Olive and Let Die (10 page)

I peeled off my gloves and set them on one of the side tables. “I'd like to wash up before we eat. Could you show me to the powder room?”

“Of course, dear! I should have thought. Those artifacts must be dusty. Nothing's been out of the case for years, other than the fake warclub. That's not going to Trish, by the way. That was just Herman's idea of a joke. Jack, you can use the bathroom upstairs, or just wash up in the kitchen sink.”

I followed her down the richly paneled hall. She indicated a dark oak door. “In there,” she said. “I'll start dishing up and you can join us when you're ready.”

“You have a lovely home here, Gladys.” Despite the dark Victorian splendor, the house managed an air of coziness.

“Thank you, dear.” An enigmatic smile appeared on her face. “Take your time.”

The powder room was fairly small and contained the usual accoutrements. A large window, framed in gleaming natural woodwork, took up more than half of the wall nearest the toilet. I turned on the tap and let the water run until it was warm,
squirted some lavender soap into my palm, and scrubbed my hands. I dried them on the towel hanging on the wall.

Movement outside drew my attention to the window. I pulled apart two slats of the wooden venetian blinds and peeked out. My eyes scanned an expanse of green lawn to a chain-link fence that was partially covered in dark purple morning glories, still hanging on this late in the season since we hadn't had a frost yet. The fence appeared to contain an in-ground swimming pool.

Standing in front of the fence were two figures, who appeared to be deep in conversation. I squinted as a ray of midday sun illuminated them. The woman had her back to me. The man was tall, dark-haired, and dressed in shorts and a polo shirt. He looked vaguely familiar and I racked my brain trying to remember where I'd seen him. Liza's. At the Spa. What was his name?

Channing. What the hell was he doing here?

The woman turned her head. A pair of black-framed glasses appeared in profile. I sucked in a breath, then reached for the wall to steady myself.

It was Caitlyn Black.

TEN

What the heck were these two doing here? What could they possibly have to talk about? When I looked through the space in the blinds again, Caitlyn was gone and Channing was inside the pool enclosure, where his movements were obscured by the fence and the flowers.

If Caitlyn was here, did that mean Melanie was lurking around somewhere? I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and fired off a quick text to Liza at the Spa.

Where is Melanie?

A moment later my phone chimed, indicating a reply.

I just saw her in the facial room getting an herbal steam treatment. Do you need to talk to her?

No. Just checking in. I'll catch up with her later.

What's going on?

I wondered that myself.

Nothing. Thanks.

Come over to the Spa sometime. I miss you.

Aw. We hadn't seen each other in a couple of weeks, and I missed her too.

Me too. I'll see you soon.

So Melanie was at the Spa, but Caitlyn was here, as was Channing. They'd been standing close together—a romantic tryst? Nothing against Caitlyn, but that guy was
Gentlemen's Quarterly
material and she didn't seem his type. Had they somehow followed us here? I couldn't think of a single plausible reason to explain what I'd just seen.

And where had Caitlyn gone?

I ran outside. Caitlyn was nowhere in sight. There was no sign of a car other than a full-size red pickup truck, which I assumed was Channing's. Nothing to see here, folks, so I made my way to the kitchen, where Jack and Gladys were at the table, laughing.

A heavenly aroma wafted up and filled my nostrils. A white bowl was full of steaming dark red tomato soup. Next to it on
a matching plate was a buttery grilled cheese sandwich, and in the middle of the table sat a plate of peeled apples that had been dusted in cinnamon sugar. All thoughts of Caitlyn left my mind as I spooned up some of the soup. It was thick, chunky with bits of caramelized onion and full of fresh garlic, with, I thought, a base of rich chicken stock and a hint of cream. The sandwich had been conveniently cut into quarters, the thick yellow cheese oozing out the sides. I dipped a corner of one piece into the soup and wondered if I'd died and gone to heaven. I looked up to find Jack and Gladys watching me with amused expressions.

“Pretty good, huh?” Jack said. Gladys seemed pleased.

I was only a little embarrassed at being caught enjoying the food-porn in front of me. “Best tomato soup ever,” I said, turning to Gladys. “Will the directions for this be in the recipe box you gave me?”

