Dead Ringer by Sarah Fox Page B

yellow kitchen that probably hadn’t been renovated in several decades. She gestured to the table and chairs by a window that looked out over the back garden, as carefully tended as the front one. “Sit yourself down, dear. Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps some lemonade?”
    I pulled out a chair. “Lemonade would be lovely, thank you.”
    I sat down as Mrs. Landolfi removed a jug of lemonade from the refrigerator and two tall glasses from one of the kitchen cupboards. She filled the glasses and returned the jug to the fridge.
    â€œSo you were friends with young Jeremy, were you?” She joined me at the table.
    â€œThank you,” I said as she placed one of the lemonade-­filled glasses in front of me. “I’m a musician. We played together in the same orchestras from time to time over the years.”
    Mrs. Landolfi didn’t seem to notice my lack of a direct answer to the friendship question. She shook her head sadly. “He was such a talented young man. He was about to be hired by a professional orchestra. Now he won’t have that chance.”
    I took a sip of tart lemonade, homemade by the taste of it, to cover my surprise. Had Jeremy really believed he could bully Hans into giving him a permanent place in the orchestra? He must have been delusional.
    â€œThings had been difficult for him. It would have been nice if he had a chance to improve his circumstances,” Mrs. Landolfi continued.
    â€œDifficult?” I asked with interest.
    Jeremy’s landlady took a sip of her own lemonade. “Well, he went through a bit of a rough patch. Money was tight, and he was late paying his rent a few times.”
    â€œWhen was this?”
    â€œOh, quite recently. This month was the first one of the year that he paid on time. Of course, I didn’t worry about that too much on my behalf. He promised he would pay, and he always did eventually. Such a good, honest boy.”
    I wasn’t sure I agreed with her description of Jeremy, particularly considering the fact that he’d cheated on Shelley, but I was far more interested in everything else she’d said. How could Jeremy have afforded to pay for an engagement ring and a trip to Hawaii if he didn’t even have the money to pay his rent? Or had he foolishly spent several months’ worth of rent on the ring?
    I wanted to growl in frustration. With every person I talked to, I only ended up more confused.
    â€œDid Jeremy have any recent troubles aside from money problems?” I asked, fishing for a clue that would point to a murder suspect.
    â€œI don’t believe so,” Mrs. Landolfi replied. “He loved his music and he was seeing a lovely young lady.” Her eyes grew damp.
    â€œShelley,” I said with a nod, hoping she didn’t mean Clover.
    â€œThat’s right. Poor girl. It must have been such a shock to her.” Mrs. Landolfi dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin. “The police asked me similar questions, but I’m afraid I have no idea who would have wanted to harm Jeremy. It must have been a random attack by someone quite deranged.”
    The more I learned about Jeremy, the more I doubted the random killing theory. Anyone who lied and cheated was bound to make some enemies along the way. But I didn’t see any point in interfering with her rather rosy view of his character.
    â€œIt’s all very hard to understand,” I said. That much was the truth.
    Mrs. Landolfi nodded and dabbed at her eyes once more. “His sister arrived from Halifax yesterday, but the police won’t allow her to clear out his things yet. It will be hard to find another tenant as good as Jeremy. It was so nice to have a fellow musician around.”
    I perked up at her last words. “You’re a musician too?”
    â€œOh, back in the day. Flute and piano. I stopped playing years ago because of my arthritis. My grandchildren have my instruments now, but it was