Gourdfellas (29 page)

“That’s one possible conclusion. But here’s the thing. You’ve almost got enough material for your paper. Sounds like Ms. Savin will be looking for what you think will be positives and negatives. Just keep asking yourself those questions.”

Scooter’s laugh tumbled out, and I was glad to hear that it was a boy’s laugh. “If I keep asking those questions, I’ll never get to basketball practice. Thanks for the help, Lili. Bye, Mom. I’ll be back by nine.”

He cleared the table in a blur of motion, then grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter and slammed the back door.

Nora stood, hands on hips, an indulgent mother smile brightening her face. “He’s a good boy but he sure is noisy. Thanks for talking to him about school stuff. When he asks me, it feels like a challenge and I get all teacherish. You just had a conversation with him, and it got him pointed in the right direction.”

Greed.

Me first and to hell with you, a very bad attitude indeed, one that might have played a part in Marjorie’s murder. Anita’s inheritance. People afraid that the casino would ruin their lives and depress real estate values. Lots of possibilities for self-interest to lead to desperate measures.

“Nora, do you think whoever killed Marjorie had any idea how many lives would be affected? Anita’s, of course.

Marjorie’s clients and the people supporting the casino. And anyone who ends up being a suspect.” I sighed, trying to shake the image of a huge, hungry mouth being stuffed with lasagna, salad, cars, houses, jewelry, greedy for more of everything. Not caring about anyone or anything else except filling itself with more, more. “Of course not. That would make her . . . or him . . . normal, like Elizabeth said.”

Nora turned from the sink and hugged me, then stood back and wiped her hands on an orange dish towel. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “Again. It’s probably not a big deal, but it was one of those odd moments and I feel like I have to pass it along.”

I sat on a stool beside the butcher block counter. Nora perched next to me, her eyes avoiding mine until she got settled. Then she fixed me with a look that contained a world of confusion in it.

“You remember I was the one supposed to check out Seth from Marjorie’s client list? Well, I stopped by at his office with a pie and an excuse. Told him it was a belated thank you for his help after Coach died. Which it was, but I might have forgotten a while longer if not for your being a suspect. Anyway, we chatted for about ten minutes. Easy talk, you know.”

I did know. Seth could have a conversation with nearly anyone about nearly anything. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest.

“I brought up Anita and he told me about his visit to Tennessee. Seemed a little embarrassed but he didn’t try to hide it or anything. And after he finished, he said the oddest thing.” She stared out the window, where darkness had fallen. “He said, ‘I’m so tired of the game.’ Just like that, nothing else. After that he made some show of having an appointment and practically hustled me out of there.”

Odd moment, indeed. His comment could mean anything, an off-hand remark about the mortgage business or playing at social niceties. He’d let his guard down with Nora for a second. That didn’t mean he was calling our relationship a sham. Or that he was protecting himself against the discovery that he had been part of some complicated scheme to murder Marjorie.

“Well, people who are tired of playing end up making mistakes.” I hopped down from the stool and bent to pick up an olive from the floor. “You still have that DVD of
Shaun of the Dead
? I’m in the mood for a good laugh.”

I fell asleep hard and awoke thinking about Connie Lovett. Maybe I’d be told to mind my own business, but I had to give it one last try—if Connie couldn’t come to the gourd lesson, my mountain of gourd equipment could be winnowed to a few essentials so it could go to her house. My writing jobs would wait—Connie might not.

Mel Lovett answered on the first ring.

“Hi, this is Lili Marino. I know Connie said she wasn’t up to coming out here, but I’d very much like to bring some equipment and do a lesson at your house. Would you ask her if that’s all right?”

After a brief silence, Mel said, “She’s in the shower. She might say no if I ask her, but I think she’d be pleased if you just showed up.”

I couldn’t do that, wouldn’t pretend to know better than she did what Connie wanted. “I’m just not comfortable with that, Mel. Please ask her. I don’t mind holding on.”

He didn’t say a word, but the phone clunked against a hard surface and his footsteps sounded, fading as he crossed the floor. I didn’t envy him, juggling his own emotions and Connie’s, never able to put the inevitable far from his mind. I heard voices, then footsteps again.

