I wasn't about to let go of her. "We're not going to Gabby's, are we? She's the biggest gossip in April Springs."
"Don't you think I know that? Who better to ask about Patrick Blaine?"
This was a bad idea; I could feel it in my bones. "We shouldn't do this. She's going to suspect something."
"If you ask the questions, she probably will. You, my friend, have a character flaw that's going to be fatal someday."
I stopped dead. "Do you mind telling me what it is?"
Grace laughed. "Don't be so serious about it. I'm just saying that you're not that great a liar. In fact, you're pretty lousy at it."
"That's what you call a character flaw? I wonder what that says about you."
She shook her head as she said, "I'm in sales, so of course I know how to lie. It's not always a bad thing, you know? I shouldn't call it lying, even. It's more like embellishing the truth, and massaging it until it says what you want."
I couldn't believe we were having this conversation, especially in front of Gabby Williams's shop.
The door to Gabby's business opened, and the proprietress herself stepped out and said, "Are you ladies coming in, or are you just loitering in front of my shop?"
Before I could say a word, Grace spoke up. "We
came to see you. Is there any chance we could get some of your marvelous tea?"
Gabby was taken aback by the request, and obviously delighted. "Why, that would be lovely. Let me put a kettle on. Don't tarry now, come in."
"We'll join you in one second," Grace said, and Gabby disappeared back into her shop.
The moment she was gone, Grace turned to me and said, "Suzanne, do me a favor and don't say anything."
"I'm not going to sit there like some kind of lump," I protested.
I could tell Grace was exasperated as she said, "Then at least follow my lead. Wait until you see where the conversation is going before you chime in."
"Grace, do you honestly even know where the conversation is headed?"
Her smile was bright as she said, "I don't have a clue. That's part of the fun of it, don't you think?"
Gabby poked her head back out the door. "Are you coming, ladies?"
"We are," Grace said as she threaded her arm through mine.
We walked in, but before we could make it to the back, Grace stopped at an ivory jacket. "This is absolutely lovely."
"It is, isn't it? I only wish I could keep them all."
I touched the sleeve. The fabric was silk, which was nice to the touch, but wouldn't wear well at all. "That kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
I shrugged. "I wouldn't have much of a business if I ate all the donuts myself, would I?"
Grace said, "You must forgive her, Gabby. Suzanne's been awake a long time, and I think the poor girl is sleep deprived."
"I understand. These past few days must have been hard on her."
"Hey, I'm standing right here," I said.
Gabby looked at me for a moment. "Of course you are. Now, let's have some tea. I have some wonderful new cookies I just found the recipe for, and you have got to try them."
"They sound delicious," Grace said. Once Gabby's back was turned to us, Grace put a finger to her lips, making a shushing sign.
Fine. If she wanted a mute witness, then that was what I was going to be, if I could just manage it.
We took our seats in back, and as Gabby poured tea for us, Grace said, "The shop is wonderfully organized. How do you manage it? I imagine your inventory turnover is tremendous, and yet you always seem to keep a perfect balance of offerings."
"It can be difficult at times," Gabby said. It was pretty obvious she was pleased by the compliment. I had to hand it to Grace. She'd managed, in just a few words, to put Gabby at ease, something that would have taken me hours to do, if I could succeed at all. She truly had the touch when dealing with people.
After more inane conversation, much of which I didn't participate in, Grace said, "I keep thinking about poor Patrick Blaine."
"From what I've heard, 'poor' is exactly the right
word I'd use to describe him," Gabby said. "I understand he was overextended on several fronts, if you follow me."
Grace nodded sagely, and I had to bite my tongue to not ask her how she'd heard anything about him, since twenty-four hours ago she hadn't even known his name. It had to be the power of the grapevine at work. I was starting to see that Grace's choice of first stops had been a wise one. Evidently Gabby had done a great deal of our legwork for us.
Grace took a sip of tea, then she said, "Still, whenever a life leaves us, someone feels the sorrow. I wonder who his significant other might have been."
Gabby put her teacup down, and leaned forward, though there was no one in the shop but the three of us. She must have loved the conspiratorial edge to our conversation, because her eyes were absolutely gleaming. "His divorce was completed just last week, according to a friend of mine. I have it on very good authority that his ex-wife, Rita Blaine, wasn't aware that it had already become final, and the woman tried to collect his life insurance before the body was even cold. Can you imagine how shocked she must have been? She'd been expecting a windfall, and instead, she gets nothing, the poor woman." It was pretty clear that Gabby didn't think Rita was a poor woman at all.
"It's tragic, isn't it?" Grace added. "I wonder who does inherit the money?"
"I haven't heard that myself, but I'm willing to wager anything that Rita knows. Would you like more tea?"
Grace put a hand over her cup. "I'd love to, but I'm afraid Suzanne has had a difficult day. I think I should get her home."
"I'm fine," I insisted.
"Nonsense," Gabby replied. "With the discovery of the body yesterday, and the trauma you must be feeling from it, it's amazing you even made it in today."
Grace was standing, and I felt her arm tugging at mine. "Let's get you home, Suzanne." The pressure of her grip on my arm was getting stronger, so I just nodded. Before we left, though, I turned to Gabby and asked, "How have you managed to learn so much about Patrick Blaine so quickly?"
"Suzanne, in a county as small as ours, do you honestly think anything stays a secret for long? I understand he was a loyal customer of yours, which must make the shock to your system even worse. You need to go home and get some rest. You look like you could use it." She hesitated, then added, "If you don't mind my saying so, you might want to try a little concealer under your eyes. You mustn't go around town looking like a raccoon, no matter how you feel."
"Thanks, I'll get right on that," I said as Grace dragged me outside.
