Raisin the Dead (18 page)

Except for Olivia, I didn't tell the Destiny Divas that I was showing up with Serafina. So when I walked into Olivia's house with her, she caused a stir.

“Sorry to take over the meeting,” I apologized once Olivia had settled everyone at her dining room table and served us. “This is Serafina Alessi. She owns Serafina Perfumes, for those of you who don't know.”

Once I'd introduced everyone to Serafina, who couldn't have looked more bored, I continued. “The reason she's here is she's asked me for my help in finding out who killed her great-uncle, Philip Baldelli.”

“What about the police?” Laura asked. “Shouldn't they be helping?”

“Detective Corsino was thrown from a horse and is in the hospital recovering,” put in Mary Sue. She turned towards me. “Molly, I was so upset when I read about his accident. You must feel so helpless right now. My prayers for his fast recovery. I know I don't have to tell you to call me if there's anything I can do, or if you want to talk, or have company.”

“Of course she knows that,” snapped Elizabeth. “We may only meet once a month, but I think we all consider each other good friends; otherwise, we couldn't have tolerated one another for so long. Besides sharing a love for good, mediocre, and sometimes bad literature, we've been through crushes, boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, marriages, divorces, babies in some cases, and now, two murders in town. If we can't bond through all that, then we have an issue.”

I smiled at Elizabeth's soliloquy. Her bark was worse than her bite, so we all ignored her when she went snippy on us. “Thank you, I appreciate it. You all are more than a book club, to me. I value all of you.” I ignored the sad lump in my throat. I focused on our business, not on how much I missed Sean and couldn't wait to see him again. Between Sergeant Jacoby and me, I hoped to be able to have Philip's murder all solved by the time Sean was back to his old self.

“I asked Molly for help,” Serafina said, addressing the group, “because I noticed in my great-uncle's old newspapers that she was involved in solving some orchard owner's murder, Calista Something-or-Other. All I want is to go home to New York City. I can't leave until this mess is cleared up. I most certainly did not kill him, I can assure you.”

“We're all happy to meet you,” said Fiona. “I'm sure you'll be able to go home soon. Not everyone thinks you killed your great-uncle.”

“The police do, obviously. Otherwise, I'd be home. I don't know what you people can do, but I'd appreciate any help.”

“We'll do our best,” I said.

“What exactly would that be?” asked Nikki. “I don't see that we can do much.”

“I'm going to assign some of you suspects. Your job is to research them. I was going to do it myself, but then I thought, why not ask my divas to help?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Laura. “We're supposed to be a book club, not amateur detectives. And I stress the word ‘amateur.'”

“No, I'm not kidding,” I countered. “Sean is in the hospital, and even though Sergeant Jacoby is stepping in, I think we could really help him out. It's only until Sean is back on his feet.”

“I think it's a great idea, y'all,” drawled Emmaline, bouncing in her seat. “I love a good mystery. Who's my suspect? Ooooh, give me a good one. By the time I'm finished with them, the person won't have a skeleton left in his closet.”

“Thank you for your enthusiasm, Emmaline.” I hoped it would encourage the others to show a little passion.

Laura sighed, a bit more heavily than was merited. “Fine. Give me one, too.”

After Laura spoke, the others clamored for a suspect, our book of the month forgotten. I assigned my suspects as thus:

Laura—Serafina Alessi

Emmaline—Candy Blick

Me—Jill McGinley

Olivia—my mother

Mary Sue—Abigail Smith-Blanton, the Oleandra County Preservation Society

Nikki—Peter Delaney, the Destiny Trust for Historic Preservation

Elizabeth—Daniel Bixby

“Now what do we do?” asked Emmaline. “How does this work, Molly? I think it's so exciting you actually helped catch a killer. I'd be scared to death. You are so brave.”

“I don't know about brave, but thanks, anyway,” I told her. “Let's take a few days and dig up as much as we can about them. Get a paper notebook, use your electronic notepad, whatever, and take copious notes. Anything you think may be important. We can meet at my apartment to discuss what we've found. How about in three days?”