“She said yes.” His voice was lighter, a note of surprise lifting it out of the sadness. “Thanks, Lili. Is eleven okay? She needs to eat and get dressed and all.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Eight forty-five. “Sure, I’ll see you then.”

He hung up without saying good-bye.

In two hours, I could finish the proposal for the hotel employees manual. I sat down at the computer, stared at the screen, played a game of Spider, stared at the screen some more. I couldn’t dredge up ideas or even words. I wouldn’t impose this restlessness on my gourds. Maybe I just didn’t want to be alone. The Taconic Inn was just down the road from the Lovetts. Nobody would mind if I popped in unannounced for a quick visit.

 

Melissa Paul whacked at the braided rug hanging on the clothesline and then shielded her face from the rain of dust that exploded toward her. “You believe this? I vacuum twice a week, and when I do spring cleaning I still manage to nearly choke myself on what’s caught in these loops of fiber. Watch out.” The rug beater, a curlicue of metal on a long wooden handle, slammed against the rug again.

“You do this for every rug every spring?” Running a ten-bedroom inn that also housed a respected restaurant took a lot of work, I knew, but I’d never envisioned this Colonial activity. “Do you wash all the butter churns too?”

Melissa wrinkled her nose and grinned. “Fun
ny
. You might not believe it but I like doing this. I get a good rhythm going and it’s very satisfying.”

She really meant it, I could tell. Which was why she was the innkeeper and I was the woman who had stitched together a life that didn’t let me focus on only one thing so that I could call myself a gourd artist or a mediator or a writer. I shook the ruminations away and said, “You have time for a coffee break? I’m on my way to the Lovett’s, and I have forty-five minutes to kill.”

She set the beater on the ground and hooked her arm through mine. “I thought you’d never ask. I like doing that, but I like sitting around with a friend even better.”

Laughing and chattering about her spring cleaning, Melissa led me into the cool of the inn kitchen. I got down white porcelain mugs, the china sugar bowl, spoons while she put croissants on plates.

“How do you stay a size six with all this great food around?” Whenever I stopped at the inn, Melissa was always bringing out some rich temptation. And she never just watched, either.

“So now you understand about the rugs?” She slathered her croissant with raspberry jam and took a huge bite. “And the vacuuming and chopping vegetables and hauling out garbage and making beds and doing laundry and cleaning gutters and—”

“Okay, I’m impressed.” I knew she had help, but she worked right along with them, every day. “And now you’re adding another restaurant. Soon you’ll be a size four.”

She laughed. “Nora’s in charge of that one. Our partnership is really working out better than I expected. Oh, did I tell you I spoke to B.H.? You know, my assignment, so to speak.”

At the mention of my attorney’s name, my stomach did a little flip. I managed to smile and shake my head and hold my breath, all at the same time.

“He made it easy for me. Came to the restaurant for dinner night before last. All by himself. So after he ordered a drink I went over and chatted. You know, innkeeper greeting customer stuff.”

That was another aspect of her business I’d never be good at. Small talk was definitely not my strong suit. “And?” I said, as nonchalantly as I could.

“And he flirted with me. For five minutes. Told me how wonderful the place looked, how wonderful I looked, how he felt he could count on the experience of being well cared for here.” A blush crept into her cheeks and her hand went to her hair. “But I didn’t bite. I remembered what you and Elizabeth said about asking questions that would get someone talking, so I chatted him up about Marjorie.”

I ripped off a piece of croissant and popped it in my mouth to keep from saying “And?” again.

“He definitely didn’t want to go there. Seemed bored by the whole thing but I’m sure it was just that he knows he can’t talk about a case he’s involved with. Then he slipped in a really interesting bit of business.” Melissa sipped her coffee, a frown gathering across her forehead. “He asked me if I was interested in having a business partner. To develop more inns and restaurants in the Hudson Valley and the Berkshires. He said he wanted to have a minority interest, in return for a fair share of profits. I couldn’t believe it. I sort of stammered my way through some questions. How much did he want to put into the venture? Why did he think this was a good investment? Would he want to have a say in things, you know, the feel of a place, the menu, that kind of thing.”

