“The only way you can sue someone for libel is if the person says something defamatory about you in print. If it doesn’t appear in black and white, you can forget about it.”
Dawna flitted a desperate look around the table. “Does anyone have a pen and paper?”
“Maybe she could text you,” I suggested.
“I cannot begin to tell you how inappropriate this conversation has become,” said Victor as he set his spoon on the service plate beneath his empty bowl. “Have you suddenly become members of the politburo that you can throw around your accusations so freely?”
“Harmless chitchat,” chimed Virginia.
“Well, I advise you to find some other topic to chitchat about.”
As it happened, I knew the perfect thing.
“Woody has some intriguing tales to tell about his experiences in World War II. Maybe he’d agree to share a few stories with us.”
Cal rolled his eyes. “Great. Now you’ve done it.”
“Happy to oblige,” Woody enthused. “Happy to oblige. Well, it all started back in December of ’41. Pearl Harbor got bombed on the seventh, and I was first in line at the recruitment office on the eighth.”
“My Grampa Potter did the same thing!” Jackie tittered. “He was a navy guy, but he eventually ended up in France as part of a Seabee unit.”
“Not me. I was army all the way. Never made it to France.”
“That’s too bad,” I lamented. “You might have run into some of your French ancestors as you pushed toward Germany.”
“What French ancestors? I’m not French.”
“But—” I feigned confusion. “I guess I just assumed that since you’re wearing a family heirloom with a French symbol, your ancestors were … you know … French.”
“I might have had a French relative a thousand years ago, before the Norman Invasion, but my family tree got its roots in British soil.”
“So how do you explain the fleur-de-lis on your ring?”
“Why should I have to explain?” His voice rose a half-octave. “Like I told you before, it’s always been in the family. I don’t know how its original owner came by it, or how many hands it passed through to get to me, and I don’t care. Neither should you.”
“I’ve always thought the flower on his ring was a lily,” said Cal. “Considering we hail from a long line of morticians, a lily would make sense. It’s certainly appropriate to the profession. We do handle more than our share of lilies. But I don’t have a clue why the petal is broken.”
“Maybe it signifies that one of your relatives went bankrupt,” offered Jackie.
“Undertakers don’t go bankrupt,” scoffed Dawna.
Jackie puffed up with indignation. “Excuse me? They would if they lived in a nonsmoking community where the primary interests were fad diets and yoga.”
“Did you ever have a metalsmith in your family?” I asked, continuing to press the issue. “Someone who might have actually fabricated the ring?”
Virginia groaned her impatience. “Would you mind showing us whatever it is you’re talking about?”
Woody obliged by holding up his hand and flashing his ring around the table.
“I’m not sure what all the fuss is about,” said Virginia. “It’s not even fourteen carat.”