“Three days?” Laura's fork clattered into her salad bowl. “Have you lost your mind? I have a job, need I remind you. Can you make it four, at least?”

“Four would be better, Molly,” agreed Olivia.

“Okay, divas, four days. I gave you Serafina, Laura. I've already talked to her, so there won't be that much to do. The three of us can talk a little tomorrow, maybe. We'll meet back at my apartment in four days, if that's okay with everyone.”

“How do we know what's important?” chimed in Mary Sue. “How do we investigate these people? Should I interview them?”

“If you can,” I said. “Try the internet, too. You can find a lot out on the internet. If you don't believe me, Google your own names. When I looked into Calista's murder, I looked at old newspapers on the library's research computer. You'd be amazed at how much you can find. Not just in our little paper. Calista's murder made some major U.S. papers. Use your imaginations. Talk to people who may know them. If you do come across something interesting in one of the newspapers, print it out and bring it along.”

Elizabeth frowned. “I can't see these people talking to us. I mean, can you visualize saying to them, ‘Hello! I'd like to ask you some personal questions relating to our most recent murder in town.'”

“I don't care what you do, or how you do it, I just want to go home,” huffed Serafina. “Somehow, the police need to see I am not the killer.” She stabbed Mary Sue with a dark look. “If you hadn't gone to them, they wouldn't even think I was a suspect.”

Mary Sue paled. Her hand fluttered to her well-endowed chest. “I thought what you said was a clue. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation that day in my salon.”

“I think they would have talked to you anyway, Serafina,” I pointed out. “You are his great-niece after all. You had contact with him.”

“I'm sure she didn't help things.” She pinned Mary Sue with a glower again.

Mary Sue's color had returned. “You're the one who said you didn't care who you had to kill. It's not as if I made it up. You still haven't been cleared. Maybe you did kill him.”

Serafina threw her napkin down. “Look, I didn't come here to be accused of murder by a bunch of rubes.”

“Rubes? Who are you calling rubes?” Mary Sue sputtered. She turned to Emmaline and whispered, “What's a rube?”

Emmaline shrugged a shoulder and mouthed “How should I know?”

“Let's calm down,” I said. “Serafina, what's done is done. Nobody here is accusing you of murder. Arguing isn't going to change anything. I've agreed to help clear your name, so act halfway grateful. We are all doing this on our own time and without pay. Mary Sue, you didn't do anything wrong. Let's get back on track, shall we?”

Serafina threw a final scowl at Mary Sue, who responded by sticking out her tongue. Good grief. I felt as if I was supervising a first-grade class.

“Do we really need to talk to Annie?” asked Nikki. “I'm pretty sure we're all in agreement that your mom didn't murder anyone. I'm still not sure about this idea, Molly.”

“Yes, we do,” Serafina spoke before I could. “If I have to be on the list, then she does as well. I explained to Molly why I came to see my uncle.” Serafina waved a hand in my direction. “Tell them.”

“Serafina's right about my mother being on the list; I included her to be fair. I know it sounds far-fetched, but Sean did question her, after all. I don't think you did it either, Serafina.” I turned my eyes to the others. “She came to Destiny to get the formula for Il Mio Destino. It means ‘my destiny' in Italian. It launched the Alessi Perfumes. Her parents, while they were married, gave the formula to Philip Baldelli for safekeeping.”

Fiona frowned. “I think this is a fool's errand.”

“I don't think so. I'm on board, Molly. What can it hurt? Calista's murder might still be an open case if not for Jane Addair and Molly. And what a romantic name. Il Mio Destino.” Emmaline sighed and fluttered her eyelashes. “I love the Italian language.”

“Philip never said anything about this formula all these years?” asked Elizabeth.

“Obviously, he didn't,” I replied.

“Wow,” Elizabeth said. “Say what you will about small towns, but scratch the surface and you'll find all kinds of secrets.”

“If you're determined to do this, then I'll play along, I suppose. Now that we're set with suspects,” said Fiona, digging into her salad, “can we discuss our book?”

