Mountain Top(297)

“It’s decaf,” Mrs. Fairmont said. “Guaranteed not to give me a brain freeze.”

“Mother and I have had a great afternoon,” Mrs. Bartlett chimed in. “It’s been like old times. We went to a cute place for a mid-afternoon snack but wanted home-brewed coffee. Did you have a nice day at work?”

I smiled. “That wouldn’t be the word I’d use to sum it up, but all’s well that ends well.”

“That’s somewhere in the Bible, isn’t it?” Mrs. Bartlett asked.

“No ma’am. It’s John Heywood. He lived in England a generation before Shakespeare.”

“Did your mother teach you that at home?” Mrs. Bartlett asked, her eyes slightly buggy.

“Yes ma’am, and a lot more.”

“Amazing.”

I poured a drink of water and leaned against the counter. “Have either of you heard of the Lisa Prescott Foundation?” I asked.

“Of course,” Mrs. Bartlett replied. “It made a big gift toward the new pediatric wing of the hospital a few years ago. I think it only supports projects that will benefit children. Mother, who runs that foundation?”

“Sam Braddock and Floyd Carpenter’s son are involved,” Mrs. Fairmont answered. “Which makes sense given the family connections. Was it mentioned in the newspaper articles you found in the box downstairs?”

“No ma’am, but I wish it had been.”

Mrs. Bartlett stepped closer and lowered her voice. “What else have you found out about Lisa? Mother says you promised to fill her in on the details of a new investigation into her death as soon as possible.”

“I’m not the person who can answer that question. My role in the case is over without anything to report.”

“Drat,” Mrs. Bartlett said. “It’s not often I have a chance for a scoop guaranteed to be ahead of everyone else in the city. The whole mystery came up Monday at my bridge club, and I promised to get back to everyone.”

“Tell them about the foundation,” I suggested.

“That’s old news, but I’ll come up with something.” Mrs. Bartlett placed her coffee cup on the kitchen counter. “Mother is going to eat dinner with Ken and me tomorrow evening. Will you join us?”

It was a nice gesture and made me feel less like the hired help. “Thank you, but this has been a long week, and I’m going to rest up this weekend. I’ll stay here and take care of Flip. Is he downstairs now?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Fairmont answered, giving her daughter a resentful look. “We’ll set him free when Christine leaves.”

A few minutes later as Mrs. Fairmont walked out on the front porch to bid her daughter good-bye, I liberated Flip. He rewarded me with a backward somersault that I rated ten out of a possible ten.


I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING to Mrs. Fairmont about the party at supper, but when she saw me come upstairs wearing the dress, she immediately insisted I wear a necklace.

“And it will look better if you put your hair up,” she added. “How long will it take you to do that?”

“Five minutes.”

I returned with my hair caught up behind my head.

“No,” she said after making me turn around several times. “I was wrong. Leave it down until your wedding.”

I brushed out my hair. At seven thirty the doorbell chimed, and Flip raced into the foyer. I picked up the dog and opened the door.

“This is Flip,” I said. “Can he join us?”

Vince stared at me.

“Come in and meet Mrs. Fairmont,” I said after an awkward pause.

Mrs. Fairmont and Vince chatted about Charleston for a few minutes. Vince held the door open for me as I got into the car.

“We’ll be there in a couple of minutes, so I have to talk fast,” Vince said as he pulled away from the curb. “I totally messed up the Moses Jones case and led you astray. I meant well, but that’s no excuse. Will you forgive me?”

“What?”

“You trusted me, and I let you down. It’s as simple as that. When I saw that Mr. Carpenter was about to fire you, I should have jumped in and taken the blame, but I froze. It was a cowardly thing to do.”

“But what did you do wrong?” I asked, mystified.

Vince glanced sideways at me. “You’re nice to say that. And you look great too. If I hadn’t fed you wrong ideas about the reason behind the memo from Mr. Carpenter to Mr. Braddock and sent you off to the microfilm records operating under a false assumption as to their motivations, none of this confusion would have gotten past first base. When you toss in the spin put on the conversation I overheard outside Mr. Braddock’s office, there’s no wonder you were confused.”