Dying to Read (21 page)

“I know it sounds strange,” Willow said. “Maybe the strangeness of it is a reason you
should
come along.”

“Maybe he won’t talk if I’m there.”

“Then we’ll know he’s really up to something no good.”

Cate wavered between curiosity and thinking that meeting Radford was the worst idea ever, right up there with bungee jumping on a cord of dental floss. Also a certain concern that if she weren’t there to stop it, maybe Willow would get involved in something foolish and probably dangerous. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she finally said reluctantly.

“Food court at the mall, 11:30 tomorrow. Order something expensive. We’ll get him to pay for it.”

Cate parked at the mall at 11:25. She hadn’t had lunch. Inside, the food court was not busy at this hour on a weekday afternoon. Willow waved at her from a corner table. Before they had a chance to say more than hello, Radford bore down on them. His dark brows melded toward an ominous-looking unibrow when he saw Cate.

“I intended this to be a private meeting.”

Cate was undecided whether to leave politely or stubbornly glue her anatomy to the chair.

Willow gave him a winning smile. “You remember Cate, don’t you?”

“The woman who climbs trees.”

“Yes! It’s okay if she’s here. We share everything. She’s my twin sister. We didn’t know it until just recently, but isn’t it wonderful?”

Cate gaped in astonishment at this incredible story. Truth with Willow was indeed flexible. “Willow, I don’t think—”

“I know. We don’t usually tell people.” Willow patted Cate’s hand. “But I’m sure it’s okay if Radford knows. Radford can keep a confidence, can’t he?” She didn’t quite bat her eyes at Radford, but not far from it.

Radford didn’t look happy about the situation, but he didn’t stomp off. He glanced between them and apparently accepted the twins story. He scooted a chair back and sat down. “Yes, certainly, I can keep a confidence. And what we’re discussing here today is also completely confidential. Is that understood?” There came the unibrow again.

“Of course.” Willow leaned her elbows on the table, steepled her hands together, and gave him a primly expectant look.

Radford looked at Cate for confirmation of the confidentiality agreement, and she managed to echo Willow’s words. “Of course.”

“What I have in mind is this. Amelia and I were engaged. I gave her a ring. She wasn’t wearing it yet because she wanted to throw a big engagement party and show it off then.”

“She’d mentioned a party,” Willow offered encouragingly.

“But now that niece is refusing to give the ring back. And it’s
mine
. An engagement ring is a promise to marry, and there wasn’t any marriage. But she’s claiming there isn’t any ring, that I’m just making it all up. Maybe she’s told you all this?”

“Not really, no,” Willow murmured.

So true. The Calhouns hadn’t
told
Willow anything.

“Anyway, what I need is the receipt on the ring to prove it does exist. It must be somewhere in Amelia’s belongings.”

“Why would Amelia have a receipt for the ring?” Cate asked.

Radford threw her an annoyed glance, but he answered the question. “She wanted to add the ring to her insurance policy, and she needed the receipt to prove its value.”

How romantic! Demanding a receipt to prove the value of your engagement ring. If Amelia needed to know its value, why hadn’t she discreetly had it appraised?

As if he’d heard Cate’s mental question, Radford said, “I don’t know why she didn’t just have the ring appraised. She wanted the receipt, and I gave it to her. So what I want you to do”—he planted his arms on the table and leaned toward Willow—“is find the receipt for me. There’s $250 in it for you.”

“Cheryl and Scott have been all through Amelia’s office,” Willow said. She sounded disappointed in this as a business proposition. “If it were there, they’d surely have found it already.”

“Can’t you get a copy of the receipt from the store where you bought the ring?” Cate suggested.

His glance at Cate said, What business is this of yours? But he gritted his teeth and answered. “It was a private sale. The woman simply wrote out a receipt for me, and that’s what I gave Amelia.” He turned back to Willow. “Maybe you could get hold of the insurance company and see if she’d added it to the policy. Tell them you’re, oh, working on the estate or something. I’d do it, but I have no idea who her insurance was with.”

Willow shook her head. “I’m sure Cheryl took any insurance papers that were in Amelia’s files, so I don’t think there’s any chance—” She broke off, a thought just occurring. “But she kept cancelled checks in a box there in her office. At least until the bank stopped doing the cancelled check thing. Cheryl might not have bothered with cancelled checks. I might be able to look through them and find an insurance company name. And she’d probably have written the policy number on the check.”

“I’ll give you $100 right now to do that. And another $250 if you can get proof about the ring.”

Willow looked at Cate. Cate started to shrug, then asked a question instead. “Is the ring paid for?”

“Of course it’s paid for!” Radford snapped. He hesitated, his gaze studying Cate as if he were reevaluating her. “But I paid in cash, so I don’t have a check to prove that.”

Which might or might not be true, since flexibility with the truth seemed rampant as an infectious virus here. Radford pulled out his wallet, opened it, and fingered a hundred dollar bill as he looked at Willow.

She reached over and plucked the bill out of his fingers. “I’ll see what I can do.” She inspected the bill as if it might be phony, then stuffed it in her purse.

Radford stood up. “Call me when you find out anything.”

Willow’s gaze followed his tall figure as he walked out of the food court. “I thought he’d at least buy us lunch,” she grumbled.

“Why in the world did you tell him that crazy story about our being twins?”

Willow’s grin was mischievous. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just get this crazy impulse to make things up. Maybe I’ll write books or movies someday. Besides, I always thought it would be fun to have a twin. Now I have one!”

