Going Through the Notions(91)

“Talk about encouraging stray cats,” Eleanor said in her best Mae West impression. She turned to Martha. “What do you put in those treats anyway—some kind of catnip for men?”

“Like I said, I know what men like.” Martha’s gaze was still fixed on Serrano through the unbroken window as he got into his car. “And he’s a fine-looking specimen.”

“I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed.” Eleanor’s gaze was more speculative.

I suddenly realized I’d forgotten to give him the pen. Maybe it was some kind of mental block on my part. Maybe I was holding on to it so I’d have something to give to Fiona after all was said and done, assuming the other pens were never found. It would be nice if she had some small reminder of her father. I’d rather give it to her than have it collecting dust in some evidence room at the police station.

Later on that afternoon, the plate glass company came to fix the window. After they left, I stepped up onto the display area with the new items. I placed the baby cradle in first, then an arrangement of the vintage purses. A truck went by on Main Street, and standing exposed and a potential target in the front window suddenly spooked me so much I dropped the fabric panel and velvet trim and hopped down, leaving them where they fell.

I called Betty, but she wasn’t home. I left a message saying what a relief it was to hear Angus was cleared of Jimmy’s murder. She must be at the hospital. At least she’d have no excuse not to go there, I thought bitterly, trying to let go of my resentment that she’d basically abandoned her husband throughout this whole ordeal.

At 5 p.m., I dutifully closed the store and went straight home.

*



“The next day, after a tearful good-bye to Peter, Sarah accompanied me to Sometimes a Great Notion. I had to admit I’d been a little misty-eyed to see him go, too. I didn’t know what the future held, but if Peter ended up being my son-in-law, I’d have no complaints.

Martha and Eleanor burst into the shop a few minutes after we opened.

“Good God, did you hear the news?” Martha was waving a copy of one of the New York newspapers over her head. “That crazy Fiona Adams? The one who had the meltdown at the auction? Her father’s new wife has just been found dead in her New York penthouse!”

“What?” I grabbed the paper from her. “Let me see that. Do they know what happened yet?”

Sarah was already scanning her phone. Before I’d had a chance to turn a page in the newspaper, she answered me. “Says here there seems to be no sign of foul play, as if she died in her sleep, but a toxicology report and autopsy are under way.”

My mind was racing as Martha, Eleanor, and I stared at one another.

“Do you think Wacky Fiona knocked off the trophy wife?” Martha asked in a hushed voice.

Eleanor shrugged. “Well, I’m no lawyer, but if Fiona did it to get her hands on her father’s estate, I don’t know that she’d automatically inherit anyway. I think it would go to whoever is mentioned in the wife’s will. But if she didn’t have one, I’m not sure how that works.”

Sarah frowned as she read further. “It must be weird to have a stepmother who’s younger than you.”

“Heads up! Speak of the devil,” Eleanor hissed as Fiona Adams strode into the store.

Martha took a step backward and landed on my foot. I winced and pushed her off with an effort, and we marshaled ourselves into a straggling line.

“Good morning, good morning, everyone!” Fiona sang out. “How are we today?”

She pointed a long finger at the newspaper I held. “I see you’ve read the wonderful news. Ding dong, the witch is dead!” she sang out. Then she laughed, but it wasn’t a normal laugh, more like a horrible hyena-like hacking sound.

I shuddered involuntarily and glanced at my compatriots. Sarah was wide-eyed, Eleanor open-mouthed, and Martha looked frankly panicked.

“Um—Ms. Adams,” she stammered, “you never sent me the bill for that white outfit.”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it.” Fiona laughed again, waving her hand in dismissal. “All water under the proverbial bridge now. I’m heading back to New York soon, but I wanted to say good-bye to you, Daisy. I didn’t expect to meet someone so cosmopolitan in this podunk town.”

I could feel Eleanor’s thoughts stabbing me like a pack of embroidery needles. Who does this bitch think she is?

Fiona took a quick glance around the store, making a grunt of approval. “Very nice. You have excellent taste. Just as I expected.”

She paused, and the giddiness vanished for a moment. “I don’t suppose you ever found the stolen pens, did you?” She asked the question in an offhand way, but as I looked into Fiona’s eyes, I saw the chronic pain and deep-rooted sadness there, despite the surface merriment.