It was a blunt question, but what did I have to lose?
Fiona narrowed her gaze at me. “No. I’m a very wealthy woman in my own right. I didn’t need any money from the estate, but my father did promise me the pens.”
“But he didn’t specify in his will?”
“I guess he expected his wife to honor his wishes. Ha! We know how that worked out.”
I suddenly knew who Fiona was. She was one of those lost souls walking the earth. I saw them all the time. Oh, they looked like successful, professional people, but inside was a sad, neglected child. The pens signified a link to the past, her only connection to her father, and I understood now why she was so desperate to get them back.
“I think I like this one the best.” I pointed to the last page of the album.
Fiona grinned at me, showing her slight overbite. “You have good taste. That’s a rare Montblanc Magical Black Widow Skeleton pen.”
I marveled at the exquisite pen encased in a web of white gold, with its filigree spider and black diamonds on the clip.
“It’s a limited edition,” she said. “The last one sold at auction for well over twenty thousand dollars.”
“Wow. Thanks for showing these to me, Fiona. I can see now why the fountain pens are so important to you. They’re truly magnificent.”
I thought I detected a slight pinkening of her cheeks, but maybe it was only from the sun beating through the windows.
“Trust me, I’ll do everything I can to get them back.” As I stood up and saw the time on the clock in the kitchen, I was surprised to find that almost an hour had gone by. Even more surprised to find that I’d thoroughly enjoyed myself.
After I took my leave of Fiona, I walked back the way I had come in, past the koi pond with the sounds of frogs calling like out-of-tune plastic guitar strings, toward the dramatic two-level patio. Joy was at the poolside bar area, where overflowing mossy flower-filled baskets hung overhead. She was serving frozen margaritas to two bikini-clad guests.
“Daisy! What are you doing here?”
“I was—um—visiting a friend. Fiona Adams,” I said, suddenly glad I was sure now Fiona hadn’t had anything to do with the murder of Jimmy Kratz. She was a strange bird, but she’d been given the short end of the stick as far as I could see, and I hoped the pens would be recovered, not only for Angus’s sake, but for hers.
“Would you like something to drink?” Joy asked.
“Thanks, but I can’t stay. I have to get back to the store. Although that pool does look very inviting.” It was so hot, I was tempted to throw myself in, clothes and all.
“Guess who else we have staying here?”
I smiled and shook my head.
“Robin Tague! The famous violinist and composer! He’s playing some concerts in Philadelphia, but he picked the Four Foxes because he wanted the peace and quiet to compose.”
“I can’t wait to tell Debby Millerton. She’s a huge fan.” I nodded toward a deeply tanned guy with an impressive athletic physique lying on one of the chaise longues by the pool. “Is that him?” I whispered.
“Oh, no!” Joy laughed. “That’s the driver for your friend, Fiona Adams.”
Damn. Just as I was ready to discount Fiona as a suspect.
This guy wasn’t big, but he was solidly muscled, and he could certainly have done the dirty deed on Jimmy.
*
“On the way home, I decided to stop at the Perkins Feed Supply Store. Sarah was already pissed off at having to watch Sometimes a Great Notion. What difference would another half an hour make?
The business was right on Sheepville Pike, which was zoned commercial. Down a long driveway behind it was their house and surrounding farmland.
I’d heard Patsy’s dire warnings about the Perkins boys, but this was a retail business on a main thoroughfare where they served the public. I’d be perfectly safe. Hey, I’d faced up to Fiona Adams today and survived. Besides, I needed to check them out for myself.
But what excuse would I give for being here? I know, I could say I’d come to buy dog food for Jasper. In addition to cattle feed, a sign outside said they also sold bags of dog, cat, and rabbit food.
When I got out of the car, the oppressive heat was like a hand shoving me in the chest.
God, it was hot today.
The store was deserted except for one bored-looking girl at the register, who didn’t look up when I opened the glass and chrome door. The place smelled of fertilizer and sawdust inside. I stepped out into the heat again and wandered around to the back parking lot, past a forklift truck, and over to a huge shed.
I peeked into the shadowed interior. A young man stripped to the waist was perched atop a pile of feed sacks, throwing them up onto a shelf near the rafters. They must have weighed at least fifty pounds each, but he tossed them around like packets of potato chips.