“Don’t tell anyone else, okay?” Cate muttered.

At the outside doors, just as they parted to go to their cars, Willow said, “You want to come over and help me look for the receipt?”

No, she did not want to look for a receipt that might or might not exist. “I have to . . .” She juggled excuses. Wash my hair. Clean the lint out of my belly button. Weigh Octavia. “Go see Uncle Joe.”

“I didn’t mean now. Cheryl was there when I left. Come over late tonight.”

“I really don’t approve of this whole venture.”

“Okay, whatever. But will you come?” Willow asked, as if approval were irrelevant. “I’ll fix something to eat afterwards. We’ll make it a midnight party! How about tacos?”

Bribed by a taco. No. Although cheesecake might have done it. But Cate suddenly realized she had a very good reason of her own for peeking into Amelia’s files.

“Okay. I’ll be there about 10:00.”

Cate paused on the front steps and looked around cautiously when she left the house at 9:30 that night. She’d gone with Rebecca to see a grumpy Uncle Joe, and weary Rebecca was already in bed. Cate didn’t spot anyone waiting in ambush. But ambushers probably didn’t wear DayGlo vests with name tags. She ran for her car parked in the driveway and locked the doors the instant she was inside. She was equally cautious when she slipped out of the car at Amelia’s house. An ambusher could have followed her.

But she made it safely to the door. Willow opened it a crack. The door didn’t have a peephole. “What’s the password?” she whispered.

“Tacos.” Willow opened the door and Cate stepped inside. “You’re the only one here?”

“Cheryl went home hours ago. The good housewife is always there when her husband comes home from work, you know. But she was a busy little heiress while I was gone this afternoon.”

“Busy doing what?”

“Carting stuff out. Amelia had a bunch of antiques in there.” Willow motioned toward the curtain of wooden beads at the door to the turret room. “It’s almost as if Cheryl didn’t want me to see her taking the stuff.”

“That’s strange. But doesn’t everything have to be inventoried for some kind of report for estate taxes? Maybe she’s trying to fudge on that.”

“Could be.” Willow shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. They can pull out those fancy faucets in Amelia’s bedroom and sell them for scrap metal for all I care. You want a cup of coffee or tea or something before we go upstairs?”

“No, I’m fine. You haven’t looked for the receipt already?”

“I thought it would be more fun to do it together.”

Cate noted as they crossed the living room that, except for a couple of missing lamps, the room looked the same as before. Cheryl hadn’t yet feng-shuied it into acceptability.

The box of canceled checks was no longer behind the copy machine, where Willow remembered seeing it. It also didn’t take them long to determine that Cheryl had also been a busy little heiress here. No folders concerning insurance, the will, bank accounts, investments, or anything else concerning assets or finances remained in the file cabinet.

“I wonder why they didn’t just haul the entire file cabinet home?” Cate said. “It would have been easier than trying to go through everything here.”

“I think maybe they tried. It’s a few inches over from where it used to be. But it weighs a ton, that’s why. Just try to move the thing.”

Cate put her shoulder to the file cabinet. Willow was right. She could barely budge it, and it was missing a lot of folders that had originally been there, which would have made it even heavier. What remained was an odd collection of folders that attested to Amelia’s peculiarities. Each old husband had a separate folder. Inside were mementos. A menu from a restaurant in New Mexico. Some crumbles that had once been a flower and still retained a sweetish scent of old love. A cruise ship itinerary. And some less romantic details: a daily record of cash spent on the cruise, with check marks to show what she’d spent and what the husband had paid for. A list of gifts at one of her weddings, with a name and value attached to each. Her letter of complaint to a funeral home concerning charges on a husband’s casket.

No folder on Radford, however. Did that mean a man didn’t rate a file of his own until he reached husband status? Or had Cheryl taken Radford’s file? Or had Radford himself snatched it after he killed Amelia, afraid it might contain incriminating information?

The Whodunit Club had its own file, with lists of books they’d read, and a list of members, with many names crossed out, apparently signifying they’d left the group. There were dozens of files with clippings on houses, furniture, recipes, menu plans, landscaping, indoor plants, fashions, cats. Amelia had an eclectic range of interests, with more files on movies she’d seen, complete with caustic reviews. Astrology. Solar power. Climate change. Reincarnation. Skin-care advertisements.

“There’s nothing here about the ring.” Willow slammed a file drawer shut in disgust. “There goes my $250. Let’s go make tacos.”

“You go ahead. I’ll keep looking a little longer.”

Then, as she flipped through the contents of some files, Cate discovered another of Amelia’s peculiarities. Mixed in with the old clippings were scraps of paper with disconnected bits of information. She guessed Cheryl hadn’t bothered to look through these. She found a receipt for a $798 dress. Had Amelia hidden that from some old husband? A sketch of a guy . . . Radford! Was Amelia a budding artist, not yet confident of her skill to show it to anyone? Perhaps with good reason. Radford was identifiable, but the oversized smile made him look as if he were auditioning for a toothpaste ad.

Another receipt, this time for a thousand-dollar handbag. Maybe there was a receipt for Radford’s ring in here somewhere!

She found several more unlikely items, as if Amelia had dropped items into folders at random more than in an effort to hide them: a lock of brown hair, the strands held together with scotch tape. The page of a calendar from July, 1997, the 17th circled in red. And then, in the back of a file on koi in the bottom drawer, torn pages of a notebook covered with scribbled letters and dates and numbers. Amelia keeping track of . . . what? She started to drop the sheet back in the file, then took a second look.