Nickeled-And-Dimed to Death (22 page)

Gran joined me, and just as I took a large bite, she said, “I suppose Noah will be at this lunch with Max Robinson, too?”

I nearly spit the hot cereal back out, but managed to swallow before I said, “How in the world did you come to that conclusion?” I knew that I hadn’t mentioned Noah when I originally told her about Boone wanting me to talk to the bank president.

“I may be so old that I fart dust,” Gran retorted, “but I’m not as senile as you or those fancy doctors think I am.”

Before I could protest, Gran went on. “It took me a while to figure it out, but I remembered that Nadine Underwood recently stepped down from the bank’s board and her son was appointed in her place.”

“And from that you think Noah will be at the lunch?” I asked, astounded by her thinking. “There are other board members.”

Gran continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “And in the past, Max Robinson has not been a friend of our family.” She pursed her lips and slitted her eyes. “He was definitely part of the witch hunt when your father was accused of uh . . .”

“Embezzlement,” I supplied.

“Right.” Gran nodded.

“Okay.” I hadn’t known that. Then again, the adults had made every effort to keep me out if it when my dad was being investigated.

“So, I put two and two together.” Gran smiled triumphantly. “Who has influence with the bank president and wants to get on your good side?”

“Noah.” I conceded defeat and admitted, “Yes, he’ll be at lunch, too.”

“Which is why you’re all dressed up.” Gran’s voice was smug, daring me to deny it.

“Of course it isn’t,” I vowed, unsure whether I was telling the truth or not. “Like I said, it’s to make a good impression on Max.”

Gran narrowed her eyes but thankfully didn’t challenge my statement.

After a few seconds, I asked, “By the way, you wouldn’t know a Willow Macpherson or a Bryce Grantham, would you?” I didn’t truly think either of them hung out at bingo or was part of the crowd who went on the senior bus tours—Gran’s usual haunts—but I was desperate for a change of subject.

“The first name doesn’t ring a bell, but the second one sounds familiar.” She tapped her chin. “Bryce Grantham. Where do I know him from?”

While she pondered, I took a sip of coffee.

“Now I remember where I heard that name.” Gran nodded to herself, then said to me, “His little girl is in Frieda’s catechism class.”

“So he attends St. Saggy’s?” I was referring to St. Sagar’s Catholic Church. When I was seven or eight, I had asked the priest about the name, and although he’d explained who St. Sagar was, further questioning revealed he had no idea why Shadow Bend’s Catholic church had been christened for a martyred bishop from Turkey. Not surprisingly, the parishioners called it St. Saggy.

“No.” Gran shook her head sadly. “He doesn’t come to Mass; just his daughter.”

“So his wife is the churchgoer?”

“No. I don’t think she’s in the picture.” Gran shrugged. “At least, I’ve never seen her or heard anyone mention her.” She paused then tilted her head and questioned, “Why are you asking about him?”

“I met him when I was looking for Elise’s cat.” I got up and rinsed out my bowl. “He helped me search for Tsar.”

“He does seem like a nice guy, and Frieda says his little girl is really sweet.” Gran brightened. “If things don’t work out with Jake, maybe you could go out with him. Then I’d have a ready-made great-granddaughter.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in my love life?” I demanded. “You’ve never shown any interest in who I dated before.”

“You were never on speaking terms with Noah Underwood before.”

*  *  *

Once I escaped from my recently turned matchmaker grandmother, I hurried to work. Because the dime store was open for only three hours, the morning was busy with shoppers who needed to pick up a few things before we closed. When the crowd thinned a little around eleven, I slipped into the back room to make a call.

Paging through my seldom-used Shadow Bend phonebook, I was happy to see a listing for Bryce Grantham. He picked up on the first ring and confirmed that Lindsey was married to Block Captain Ingram. He also reported that there had been no sign of Tsar. I thanked him for continuing to watch for the animal and vowed that I’d be back the next morning to continue the hunt.

After I said good-bye to Bryce, I texted Boone and Poppy the information that Lindsey did indeed live in town. Then, having completed my sleuthing responsibilities, I went back out front to resume my store-owner tasks.