“This is where I say good night,” announced Serafina.

“I've got dessert,” Olivia protested, looking hurt that Serafina would walk out on her carrot cake.

“I don't do dessert,” replied Serafina. “I can't say I've ever spent an evening like this before. I hope someone comes up with the murderer.”

I assumed that was her way of thanking us. “Can I talk to you privately for a moment?” I abandoned my own salad and got up.

“What is it?” she asked when we were at Olivia's front door.

“I'd like to see your uncle's house. Are the police done with it?”

She shrugged. “Do you think they've kept me updated?”

“Can we try?”

“Sure. I don't what you're going to find that they haven't.”

I apologized to the divas and promised to stay (and contribute) at the next meeting.

I followed Serafina's Rolls to Philip's cottage. The police tape was tattered and strewn across his yard. A few pieces floated from the sticks the police had placed in the ground to secure it. I got out of my Prius and followed Serafina to the front door. A chill went through me as I stared at the dark green–colored cottage looming in front of us.

She flipped on a light once we got inside, and I looked around. All was neat and orderly. I had a feeling that a certain detective wouldn't want me snooping around. I successfully ignored the guilt pang. After all, all's fair in love and murder solving, I think the saying goes.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Serafina asked.

“I'm not sure. It's one of those things where I'll know when I see it.”

Serafina sighed as she studied her nails. “The police have already been here.”

I pointed to the stairs. “Is his bedroom up there?”

“I suppose. I've never been up there. I've only been here twice. Once for the formula, then once when he invited me to breakfast, which is when I found him . . . found him dead.”

I stopped with one foot on the bottom step. “That must have been hard for you. Again, I'm sorry for your loss.”

She looked at me. “Not a big deal. I got the formula, that's what I came for.”

“Where was he when you found him?”

She pointed to a large, overstuffed chocolate brown armchair, of the reclining variety. “There. At first, I thought he was sleeping. I'd knocked and knocked. When he didn't answer, I tried the front door. It was open, so I went in.”

“I'm surprised your family didn't come to the funeral, your mother's side, at least. You did tell them he was murdered, didn't you?”

“Well, of course I did. I guess she wasn't that attached to him. You were going to look upstairs?”

I nodded. “Do you want to come along?”

“I suppose.”

I was glad for the company, even if it was Serafina. I knew logically that Philip's dead body wasn't lying around up there, but remembering the séance, I didn't want his spirit jumping out of a closet, or sliding out from under the bed.

It was a one-bedroom cottage. The only other room on the top floor was a small bathroom. I poked my head in and switched on the light. Under other circumstances, I'd have taken some time to admire the shiny pink, black, and green tiles. His toothbrush still hung in the holder and a tube of toothpaste stood in a cup. Towels hung neatly on a towel bar over the toilet. The slightly open window allowed a little breeze to come in. I noticed then how warm it was in here, even though it was nighttime.

“Who is going to clean out all of this?” I asked.

“I suppose I will, once the police give me clearance. Maybe the woman he was engaged to can do it for me. I don't think there's anything I want here.” Serafina followed me to his bedroom. I switched on the light and we both let out a scream. She grabbed my arm and her nails dug into my skin.

“Oh my God. Who wrote that?” she squeaked. “The killer?”

I couldn't answer. Someone had scrawled
PAYBACK IS A BITCH,
DADDY
in thick, blood red letters.

Serafina shocked me by sniffling. I turned to see a tear inch down her cheek. She wiped it with the sleeve of her shirt, smearing makeup on the material. She sat on his bed. “It just hit me. My great-uncle was murdered. Who would do that to him? Why?”

I was glad to see she had some feelings about Philip, after all. “That's what we need to find out. You mentioned your mother didn't want your father getting the formula before you did. You don't think he found out and sent someone to punish Philip, do you?”

She considered what I'd said for a few seconds. “I hadn't thought of that. My father is a ruthless executive. He's never forgiven me for leaving Alessi, and he never will. He has to work with my mother, but he's never forgiven her for the divorce she initiated.