“Is that still on?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, yes.” Gussie rolled her eyes. “Did I forget to tell you? This morning Sheila called to say she’d put everything she needed in her car and was heading for the Cape today so she’d be sure to get here before they closed the bridges. She was actually very excited that the party might take place at the same time as the hurricane hit. She said that would ‘heighten the atmosphere.’”
“Not sure that’s what you want during a hurricane,” said Maggie, “but…okay.”
“You’re having a bachelorette party tomorrow night?” said Diana. “During the storm? What fun!”
“You come too,” said Gussie. “Why not? I suspect not everyone who’s invited will make it, and you’ve been a big part of this last week. You should be here for the whole celebration.”
“I’d love to be there!” said Diana. “You’ve all been so wonderful to me! I feel as though you’ve adopted me in the past week.”
Adopted her? Maggie felt her cheeks redden as Gussie glanced at her with raised eyebrows. That was an interesting word for Diana to use. With everything else going on, she’d done a good job of repressing how to broach the whole subject of adoption with Will.
But it was still out there. He might not know it, but Hurricane Tasha wasn’t the only storm ahead.
No wonder she was focused on finding a murderer. Murders were simple compared with relationships.
Chapter 31
South Boston Horse Railroad Depot, Summer Street. A wood engraving by Alfred Waud, 1859, showing a church in the background and an elegantly dressed couple waiting as three horse-drawn “railroad cars” meet at the depot. The cars resemble trolleys, their metal wheels fitting on tracks in the road, but each pulled by two horses. This horse railroad and another between Boston and Cambridge opened in 1856, replacing the omnibus (stagecoach) providing transportation before then, “proof of the progressive spirit of the day.” South Boston, sometimes referred to as “Southie” by those who’ve lived there, was for many years the center of Boston’s Irish community. 7 x 10 inches. Price: $60.
Two hours later Maggie and Gussie were alone. Andy and Mel had gone home, and Will, Jim, and Diana had gone in search of pizza for dinner.
“Not bad,” Gussie said, surveying the house. “The plywood covering the windows kills the view, but in the past couple of hours with everyone’s help we’ve gotten another room set up.”
“Gussie, before the others get back with the pizza. Do you know Ike Irons’s wife well?”
“Annie Irons. Not well. Why? She comes into my store once in a while to buy mechanical banks for her sister’s husband. He collects them. She seems nice enough, but I doubt she has twenty cartons of books in her garage like we do, if you know what I mean.”
“I remember you said she and Ike weren’t from here.”
Gussie shook her head. “They’re Massachusetts people, but not from Winslow. I think maybe Annie’s from South Boston.” She looked inquiringly at Maggie. “Why all the questions?”
“Just wondering. She must have been a friend of Cordelia’s. Diana said she’d been there a couple of times. I wondered about the connection.”
Gussie shrugged. “Maybe she liked the dolls? I have no idea. I still can’t believe Cordelia’s dead.”
“What possible motive could anyone have?” mused Maggie.
“That’s one problem for Diana,” Gussie said. “Jim told me something Ike probably doesn’t know yet. I don’t even know if Diana knows. But if she does, it gives her a motive.”
“What?” asked Maggie.
“Right after Dan Jeffrey’s body was found Cordelia went to Jim and had him draw up her will. I don’t know if she’d had one before. But her new will leaves everything, including of course, her home, to Diana.”
“Why would she do that? She’d only known Diana a week or so.”
Gussie shook her head. “Maybe she liked her. Maybe Diana was her only relative. I have no idea.”
“But you’re right. If Diana knew she was Cordelia’s heir, that would give her a motive. You told me that house is worth a small fortune.”
“So let’s hope Ike finds someone with a better motive, and a gun that matches the bullet Cordelia was shot with. Otherwise our young friend could be in a lot more trouble than she imagines.”
Maggie sat for a moment. “But even if—and it’s a big ‘if’—Diana shot Cordelia, what about her father? I can’t see that she would have shot him. She’d have no reason to do that.”
Gussie sighed. “I was thinking about that the other night. Her father faked his own death. She inherited the money from his life insurance and property. If the insurance company discovered he was still alive her father would be charged with fraud, and have to pay back everything Diana inherited after his ‘death.’ Plus, he’d probably do prison time.”
“I don’t know how much insurance there was, but I’m sure she doesn’t have much money now. She told me she put their house in Colorado on the market to help pay bills and tuition. Would she be liable for the money she inherited when she thought her father was dead?”
Gussie shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’ll bet the courts would take back anything she hadn’t spent. It would be a mess, no matter what, and there’d be a nasty court case. She’d have lost her dad again, for sure. This time to prison.”
“You’re saying it would be simpler for Diana if he’d stayed dead,” said Maggie.
“It’s a horrible thought. But it made me wonder.…”
The door opened, and pungent odors of tomato and sausage filled the room.
Maggie watched as Diana laughed and picked the anchovies off her pizza, and they joked about changing the wedding reception menu to include spumoni and tortoni.
Diana couldn’t be a killer. Could she?
Chapter 32
C. Brandauer and Co.’s Circular-Pointed Pens.Wonderful wood-engraved full-page advertisement from the September 25, 1886 edition of The Illustrated London News. An elegantly dressed woman wearing an engagement ring sits at her desk with her pen and open inkwell, writing a love letter. She’s assisted by three winged cherubs; one whispering in her ear, one guiding her pen, and one examining the pen points in a box on her desk. Above her, in the clouds of her dreams, three more cherubs paint a large C. Brandauer & Co. Circular Point. In very small type in the margin below the engraving are the words, “The course of a true love letter runs smoothest when written with one of C. Brandauer and Co.’s Circular-pointed Pens. These pens neither scratch nor spurt, the points being rounded by a new process.” Page size, 11 x 16 inches. Price: $60.
“What’s on the agenda this morning?” Will asked, bending down to nibble Maggie’s ear as she attempted to pin her hair up. “The day before the wedding of the century there must be bridal errands to take care of.”
“You mean, aside from the hurricane bearing down on the Cape and the bachelorette party I have to attend tonight?” Maggie asked. “I hear Jim’s friends have some sort of fun evening in mind for him, too, and you, as the special out-of-town guest of the maid of honor, are included in that gathering.”
“Jim told me, last night. I’ve been to a couple of those fun events in my jaded lifetime. They usually involve beer, shots, and an occasional stripper. I’d rather spend the evening with you.”
Maggie sighed. “I wouldn’t count on the stripper. Although you never know. I’m not too thrilled with my evening plans, either. Especially in the middle of a hurricane. Seems to me storm parties should be spent cozily indoors, behind battened-down hatches, preferably with company of one’s choice.” She turned and kissed her favorite freckle at the base of Will’s neck. “And perhaps a bottle of wine and some pâté or cheese.”