Hannah left at noon, and I locked the door behind her. Next, I cashed out the register and took the drawer into the storeroom. Opening the safe, I saw the antique chocolate molds I’d bought from Elise and bit my lip. I was glad that I hadn’t told anyone except Gran about them, since I still wasn’t sure I had purchased them legally.

Easter was my favorite holiday. I always said that you could learn a lot from the Easter Bunny. He was a smart dude who didn’t put all his eggs in one basket and knew that the best things in life are sweet and gooey. My admiration for Mr. Rabbit was why I had designed such an elaborate window display for the holiday. But considering that if the molds were Colin’s, he might sue me, it was a good thing I hadn’t included them in my window arrangement.

I ran my finger over the intricate designs, picturing the chocolate molds as the centerpieces of several of the Easter-themed baskets that Oakley Panigrahi had ordered for his high-end real estate clients. Normally, I’d never recoup my money putting something as expensive as these molds into a basket, but he’d agreed to pay as much as a thousand dollars apiece for a truly fabulous gift. And these antique chocolate molds would make a stunning presentation, one that I was sure would impress Oakley with the uniqueness and luxury of my concepts.

Still, I probably shouldn’t use them. From everything I’d heard, it appeared that Colin Whitmore might be the true owner and that his wife had sold them without his permission. If I did give the molds back to him, it would have to be secretly, so that he never found out I ever had them. The last thing I needed was to be named in a lawsuit. Who could have anticipated that such wonderful objects would become such a problem?

I was torn. On one hand, restoring the collectibles to their true owner was presumably the decent thing to do. On the other, I knew my moral compass had grown a little wonky from working in the investment field for so long, and although I was trying to fix that, sometimes I wasn’t sure what was right anymore.

If Colin was the legal owner, I should return them. But if he turned out to be the killer, he shouldn’t gain from his crime, so maybe I ought to keep them. The fact that I’d be out eight hundred bucks that I could ill afford to lose made the decision even more difficult.

After several minutes of wavering, I pushed the molds to the rear of the safe, put away the day’s receipts, and closed the door. I’d wait until Elise’s murderer was caught before deciding what to do.

Checking my watch, I made a quick trip to the bathroom, where I hurriedly kicked off my Keds and exchanged them for black high-heeled ankle boots. Next, I put a pink tweed crop jacket on over my white long-sleeved T-shirt, then inspected my black jeans for lint. Satisfied, I applied lipstick and combed my hair.

A few seconds after I returned to the front of the store, I looked out the main window and spotted Noah’s Jaguar pulling into a parking spot. I grabbed my purse and rushed outside, opening the passenger door before Noah could even get out of the car.

As I slid inside, I commented, “What great timing.” I hoped things wouldn’t be awkward between us, as this was the first time we’d been together since he’d kissed me in Boone’s driveway.

“We were always on the same wavelength,” Noah said as he refastened his seat belt.

“By the way, I don’t think I ever thanked you for the sushi,” I said, reaching for my own seat belt. “It was really sweet of you to send lunch to me when you couldn’t call, but you didn’t have to do that.”

“I remembered you liked that place the last time we were there together.” Noah smiled. “That date is one of my favorite high school memories.”

“Mine, too.” I impulsively touched his hand. “I’m so glad we’ve moved beyond the bad parts of our past and can enjoy the good times again.”

“I always hoped we could.” His gray eyes darkened, and he brought my palm to his lips. “I can’t tell you how much I missed you.”

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I murmured, “I know. I missed you, too.”

Noah continued to hold my hand, caressing it with his thumb. We sat there gazing at each other until I realized we were parked on Shadow Bend’s main drag, clearly visible to anyone driving or walking by. All I needed was to have Chief Kincaid pull up in his squad car and catch me with another guy or, worse, have one of Gran’s cronies see us and report back to her.

“Uh.” I cleared my throat and pulled my hand out of his. “We probably should get going. We don’t want to be late. Which restaurant are we meeting Max at?” There weren’t many choices in Shadow Bend—the new Chinese place, the pulled-pork wagon, and a family diner were about it.

“I know Max likes nice things, so I figured we’d take him to the Manor.” Noah started the Jag. “We might as well butter him up with a fancy meal.”

