Darned if You Do by Monica Ferris Page A

he must have friends, or why would Mr. Penberthy have suggested she round them up?
    A plate with a big sandwich on toasted whole wheat bread, ornamented with a lot of potato chips, suddenly landed in front of her. Valentina looked up and saw the dark-eyed woman studying her.
    â€œAre you visiting family here in Excelsior?” she asked.
    â€œSort of. I’m here to help out my cousin, Tommy Riordan.”
    â€œAh, I thought your face reminded me of someone,” said the woman.
    â€œDo I look like him?” asked Valentina, surprised.
    â€œYes, you do.”
    â€œHuh.”
    The waitress laughed. “I’m told my daughter looks a lot like me, though neither one of us can see it.”
    â€œDo you know Tommy?” asked Valentina.
    â€œSure. I think just about everyone in town knows Tom.”
    â€œReally? Are you sure?”
    â€œCertainly. He’s a friendly man, not hard to like. Why, is there something you’re wanting from people who know Tom?”
    Valentina blinked at the woman’s keen perception. “Well, yes. I’m going to be clearing out Tommy’s house, and I can’t afford to hire a company to do it. So I need to connect with Tommy’s friends who might be willing to help.”
    The woman frowned just a little bit and took a tiny step back.
    Valentina said, “But I’ve been advised by Tommy’s attorney, James Penberthy, to do this.”
    â€œOh, well, that’s different. If Jim thinks it’s a good idea, then that’s what you should do.”
    â€œThe problem is, I don’t know anyone in town, so I don’t know how to connect with Tommy’s friends.”
    â€œAre you staying here in Excelsior?”
    â€œNo, I’ve got a motel room over in Minneapolis.”
    â€œHmm, that’s going to make it a bit harder. Could you possibly relocate to Excelsior, even temporarily?”
    â€œWell . . . to tell the truth, I can’t afford the room rates out here. This business caught me kind of on the hop.”
    The woman said, “There’s a little motel in Shorewood, which borders Excelsior, very good for the budget conscious.” She named a rate that was actually a couple of dollars cheaper than what Valentina was paying now.
    Valentina said, “Is it . . . I mean . . . is it . . . okay?”
    â€œIt’s clean and quiet. No tubs in the bathrooms, but the showers have plenty of hot water. Ask for extra towels; theirs you can just about see through.” The woman touched the side of her narrow nose with a slim forefinger while she thought and nodded. “They’ll offer you a discount if you’re staying for more than a week.”
    Valentina smiled. “Thanks.”
    She paid for her meal, left an adequate tip, and asked the waitress for the address and phone number of the motel. “What’s your name?” she asked.
    â€œLeona Cunningham. And I’m one of Tom Riordan’s friends.”
    Valentina looked around the place. No one seemed to be signaling for service, so she decided to seize the opportunity. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked Leona.
    â€œAll right, but make yourself comfortable, at least. Have a seat at the bar. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
    Valentina hesitated—she didn’t want to pay for something she didn’t really need—but Leona added, “For free, of course.”
    How uncanny, reading something—accurately—in her face so easily.
    â€œThank you, yes, a cup of coffee would be nice. Just black, please.”
    The coffee came in a thick, heavy, old-fashioned mug designed to keep its contents hot. Valentina smiled as she picked it up; it was another reminder of the cafés of her youth. She took a sip. The brew was strong and flavorful. She hadn’t had a good cup of coffee, not like this, in a long time.
    She put the mug down, caressing it with two