I nibbled at my cookie. While I didn't care for a lot of Pennsylvania cooking, I'd never found fault with the baked goods. “Who's taking over?”
Lizzie shrugged. “Who knows. Who cares. I emptied my briefcase on Janet's desk and walked.” She giggled. “I hear you're going to take over my job at the ghost tour.”
“Word does get around quickly. But I'm not going to do your job, I'm going to be a ghost.”
“Well, don't let them stick you in the attic. It gets hot as hell up there at night. Spooky, too.”
A tiny gray-haired lady was perched on the edge of the chair next to me, balancing herself with a collapsible cane. “Congratulations, young lady.” she whispered. “I done heard you been cured of the big C.”
“Where on earth did you hear that?” I blurted out.
“Shhh…” Several women stared at me with disapproval.
“Sorry.” When I turned back to the woman, she was hobbling toward the unattended refreshment table.
“What do you suppose she meant?” I asked Lizzie. “She's the second person this evening to congratulate me on my ‘cure.’ ”
“And she probably won't be the last,” Lizzie assured me.
“But I haven't even heard my test results yet. Dr. Washabaugh's office has been closed since her death.”
“Someone's seen the report. And since the Grapevine's never wrong, let me be the third to congratulate you.”
A roar of laughter up front caught our attention. Naturally, there were some mandatory gag gifts: a baby bottle that looked empty until turned on its side, a DO NOT DISTURB sign for the parents’ bedroom door, and a little pair of blue booties for the “next” baby.
After the last of the offerings was opened, Baby Mar-golies made her grand appearance in the arms of her doting grandmother. Her name, I learned, was Parker, which I was sure would lead to confusion in the future. After we had all dutifully oohed and aahed, she was carried off to bed.
Janet sat down on the empty chair beside me With one hand, she held out a plate. “How about a sticky bun, hot from the oven?”
I accepted one and quickly put it down on my napkin so the syrup wouldn't burn my fingers.
“Seems like everywhere I go, someone's insisting I eat one of these. And of course, I can't say no.”
“I'll come teach you how to make them if you like. My secret is I use a packaged hot roll mix, so they're fast and easy.”
“And good.” I licked a piece of nut off my sticky finger.
“Tori, I love the little suit. Parker will look really cute in it next summer.”
“Is it too big? It looked really small to me.”
“That's okay. They outgrow those newborn sizes really fast.”
“Sorry about the wrapping paper.”
“I didn't even notice that it said ‘Get Well Soon.’ ” She laughed heartily, and I joined in.
“This is the first elevator I've ever seen,” I told her. “The buildings look quite old. Has it been in your family for a long time?”
Janet nodded. “Since before The War.” Like most local people, she referred to the War Between the States as “The War.” “ My dad's the fifth-generation Foster to run it.”
“I noticed the going-out-of-business sign out front. Does that mean you don't want to take over?”
Her face grew grim. “I'd love to, but I don't have any choice. The elevator's being torn down next year.”
“Why?”
“To make room for the new highway.”
I laughed. A highway here in the mountains? She couldn't be serious. “Highway to where?”
“From nowhere to nowhere. It was dear old Mack Macmillan's last bit of pork barreling before he retired. His lasting memorial to himself. We call it the Mack Macmillan Highway to Hell. Darn it, I'm letting my emotions ruin my party. Sorry about that. Speaking of the devil, has President Godlove still got you looking into Mack's death?”
I shook my head. “He's satisfied with pinning it on Woody Woodruff's incompetent handling of the guns.”
“The reenactor?” She sounded incredulous. “He's the best in the business. He'd never make a mistake like that.”
“That's what I thought. But no one else had access to the guns after they were locked up, except…” Except you. Just how affected was she by Macmillan's plans for the Highway to Hell? “Those keys were in your possession all night, weren't they?”
Janet looked wary, as if she could read my mind. “Yes, Tori, they were. There's absolutely no way… wait a minute… I just remembered something… no, it's too silly.”
“What?”
“After we were finished, I went upstairs to get my briefcase. Woody, Darious, and Lizzie got out of the elevator on the first floor, but Mack rode all the way up with me.”
“Did he come into your office with you?”
“No. He said he had to pick some things up from his office. I'd no sooner got inside than I had the urge to go to the bathroom. That's the worst part of being pregnant-you have to go all the time.”
“What does this have to do with the keys?” I asked.
“You asked me if they were in my possession all night, Tori. I'm trying to tell you they were, except for about five minutes when I was in the john. My purse and my keys were on the desk in my office where I dropped them when nature called.”
“But the only person on the floor with you was Mac-millan. Are you suggesting he switched keys with you? Why would he do that?”
Janet got to her feet and threw her hands up in the air. “I'm not suggesting anything, Tori. I'm only telling you what happened. I know what you're thinking, and I did not, I repeat, I did not reload those guns. Excuse me. I think my mother needs help.”
She stomped off through the throng of guests. From where I sat, it looked to me like her mother had everything under control at the refreshment table.
The clock was chiming half past nine when I got home. The cats were waiting for me in the kitchen, and by the furious swishing of their tails they let me know they were all alone and not happy about it. On the table I found a note from Ethelind saying she'd gone to the Shepherdstown Opera House with some friends and would be home late. I hadn't had an evening to myself since I'd moved in, so I decided to use the time alone to curl up with a good mystery and a cup of tea and try to forget that Garnet was in Washington, D.C., probably having a great time without me.
I was transferring boiling water from the kettle to Ethelind's Blue Italian Spode teapot when the telephone rang. I finished pouring, dropped in two Darjeeling teabags, then answered.
“Hi.” It was a man's voice. A very husky-sounding man's voice.
“Who is this?” It wasn't Garnet. I'd recognize his voice anywhere. “Darious.” “Oh!”
“You didn't tell me you're a reporter.” “If you don't know that, you're the only person in
Lickin Creek who doesn't.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Getting ready to have a cup of tea. Why?”
“Just wondered if you wanted to take a ride tonight.
I put the jumper on the carousel.”
I sighed. This wasn't right. I couldn't let myself fall into a relationship I didn't need or want. “Sorry. I'm not up for it tonight.”
“The hippocampus misses his sea nymph.” “Darious, please stop. I'm not coming over.” “You and that college professor got something planned?”
“She's not even here. I'm reveling in the solitude. I've fixed a pot of tea, and I'm going to read for a while, then go to bed early and catch up on my sleep.”
“Heard your guy left. Thought you might be lonely.” He was beginning to annoy me. “Look, Darious. I'm afraid I've given you the wrong impression.”