The Manor was located on a man-made lake midway between Shadow Bend and the neighboring town of Sparkville. It attracted diners from as far away as Kansas City, catering to the affluent for both a fine dining experience and elaborate parties. I had never eaten at the restaurant, but I had been there not too long ago when Jake and I had wanted to talk to Noah, who had been attending a committee meeting being held in one of the banquet rooms.

The restaurant was both elegant and intimidating, so I was glad that I had dressed up. My usual Devereaux’s Dime Store sweatshirt, baggy jeans, and tennis shoes would have been out of place. And ever since my father’s incarceration and my previous boss’s high-profile fraudulent activity, my goal in life was to blend in.

Noah and I chatted about Boone’s case as he drove the fifteen miles to the restaurant. It was a sunny day and I was enjoying the scenery. We crossed a creek bubbling cheerfully over shiny rocks and then zoomed past a stubble-studded field with a trio of deer munching the stray corncobs that the combine had missed.

As we turned into the Manor’s long driveway, Noah said, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Geoffrey Eggers claims that Elise’s colleague, Lindsey Ingram, had a strong motive to get rid of her. He said that Lindsey and Elise were competing for the same job and that Lindsey claimed she’d do anything to get the promotion.” Noah repeated his conversation with the mayor and finished with, “So someone should probably talk to Lindsey and see if she has an alibi for the time of the murder.”

“Definitely,” I agreed. Then after Noah handed his car keys to a valet and we climbed one of the twin marble staircases into the Manor’s imposing brick building, I brought him up to speed on what I had discovered regarding Lindsey and her husband.

As we stepped into the stunning lobby, I once again admired the Thomas Moser chairs and the sideboard displaying a collection of Murano glass. I smiled when I heard the sound of a harpsichord playing Scarlatti’s Sonata in B minor, because, unlike last time, I knew that it was a live performance and not a recording.

As Noah approached the hostess, I studied a pair of large gilt-framed paintings on the sidewall. On my previous visit, I hadn’t been sure if they were original works of art, but since then I had asked around and now knew that they were indeed genuine.

I hadn’t been surprised, since I had been fairly sure that the portraits were authentic. I had a good eye for spotting the real thing, which had served me well in my previous occupation, in which I had been required to have a working knowledge of the value and authenticity of artwork, antiques, and the other trappings of wealth. It was an odd job qualification to insist on, but Mr. Stramp had wanted his employees to be able to judge a client’s bank account by his or her possessions. It was only after his Ponzi scheme was revealed that I realized why he really wanted that kind of information.

Interrupting my thoughts, Noah informed me that Max was already seated. A striking woman wearing an exquisite black wrap dress and red high heels led us past generously spaced tables filled with well-dressed diners having thoughtful discussions.

She showed us to a booth tucked into a corner away from the other patrons. It was obviously one of the best locations in the restaurant, and when she put her hand on Noah’s arm and purred, “I hope this is satisfactory, Dr. Underwood,” I shot Noah a knowing look. Clearly, he was on good terms with this hostess, as well as the one at the Golden Dragon.

“Perfect.” Noah shrugged at me, then smiled at the woman. “Thank you, Anne.”

Once the hostess had departed, Max stood and greeted us. I couldn’t recall having met him before, which wasn’t all that surprising. I did most of my banking electronically and went to the building only to deposit the store’s receipts in the night drop-off slot. Heck, I’d even gotten my business loan online.

Noah and Max shook hands; then Noah introduced me to the bank president. Max assured Noah that he and I knew each other, which was a revelation to me, but I kept quiet and nodded pleasantly. As I studied the bank president, I saw that we were nearly the same height. His hair was unnaturally brown and along his side part I could see gray roots. He wore a gray Turnbull & Asser suit—a brand my father had favored—with a light-blue pinpoint oxford shirt and a burgundy tie.

Once the formalities were over, Noah and I slid onto one of the padded bench seats, and Max took the other.

Noah said, “Thank you for agreeing to have lunch with us, Max. We have a rather delicate matter to discuss and thought it would be best if we talked away from the bank.”

“No problem at all,” Max assured Noah. “I’m always happy to make myself available to one of the board members. As I said when we spoke on the phone last weekend, I feel strongly that my position is not a nine-to-five job and I’m at your service day or night.”

“Nonetheless.” Noah’s tone was businesslike and his expression was impassive. “I appreciate your cooperation.”