“And?”

“And he said he was interested in making a change in his life. That he saw it as a way to stop pushing papers and making speeches in front of people who would rather be doing the laundry than sitting on a jury. But, you know, then he just shook his head and slugged down his drink—good Scotch, the kind he usually nurses for half an hour—and said that I should forgive him for being so impulsive, that he needed to think things through. Like magic, his appetizer appeared right then, so I left him to his dinner. We got busy and I didn’t even see him leave.”

Thoughts clanged against each other. In my mind, there arose a great clatter . . . What was I doing, thinking in children’s rhymes?

I was avoiding thinking clearly about Melissa’s conversation with Hovanian. I really needed to take a deep breath and apply a little sane logic to the question of whether their discussion shed any light on the murder of Marjorie Mellon.

“First thing that strikes me is that he’s got a lot of money. What if Marjorie discovered that it wasn’t kosher?” It was much easier to deal with that notion than the almost-proffered partnership offer that he’d set in front of Melissa.

“Mmmmph,” she said through a mouthful of flaky pastry. She chewed and swallowed and started again. “Exactly. That’s one of the things I thought. I have the perfect opening to ask him more about it. You know, his offer and all.”

“You’d really consider taking on another partner? What about Nora? Don’t you have to consult her about that?”

Melissa nodded and wiped the dollop of jam from the corner of her mouth. “Absolutely. If I were serious about having a
business
partner. That’s not in the cards. I don’t want to become HoJo’s East or anything. I’m having fun, making enough money to put some away, and I have no desire to get all corporate and greedy.”

There was the G word again. Maybe I was just paying attention differently, but it seemed to be on everyone’s lips these days.

“That sounds right. Let’s back up. You said that the idea of Marjorie discovering something weird about how Hovanian got his money was
one
of the things you thought. What was another?”

“Mmmm,” she said. This time, her mouth wasn’t full of food and a dreamy smile spread across her face. “The other thing I thought was that now that your brother is gone, probably never to return except for brief fly-overs between games, B.H. suddenly struck me as a very attractive man.”

Coffee sloshed onto the table as I set my cup down. I dabbed at it with a paper towel, got up and searched for the garbage.

“What’s the matter, Lili? Don’t you think he’s, well . . . intriguing?”

My back to her, I nodded and mumbled assent, and didn’t say that intriguing was exactly how I would describe Berge Hartounian Hovanian.

 

If I Were to imagine the perfect family and then conjure up the perfect house for them to live in, it would pretty much be a replica of Mel and Connie Lovett’s center hall colonial. Set on a knoll with a pond at the bottom of the gentle hill, the yellow clapboards and white trim sparkled in the late morning sun. The kitchen, spacious and sunny, flowed into a brick-floored breakfast area, and Connie sat in the window seat, working on a crossword puzzle. She got up when Mel led me into the room.

“Lili, I couldn’t resist your offer.” Her voice was weak and she appeared to have lost even more weight. Her jeans and sweatshirt hung from her body. “We should get started. I don’t know how long I’ll last.”

Mel blanched at her remark, then helped her to her feet. “She’s all set up in the mud room. Took over an entire wall with her gourd equipment.” His voice didn’t quite match the nonchalance of his words.

I followed behind, wondering whether this had been such a good idea after all. I didn’t want to be responsible for wearing her out—but maybe our time would have the opposite effect. Even if the only outcome was that Connie would have twenty pleasant minutes in which she forgot about her troubles, then I’d be happy. I exhaled, and then tried to breathe in some positive thoughts.

“I thought we’d try some pyrography today,” I said. “You know, it’s woodburning. Like the Boy Scouts used to do.”

Mel smiled as he helped Connie into her chair. “Still do. My grandson made me a box for my wallet and keys and such. Exactly like the one I made my grandpa when I was nine. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Connie tugged at his sleeve until he leaned down and kissed her cheek and then he left. “Okay,” she said smiling, “let’s burn some gourds.”