A Murder in Mohair by Anne Canadeo Page B

bathing suits, but Suzanne had dropped by on a break between appointments, and just had time to slip off her sandals and roll up her capris. It was Saturday, a busy day for her, especially in the summer.
    Matt also had to work most of the day and Lucy had called Dana to see if she was up for a bike ride. Dana had persuaded her to come over and swim instead. “It’s too hot to ride, we’ll melt; and you’ll use different muscle groups swimming,” she reminded Lucy.
    It was hot, and it didn’t take much to persuade Lucy to grab her bathing suit and knitting and head over.
    â€œMaybe she was telling him something. Like, ‘Call me later, honey,’ ” Suzanne mused. “But it makes even more sense that she was kissing him goodbye, if she didn’t have any clothes on.”
    â€œSuzanne, I did not say she wasn’t wearing clothes. It was a kimono. Some people wear those over clothes . . . don’t they?”
    â€œSure, bag ladies. They love a layered look. Actually, it’s just the type of lingerie I’d expect a psychic to wear, lounging around the house. Or entertaining a male companion.”
    Dana ignored Suzanne’s fashion analysis. “Did you get to see the man’s face?”
    â€œI couldn’t at first. But he took his hat and glasses off after he got into his van—which, by the way, was parked about a mile down the street.”
    â€œDead giveaway. That’s how cheaters park when they visit a honey,” Suzanne cut in.
    â€œAnd I did see his face when he drove by.” Lucy paused. Shards of sunlight reflecting off the clear blue water suddenly bothered her eyes. “It was Richard Gordon. Nora’s husband,” she said quietly.
    â€œRichard? Are you sure?” Dana leaned forward on the chaise longue, her knitting slipping into her lap.
    Lucy nodded.
    â€œWow . . . that’s a bombshell.” Suzanne sat back, fanning faster. “Now I understand why you’re holding back on the kissing question. That is a game changer.”
    â€œExactly. I’m just telling you . . . and Maggie, of course,” she hastily added. “I don’t want to start any gossip about him. I’m not even sure what I saw. Except that it was definitely Richard leaving her house. And looking like he didn’t want anyone to know he’d been there.”
    â€œWhat time was this?” Dana asked.
    Lucy shrugged. “I’m not sure. It was dark out, after nine I guess.”
    â€œThat’s late enough for me to be suspicious.” Suzanne checked her phone and dabbed a bit of sunblock on her nose.
    â€œMaybe he went there to pay for Nora’s sessions. I bet Cassandra prefers cash.” Lucy had given the question some thought last night and come up with a few—albeit slim—explanations that did not smear Richard’s reputation as a loving, devoted spouse.
    â€œI bet she prefers cash, too,” Dana said. “Less to declare on her income tax. But then, why the disguise? Nora makes no secret of her relationship with Cassandra.”
    â€œMaybe he was having a session with Cassandra and felt embarrassed about it,” Lucy offered. “It’s one thing for Nora to advertise that she believes in a psychic. But maybe Richard likes everyone to think he’s just humoring his wife and knows better.”
    Lucy picked up her knitting, the summer tote project that Maggie had showed them Thursday night.
    â€œOh, I think he was having a private session, but no tarot cards involved,” Suzanne said decidedly. “That lame disguise and the car parked down the street? Come on, Lucy. Even you have to admit that MO has affair written all over it. Poor Nora. How weird is that? Your husband is running around with your psychic advisor? That’s really twisted.”
    Suzanne picked up a carrot stick and chomped down noisily.
    â€œThat would be very sad. But we