“Of course.”

Mental fist-pump. Would she let me serve this at the Bonaparte House if I gave her credit on the menu? Then I remembered what I'd witnessed out the bathroom window.

“Gladys, I saw someone out at your pool just now. A man.” I decided to leave Caitlyn out of it for now.

She looked thoughtful. “Oh, that must be Channing.” She took a sip of her water and dabbed daintily at her lips with the cloth napkin she pulled from her lap. “He's here to close up the pool.”

Pool. Liza also had an outdoor pool at the Spa, so that would explain his presence in both places. I'd gotten the impression at Liza's that he was some sort of eye-candy handyman, which still made sense. People in the Bay had to be generalists rather than specialists to make a living.

“I could have done that for you, you know,” Jack admonished Gladys. “You don't have to pay somebody to do that kind of thing when I'm around.”

Gladys smiled and patted his hand. “That's sweet of you, Jack, really. But I've got plenty of money and I like to keep local people employed if I can. I've been using him and his father before him for years.”

So Channing had a legitimate reason for being in the backyard. But that didn't explain Caitlyn's presence. How had she gotten here? Liza had a couple of boats that she used to ferry guests back and forth to the mainland. Caitlyn and Melanie must have a rented car somewhere.

We made quick work of our soup and sandwiches. I reached for a slice of apple, then let the spiced sugar melt on my tongue. September and October are apple season, and New York State produces some of the best around. I bit into the flesh. It was crisp and juicy at the same time, an heirloom Esopus Spitzenburg, I thought.

“So,” Gladys interrupted our crunching. “Jack, I've had an idea. Feel free to say no.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “You know I can't refuse you anything, Glad.”

She patted his arm. “Did your permanent transfer come through with the Coast Guard? Where are you living?”

“The transfer's in the works, though I'm close to my twenty years and I need to decide whether to reenlist. I've been living in an apartment over the Suds-a-Rama. Why? Do you want to come and be my live-in cook?”

“No, no, but don't tempt me. I've got my casino trip coming up, and I'm due back in Florida. But I was thinking. I
usually shut up this house for the winter. Maybe you'd like to move in here? It's got to be more comfortable than your apartment. And the fellow I usually have check on the house once a week while I'm gone is going in for back surgery and he'll be laid up all winter. So you'd be doing me a favor.”

Jack looked thoughtful. “That is a very tempting offer. Are you sure? I didn't get in touch with you to freeload.”

Take the house!
I silently cheered. Selfishly, I wanted him near me. And this place was beautiful.

“You're not freeloading if I suggest it. And if you want to earn your keep, you can paint the upstairs bedrooms. I'll leave a list of projects I'd like done, how's that?”

“Oh, so
you're
taking advantage of
me
.” He laughed. “Gladys Montgomery, you've got yourself a deal.”

A self-satisfied smile appeared on her face. She reminded me of Sophie, who always got what she wanted too. “Now go get back to work, you two. I'll take care of the dishes.”

We worked methodically, finishing up the wrapping and packing. The display cases sat empty, looking forlorn. I thought about Mr. Montgomery and hoped he was happy that his life's work was going to a museum where the collection could be studied and cared for properly.

Now that the work was done but for carrying out the boxes, I had a moment to examine some of the framed photographs on the wall above the cases. Most were eight-by-tens and five-by-sevens, all black-and-white and framed in a mishmash of styles. Monty, at least I assume it was Monty, had been a handsome fellow, with fair hair and sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. In one of the pictures he had one of those arms thrown around the shoulders of a
lovely woman with dark hair. I looked closer. It had to be Gladys. I smiled. They looked so happy.

Jack took a stack of boxes and carried them out.

Gladys came from behind and stood next to me. “He was a good man,” she said.

“He must have been,” I agreed.

“Of course, our families didn't want us to marry.”

I looked at her with surprise. “Why not?”

“Well, I came from a large family. We were poor, but we got by. Monty came from money and they didn't think I was good enough for him. His mother was a Bloodworth.”

“A Bloodworth?” The name meant nothing to me.

