from her father.”

Midge had been divorced for years from her alcoholic ex-husband. I knew it had been tough for her until she got the shop up and running. As strange as my own family situation was, at least I'd never had to worry about money or our physical safety, and Spiro was a loving father to our daughter. Things could have been a whole lot worse.

“Cal's in Greece.” I missed her, no sense in denying it. “I'm not sure when she's coming back.”

Midge patted my hand. “Well, you'll just have to take a trip over there, then. Once we close up after Columbus Day, I'm taking a road trip to see Kevin out in Seattle.”

“Seattle? Is that where he ended up?” Midge's son was some kind of computer genius, so I was sure he'd landed a very good job out of college. “That's a long drive by yourself,” I said.

She blushed ferociously as though she'd just walked naked into a biker bar. “Uh, I'm not going by myself.”

Interesting! “Are you seeing someone?” I asked, racking my brain to recall if I'd heard any rumors. Nope.

Midge shifted in her seat, then leaned forward. “Well, we're not exactly advertising it, but I've been spending some time with Roger and, well, I like him.”

A broad smile plastered itself on my lips. “Of course. I'm so happy for you! Roger's a sweetheart.” The fact that he owned a jewelry store was a nice little perk, not that I'd say that to Midge. She deserved to be happy, and I was thrilled for her.

“So,” she said. “Let's change the subject. Have you heard anything more about the murder? Poor Doreen.”

My ears perked up. “Did you know her? I've been sort of put in charge of handling her arrangements—it turns out we're related, though I don't remember ever meeting her. And I'll need to put together some kind of lunch at the restaurant for after the funeral.”

Midge looked at me thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I knew her through Paloma—you know, Paloma Martinez that worked for me over the summer? She worked in the cafeteria with Doreen during the school year.”

“Would Paloma know who Doreen's friends are, do you think? I wouldn't want to miss anybody I should notify.” And if my mother decided not to be entirely forthcoming about her return to the Bay and her sudden inheritance, Paloma might be able to shed a little light on things.

Midge smiled. “I don't see why not. Walk me back to the Emporium and I'll give you her number.”

We rose. “Yes, time for me to get going too. I've got to run over to the lawyer's and sign some paperwork before I go to the funeral home.” We picked up our empty cups and dropped them in the trash can.

A few minutes later, phone number written on the back of a business card and stuck in my pocket, I made my way in the opposite direction and a couple of blocks away from downtown. The law offices of MacNamara and MacNamara were located in a two-story Queen Anne–style Victorian sided in white clapboards with black shutters framing each tall, narrow window. I climbed up on the porch past planters full of red geraniums and trailing ivy. Clearly they were
covering the plants at night to protect them from the cold. Dolly had replaced the Bonaparte House annuals with mums a couple of weeks ago. I opened the big red door and walked into a rather narrow hallway.

The reception area was in a room to my right. Behind the desk sat Lydia Ames, MacNamara the Younger's assistant. She'd eaten at the restaurant last weekend (souvlaki and Greek salad, if I recalled correctly), and I'd comped her a dessert. Since I was pretty sure she did most of the work in this place, for not enough pay, I figured it didn't hurt to keep her on my good side so she'd keep things moving along with my divorce.

Lydia looked up from her computer screen and gave me a big smile. “Hi, Georgie. You here to sign your divorce paperwork? Just have a seat and give me a second to finish up something here and then I'll find your file.”

I sat down in one of the visitor's chairs and rummaged around on the table until I found a Hollywood gossip magazine. I thought about wrapping it up inside a
Smithsonian
or a
National Geographic
to disguise the cover, but figured what the hell. So what if I liked gossip? I was hardly the only one. I flipped through absentmindedly. My eyes landed on a familiar head of thick blond hair and a set of scarlet collagen-plumped lips. Melanie. Mom.
Melanie Ashley, star of
The Desperate and the Defiant
, puts Bel Air mansion up for sale.

Hmmm. I could hardly give
Celebrity Update!
credit for Pulitzer Prize–winning journalism, but still. This was the second mention of Melanie's financial difficulties I'd found. I thought of Doreen, who had told Inky that she was going to be coming into some money. And now Doreen was dead
and Melanie was her sole beneficiary. I still didn't like where this was headed.

Lydia motioned me over. As I approached the desk, it occurred to me that there was a legal process that had to be gone through to carry out Doreen's will. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. “Lydia, when someone dies, what do the relatives have to do? Legally, I mean.”

She rummaged around in her pencil cup and pulled out a blue pen, then opened a manila file folder. “Is there a will?” When I nodded, she continued. “The will would have to be submitted to the probate court. There's a lot of paperwork to be filled out, including inventories of real estate and personal property. Once that's all prepared and submitted, it takes a few months for everything to go through, then the assets are distributed to the heirs according to the will.”

I decided to level with her, sort of. “You know Doreen Webber? The woman who was murdered? The executrix of her estate happens to be in town and I'm helping her sort things out. What do we need to do to get the ball rolling?”

Lydia tapped the pen on the mahogany desk. “You know, I'm pretty sure we prepared Doreen's will—and not that long ago either. Call me later and I'll pull the file. Will the executrix want to have the MacNamaras probate the will?”

Might as well. It would be easier than going to one of the law firms in Watertown twenty miles away. “Sure. I'll bring her by. Now, what is it I need to sign?”

She handed me the manila folder. “It's the formal separation agreement. You and Spiro sign it, we submit it to the court, and in a few weeks the divorce can be finalized. Just
read it over and make sure the division of property is the same as you understand it.”