me all the way to the front door, her breath rasping.
“Sure I will, Rose. And you know what? I’ll bring my grubbies by and I’ll help you clear out your second floor if you’d like. We can do it bit by bit over time. I can haul stuff down, and you can decide what to do with it.”
“Well, that’s just sweet of you, hon. I look forward to that. Now, I need my nap,” she wheezed, “but when you come back, remind me to tell you about Crawford, the other cousin. They all grew up together.”
“Who? Crawford?” I said, but the yellow metal door closed and the lock clicked.
Put your spices in alphabetical order. In the long run, you’ll save time.
7
By the next day I took stock of my situation. My major client was in the morgue. My dogs were sleeping. My phone was bombarded by crank calls. Jack was checking out point-of-sale systems for his cycle shop. Sally had taken the kids to the pediatrician. Margaret was doing whatever lawyers do. And I was just plain stuck.
I reminded myself that an important tactic is to keep busy when you get bogged down. Have some pleasant little projects to take your mind off your problems and reinforce your serenity. I made a new set of color-coordinated files for my office and paid my bills. I had already put my spice shelf in alphabetical order and stocked up on the toilet tissue, paper towels, and candles on sale at Hannaford’s. I arranged them neatly in the lovely little storage closet I have next to my bedroom. I shook Truffle and Sweet Marie awake and took them for a much longer walk than they wanted. Then I went back to being stuck.
So much for theory. I could not take my mind off Miss Henley’s death and the documents I’d been paid to find. Were they connected to her death? If I could find them, would that point to a culprit? I could hardly complete the project. For starters, the site was off limits, surrounded by police tape. But I didn’t feel comfortable about keeping the money. It wasn’t a legal issue. More of a niggling moral quibble. It was a large enough sum that I felt I had to earn it.
For reasons that seemed solid at that particular moment, I decided to visit Olivia Henley Simonett. Maybe she could shed some light on the documents.
But first I hit Kristee’s Kandees.
The front entrance to Stone Wall Farm was flanked by twin pillars. The two-story white building sprawled across a broad lawn. At the far end of the long grassy expanse a fringe of woods framed the area. In the distance, a range of misty Catskills loomed. Pretty spot. But if it was a farm, I was an astronaut.
I admired the immaculately trimmed grass, with not a stray leaf in sight. There might not have been any wood smoke, but you could sure smell money in the air. I pulled into the visitors’ parking lot and slid the Miata into an empty spot. It was half the size of the shiny black Lexus SUV parked on one side and the aged blue Cadillac on the other. In the row of parked vehicles opposite mine, a new bright green Echo and a red Jeep made a cheerful statement next to a brown utility van and the large wheelchair-accessible van with Stone Wall Farm’s name and logo tastefully displayed in black letters on the glossy white surface. The only vehicle out of place was an ancient, badly rusted Toyota Supra.
I couldn’t imagine what it cost to keep a loved one in a place like Stone Wall Farm, but like Rose, I’d never be able to manage it. Inside the building, the grand foyer smelled of wax and fresh flowers. Soothing toile wallpaper and immaculate wainscoting warmed the entrance. A bird of paradise flower arrangement in a heavy black vase perched dramatically on a demilune table. Behind it, a vast mirror, framed in gold leaf, magnified the works.
Ka-ching.
Handrails had been mounted along the walls, but they were painted to match the wainscoting and blended in. I approved of everything I’d seen so far in my visit to Stone Wall Farm. Next my eye was drawn to the broad curved staircase
“Sure I will, Rose. And you know what? I’ll bring my grubbies by and I’ll help you clear out your second floor if you’d like. We can do it bit by bit over time. I can haul stuff down, and you can decide what to do with it.”
“Well, that’s just sweet of you, hon. I look forward to that. Now, I need my nap,” she wheezed, “but when you come back, remind me to tell you about Crawford, the other cousin. They all grew up together.”
“Who? Crawford?” I said, but the yellow metal door closed and the lock clicked.
Put your spices in alphabetical order. In the long run, you’ll save time.
7
By the next day I took stock of my situation. My major client was in the morgue. My dogs were sleeping. My phone was bombarded by crank calls. Jack was checking out point-of-sale systems for his cycle shop. Sally had taken the kids to the pediatrician. Margaret was doing whatever lawyers do. And I was just plain stuck.
I reminded myself that an important tactic is to keep busy when you get bogged down. Have some pleasant little projects to take your mind off your problems and reinforce your serenity. I made a new set of color-coordinated files for my office and paid my bills. I had already put my spice shelf in alphabetical order and stocked up on the toilet tissue, paper towels, and candles on sale at Hannaford’s. I arranged them neatly in the lovely little storage closet I have next to my bedroom. I shook Truffle and Sweet Marie awake and took them for a much longer walk than they wanted. Then I went back to being stuck.
So much for theory. I could not take my mind off Miss Henley’s death and the documents I’d been paid to find. Were they connected to her death? If I could find them, would that point to a culprit? I could hardly complete the project. For starters, the site was off limits, surrounded by police tape. But I didn’t feel comfortable about keeping the money. It wasn’t a legal issue. More of a niggling moral quibble. It was a large enough sum that I felt I had to earn it.
For reasons that seemed solid at that particular moment, I decided to visit Olivia Henley Simonett. Maybe she could shed some light on the documents.
But first I hit Kristee’s Kandees.
The front entrance to Stone Wall Farm was flanked by twin pillars. The two-story white building sprawled across a broad lawn. At the far end of the long grassy expanse a fringe of woods framed the area. In the distance, a range of misty Catskills loomed. Pretty spot. But if it was a farm, I was an astronaut.
I admired the immaculately trimmed grass, with not a stray leaf in sight. There might not have been any wood smoke, but you could sure smell money in the air. I pulled into the visitors’ parking lot and slid the Miata into an empty spot. It was half the size of the shiny black Lexus SUV parked on one side and the aged blue Cadillac on the other. In the row of parked vehicles opposite mine, a new bright green Echo and a red Jeep made a cheerful statement next to a brown utility van and the large wheelchair-accessible van with Stone Wall Farm’s name and logo tastefully displayed in black letters on the glossy white surface. The only vehicle out of place was an ancient, badly rusted Toyota Supra.
I couldn’t imagine what it cost to keep a loved one in a place like Stone Wall Farm, but like Rose, I’d never be able to manage it. Inside the building, the grand foyer smelled of wax and fresh flowers. Soothing toile wallpaper and immaculate wainscoting warmed the entrance. A bird of paradise flower arrangement in a heavy black vase perched dramatically on a demilune table. Behind it, a vast mirror, framed in gold leaf, magnified the works.
Ka-ching.
Handrails had been mounted along the walls, but they were painted to match the wainscoting and blended in. I approved of everything I’d seen so far in my visit to Stone Wall Farm. Next my eye was drawn to the broad curved staircase
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