Lending a Paw(58)

Caroline laughed. “Tell Stephen I’ll consider a donation.”

My eyes bugged out. “You . . . will?”

“But there is no way on this green earth that I’m going to join the Friends of the Library.”

Since I was very familiar with the give-me-an-inch-and-I’ll-take-ten-miles personality of the current Friends president, I understood her feelings exactly. I couldn’t say that out loud, but I nodded. “Understood. Thank you, Caroline. Very, very much.”

She held a forkful of pasta over her plate. “No promises, mind you. I’ll need to talk to my accountant first.”

“You’re considering a donation,” I said. “If I can pass on that quote to Stephen, he’ll be a happy camper. But he’ll spread it all over town,” I said in a warning tone. “Are you okay with that?”

“Stan would have liked it,” she said quietly, concentrating on her plate. “He was always trying to get me to donate more money.”

“And how is your dinner, ladies?” a male voice boomed.

I flinched. Caroline did not. Clearly, she was the better woman.

“Very nice, thank you.” She smiled at Larry, the new chef, whose arm was now brace-free. “Every bit as good as the party you catered for me at New Year’s. How is your lovely wife?”

He nodded. “Now, is there anything else I can get you? Mrs. Grice, if I recall correctly, you have a small weakness”—he held his thumb and index finger a fraction of an inch apart—“for strawberry shortcake. As it happens, we got a fresh delivery of strawberries this morning, and I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than bring you a special creation.”

“Thank you, Larry.” Caroline kept smiling. “That’s a wonderfully kind offer, but I’m afraid I’ve eaten too much of your cream sauce. And strawberry shortcake?” She shook her head sadly. “I’ll lose my figure in a week if I continue down that path.”

“Too bad about Mr. Larabee,” Larry said. “I remember him from your party. He seemed like a real nice guy. He said with talent and skills like mine that I had a bright future. I told him all I needed was a little money and he said money is easy enough to come by if you know the right people.” Larry colored slightly. “I’m talking too much again. Sorry, Mrs. Grice. Let me know if you need anything else.” Smiling, he left.

“You miss him, don’t you?” I asked softly. “Stan, I mean. I miss him very much, but I’m guessing you miss him even more.”

She gazed at, then through me. “There are so few people who are true friends. It’s heartbreaking to lose even one.”

The deep truth of her words kicked me back. Then I pushed it away. I’d think about it later. “Do you know his sisters?”

“Only through Stan’s tales.” A brief smile flickered, then faded. “He dearly loved to tell stories. I was certain many of them were sheer fabrication, but he swore they were all true. When he claimed to have bought and sold a piece of property three times and doubled the profit each time, I demanded proof.”

“And he had it?”

“If anything, he’d played down the money he’d made.”

Stan. “What a character.”

“It’s unfortunate he wasn’t more successful at family relations,” Caroline said. “He thought it would be enough to purchase them each a house of their choosing and establish a trust that would pay for their health insurance.”

It sounded generous, and I said so.

“I’m sure they don’t agree.” Caroline dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin. “Their attorneys will make their case. Meanwhile, our county sheriff’s office continues to flounder about, looking for a killer in all the wrong places.”

“Oh. Right.” I shifted in my comfortable chair. Maybe she meant Stan’s sisters. Because it sure seemed as if they should be suspects. Who could be better suspects than people who thought they might inherit even part of Stan’s fortune? Unfortunately, she was probably talking about someone else. “There’s something you should know.”

But Caroline wasn’t listening to me. “I’ve never let anyone say a word against law enforcement, against the men and women who put their lives on the line every time they go on duty. I’ve supported the city and the county officers, gone to their fund-raisers, voted for their millages, and now they barely tolerate my phone calls.”

I knew the feeling.

“It’s that Frances Pixley,” Caroline said. “One of her former boarders works for the Chilson Police Department, did you know? She’s using her influence over the officers to make them look the other way.”