“One of the old families in these parts. Not that Monty ever saw any of their money. He, and his father before him, were self-made men.”

I glanced around. My eyes came to rest on the Remington bronze—not exactly priceless, but worth a good chunk of change. The house and land were probably worth close to a million dollars by now.

Jack came back in for another load. “My ears are burning. Are you two talking about me again?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Gladys said sweetly.

Jack dropped a kiss on Gladys's head. “I'm glad I'm taking you up on the offer to move in here for the winter. It's quite a bit nicer than my digs over the Suds-a-Rama. And quieter too.”

She seemed delighted. “Wonderful! Thanks to you, I won't have to go to the trouble of shutting up the house. Move your things in anytime.”

Jack turned to me. “Are you ready, Georgie? We should get going.”

I gave Gladys a hug. She was such a sweet woman. “Thank you for lunch, Gladys.”

She waved her hand. “You're very welcome. It was a small price to pay for your lovely company and your help with Monty's collection. It's a relief to have that taken care of.”

“And thank you again for the recipes. I can't wait to start looking through them.”

We piled into the boat and motored back to Bonaparte Bay. When we were just passing the Edgewood Resort, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. Spiro. What could my almost-ex want? I remembered I'd promised to find him a cook. Well, if that was what he was calling about, I had nothing to say. I'd call him back later.

At the dock we unloaded the boxes into Jack's car. Brenda was making her afternoon returnable can and bottle rounds. Her hair was a strawberry blond today—she never seemed to be able to settle on a hair color, but it was always a shade of red. The pickings had been slim for her, apparently, because she only had a couple of small bags filled up. Not surprising. This time of year the only tourists we got came on the weekend.

She waved me over.

Jack smiled. “This is my cue to leave. Brenda wants to talk with you. Consider yourself kissed.”

“Consider yourself kissed too.” I felt a little stab. This was ridiculous. I was a grown woman and I was hiding—and not doing such a hot job of it—my relationship with a perfectly suitable guy.

He folded down the backseat of his Jeep Wrangler and finished loading the boxes, which barely fit in the small compartment, and left.

I made my way over to Brenda. “How's it going?” I asked.

“Can't complain,” she said. “Business will pick up this weekend.”

“What can I do for you?”

She rearranged some cans that had fallen over, then looked up at me. “Just so you know, your mother-in-law asked me to keep an eye on you again.”

I rolled my eyes. This wasn't the first time Sophie had asked Brenda to spy on me. I couldn't even work up any anger about it—too much else was going on. “Did she pay you enough?”

Brenda smiled. Her teeth were a bit crooked, but her smile lit up her face. “Not enough for me not to tell you about it.”

I wondered if she wanted something in return. We'd sort of bonded during my last adventure. Underneath the bad hair and the uneducated veneer, there was a savvy businesswoman that I'd grown to admire. She was far more intelligent than anybody, including me up until a few weeks ago, gave her credit for. Something occurred to me. Caitlyn and Melanie.

“You know we've got a celebrity in town?”

She shrugged, but her eyes were calculating. “Sure. That Melanie Ashley from the soaps.”

“Have you seen her?”

Brenda looked thoughtful, then reached into her cart and rearranged some of her hoard. “Not her. But that girl she's traveling with. She's been back and forth from the Spa. She's driving a black Beemer with tinted windows and she comes and goes from the public parking lot. Always playing with her phone.” Brenda shook open a fresh trash bag. “Unfriendly.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

I walked back to the Bonaparte House, mulling over everything Brenda had told me. An hour later, after processing some paperwork for the restaurant and running some more Internet searches on Melanie, I was still mulling, more determined than ever to find out exactly what my mother and her assistant were doing in Bonaparte Bay. I pulled out my cell to call her, just as it started to buzz. Jack. “Hi. Did you miss me?” I wasn't practiced at flirting, but I gave it the old college try.

“Of course,” he said. “But that's not why I called.” There was a pause. “My apartment's been broken into.”

I gulped. A memory of my own home being broken into flashed through my mind and I remembered the sick feeling of violation it had engendered. “Was anything taken?”