Back on the sidewalk, Grace said, "You just couldn't keep quiet, could you?"
I asked, "Aren't you the least bit curious how she goes about collecting her information? How can any of it be accurate?"
"I would imagine she has a pretty good set of sources, but even if she's dead wrong about everything,
she's given us a good place to start. He never mentioned Rita to you, did he?"
I shook my head. "No, our conversations were always light. That doesn't mean he didn't matter to me, though."
"I never thought so."
I headed for my Jeep, but Grace said, "Suzanne, I think it would be better if we took my car. Too many folks around here know what you drive, and if they see your car parked in front of your shop, they'll think you're still here."
"I'm not going home," I said. "I don't need to rest."
"That was just to get us out of there, you nit. If I hadn't made up some kind of excuse, we'd be sitting there sipping tea till midnight. Come on, let's go."
"I'm guessing we're going to pay a visit to Rita Blaine so we can find out if what Gabby heard about the life insurance was true," I said.
She nodded her head in satisfaction. "That was my thought, unless you can think of something else we should be doing."
"Not off the top of my head."
Grace frowned as we approached her car. "I'm just not sure I know how to get her to talk."
"You mean you're not going to just charm the information out of her?"
As Grace called information for Rita's phone number and address, she said, "There's just so much I can finesse my way through. You don't have any ideas, do you?"
My mind raced for some excuse we could use to get Rita to talk. I'd almost given up when I saw a newspaper vending machine on the corner.
"I've got it," I told Grace as she hung up her phone.
"Okay, I'm listening. What's your idea?"
"We're going to pretend to be freelancers writing an article for the
Charlotte Observer
. If Rita thinks she's going to be in the newspaper, I'm willing to bet that she'll tell us things she wouldn't ordinarily admit to a pair of strangers."
Grace smiled softly. "That's a Nancy Drew idea if I've ever heard one."
I looked at her. "Are you making fun of me?"
"Are you kidding? I'm applauding. That's brilliant. Now here's what we'll do."
By the time we got to Rita's house, we were ready with our act. Grace dug a couple of notebooks out of her trunk, a space that was always a cornucopia of office supplies, since she traveled so much.
But when we got to Rita Blaine's address, the front door was standing wide open, and I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that we were too late.
EASY FRIED APPLE PIES
These are some of the easiest things in the world to make, and they are absolutely delicious. Even if you're a seasoned cook, sometimes a shortcut is still a good thing. Try them, they're worth it!
INGREDIENTS
Precooked apples, 8 oz., from the can
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 ready-made pie crust
DIRECTIONS
Warm the apples on the stovetop over low heat, adding the sugar and cinnamon and mixing it well, then take the pan off the heat to cool a little. Unroll the pie crust onto the countertop. Flour the rim of a bowl or glass and cut circles out of the dough by pressing down and twisting. I usually make four fried pies out of one crust. Place a small amount of apple in the center of each circle, then wet the edges of the dough all the way around. Fold the dough over in half, and pinch the edges together, sealing in the apple. The shape will look something like a curved half-moon.
Drop the pies into 375 degree oil, and give them three to four minutes on each side before turning them with skewers. The crusts will puff out a little along the edges, and they will get golden, with maybe a little brown as well. These usually take about eight minutes to cook, but the time can vary. Don't be
afraid to leave them in a little longer than you would normally fry something. Pull them from the oil, dust them with powdered sugar, and they're ready to eat.
Makes 4 pies.
CHAPTER 5
"Should we just go on in?" I asked. "Or should we call the police?"
"Why on earth would we do that?" Grace asked.
"I've got a feeling that something's wrong."
"Nonsense," Grace said as she brushed past me and went inside. "Hello? Is anyone here? Hello?"
I followed her, albeit reluctantly. What would Chief Martin say if I found another body, so soon after the last one? Was that a conversation I really wanted to have, or an experience I needed to endure? The image of Patrick Blaine's body on the asphalt in front of my shop was still so vivid in my mind that if I closed my eyes, I knew I would see it.
"Who's there?" a woman's voice asked, coming from the bedroom.
"We're with the
Observer
," Grace said.
An older woman wearing a stained blue blouse and Capri pants came out. Her hair, its original color long forgotten, was frosted platinum blonde, and from the state of her makeup and the unsteady way she
walked, it was clear she'd been drinking heavily. Okay, two empty bottles of vodka on the coffee table helped me reach that conclusion, as well.
"Don't need a paper," she said. "I've already got one. What I need is a drink."
She stared at the empties with an accusatory glare. "Did you kill that bottle while I was in the bedroom?"
"We just got here," Grace said.
I pointed to a tumbler half full on the fireplace mantel. "Is that what you're looking for?"
She spotted the glass, held it to her lips, and drank the entire contents in three straight swallows. "That's what I needed, something to take the edge off."
Rita noticed us again after she removed her rapt attention from the alcohol. "Like I said, I already subscribe."
"We're not here to drum up business," I said. "We're writers working for the paper, and our editor thinks your story is one worth telling."
She frowned, as if the focus cost her something. "What story?"
Grace jumped in. "How you lost your husband so soon after the divorce was finalized."
"He rammed it through, the horse's hind end," she said. "It wasn't supposed to be done until next week. That money's rightfully mine."
"What money is that?" I asked softly.
"The insuranche, insurance," she said, the vodka starting to take hold.
"Was it a lot?"
"That depends. Do you call a million bucks a lot?" She looked around her shabby living room. "I do. And now that cupcake gets it. She gets all the icing. It's just not fair. He cheated me on my alimony, and then he did it again with his insurance. All because of that woman." I wasn't sure if she was laughing or crying, but Rita had an emotional jag that lasted nearly a minute before she collected herself.
