And I reminded myself that I should look around to see if Mother had added any more little touches that I should praise. You’d think after thirty-some years of knowing me, Mother would have made peace with the fact that I didn’t share her passion for decorating, but she could still have her feelings hurt if I didn’t notice some new frill or furbelow.
But I might have drifted off to sleep if I hadn’t heard the ding my phone made when someone texted me. I pulled it out and saw that Michael had sent me a picture of Josh and Jamie, obviously enjoying their hay ride. I smiled at seeing their excited faces.
“We’re heading back to the tent,” Michael texted.
When I looked up from my phone, I found Mother staring at me.
“Is there really a murder?” she asked.
My smile vanished. I nodded.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “We were all so hoping for an unfortunate accident. Was it anyone we knew?”
“Not really,” I said. “Someone who worked for First Progressive Financial.”
“Still distressing, though,” Mother said. Was she reminding me or herself? “And at least it will keep your father happy.”
I nodded and gulped more lemonade. Yes, Dad was never happier than when he could combine his two great passions, crime fiction and medicine, by taking part in a real life murder investigation.
“How was he killed?” she asked.
“She was shot,” I said.
“She?” Mother looked distressed. “I didn’t know the lender had any women working for him here. Unless you mean—not that nice-looking young woman with the lovely Donna Karan shoes?”
“Probably,” I said. “She was about my age, more or less, probably nice-looking when she was alive, and her shoes didn’t look like anything I could afford much less walk around in without tripping.”
“Poor woman,” Mother said, her sympathies thoroughly engaged by the knowledge that the victim was a fellow shoe aficionada. “I think I saw her wearing a pair of Stuart Weitzmans, too.”
“If I hear that they’re giving away her wardrobe, I’ll go for the footwear,” I said. “Unfortunately, her choice of employers wasn’t as refined as her taste in shoes, and odds are that had something to do with her death.”
The blond teenager who’d filled my glass appeared at my elbow again.
“More?” she asked.
“It’s all right, Shannon, dear,” Mother said. “The murder victim wasn’t your young man.”
An expression of relief and joy crossed Shannon’s face, quickly erased by a stern frown.
“He’s not my young man!” Her tone was defensive. “It’s not my fault one of the Evil Lender’s guards keeps stalking me.”
“Of course not, dear,” Mother said.
“I wouldn’t talk to him at all if I wasn’t trying to get useful information,” Shannon said.
“And now you can continue trying to get useful information,” Mother said. “Because it wasn’t he who was murdered. I, for one, am very relieved that the victim isn’t anyone I know personally, and I’m sure you feel the same, no matter how much you disapprove of the young man’s current career choice.”
Shannon looked anxious for a moment, and then a sunny smile returned to her face.
“Yes, that’s just how I feel,” she said. “More lemonade?”
I held up my glass. She refilled it and then bounced off.
“So she’s dating one of the Flying Monkeys?” I asked.
“Heavens, no,” Mother said. “She’d bite your head off if she heard you say that. But as she points out as often as possible, she has no control over where he chooses to eat his meals. And as a dedicated citizen of Caerphilly, she doesn’t want to discourage him from talking to her if there’s any chance he might reveal information that would be useful to the cause.”
“Don’t encourage her to do too much information gathering,” I said. “It’s possible one of the guards was the killer.”
“Are you sure?”
“Either one of the guards or someone they’d think nothing about letting in and out of the courthouse,” I said. “So tell her not to do too much prying. Even if her boyfriend isn’t the killer, it’s almost certainly someone he knows. And right now the killer just might be a little suspicious of townspeople asking questions.”
“I’ll warn her,” Mother said. From the fierce look on her face, I suspected she’d be keeping a hawklike eye on the young guard. I felt a little less worried about Shannon’s safety.
“I’ve got to get back to the tent to change out of this robe,” I said. “Thanks for the lemonade.”