half lying.
“When do I get to ask the questions?”
Joe sobered. “Later.” Scowling, he looked over at Price’s notes. “If you don’t know who this fortune-teller was, who would?”
Judith straightened a lacy doily in the middle of the table and shrugged. “Oriana Brodie, I suppose. She hired her.”
“Brodie?” Joe’s red eyebrows shot up. “As in carpet-sweeper Brodie?” He saw Judith and Renie nod in unison.
“Damn! Then I did recognize the TV star and the ex-jock.”
He let out a big breath and clicked the ballpoint 46 / Mary Daheim
pen several times. “I suppose that’ll mean a lot of pressure from all sides. Did I hear somebody say another one of them is some big-shot doctor?”
Judith gave Joe a commiserating look. “Harvey Carver, Norway General. His wife’s the Duchess of Do-Good. The Brodie daughter writes romance novels under the name of Guinevere Arthur. And Mrs. Brodie used to be an opera singer.”
Joe drummed his fingers on the oak and let out a low whistle. “Why couldn’t I get stuck with one wino bashing another over the head with an empty bottle of rubbing alcohol?” He turned to Price. “If the medics are done, get the body out of here. I want the medical examiner’s report as soon as possible. And,” he added as Price headed out of the little parlor, “tell the guests they can go wherever they want—as long as they don’t leave the house.”
Renie was running a hand through her short brown curls.
“I don’t get it. The fortune-teller is supposed to be a minor celebrity on the Hill. But this crew didn’t know her. Not even Oriana, right?” She appealed to her cousin for confirmation.
Judith nodded. “There was supposed to be some big announcement—by Otto, I guess—about how he was going to divvy up his estate. I don’t think they ever got that far, though.”
“Money, the eternal motive,” said Joe in an undertone, getting to his feet. “But that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with your fortune-teller. First, we find out who she was. Did she bring a purse?”
“Purse.” Judith momentarily went blank. “Oh, it wasn’t a purse, it was sort of a satchel thing. It’s in the flour bin.”
“And your guests’ coats are in the cat box,” Joe dead-panned. “It all makes perfect sense.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, let’s go find this satchel. She ought to have some I.D. in it.”
Judith led the way, but Renie lingered behind, ostensi-JUST DESSERTS / 47
bly studying the yellow and black tape which now cordoned off the dining room set. The body had been removed, along with many of the items that had been on the table. A glance into the living room revealed Otto and Oriana, still in front of the fireplace, arguing. Harvey was browsing among the crammed bookshelves while Ellie leafed nervously through a gardening magazine. The rest were nowhere to be seen.
In the kitchen, two firemen were poking about, though whether they were checking for evidence or inspecting the wiring, Judith couldn’t tell. She nodded politely as she showed Joe into the pantry. It was the classic well-stocked larder, right down to the old-fashioned cooler where she kept extra butter and other semi-perishables. The room was small and cramped. Judith resisted the urge to turn around and confront Joe Flynn in relative privacy.
“Here,” she said, pulling out the door to the flour bin. “It’s in this grocery bag.”
Except that it wasn’t. The bag floated free in her hand, and Judith let out a little cry. “It’s gone!” She stared at Joe, reminding herself not to let those green eyes mesmerize her.
“Did your men find it first?”
Joe looked grim. “I doubt it.” He whirled out of the pantry, surprisingly nimble of foot.
But none of the emergency personnel knew anything about a satchel in a flour bin. After a brief discussion with Kinsella and one of the firemen, Joe surveyed the kitchen and pantry area. He bent down to study the
“When do I get to ask the questions?”
Joe sobered. “Later.” Scowling, he looked over at Price’s notes. “If you don’t know who this fortune-teller was, who would?”
Judith straightened a lacy doily in the middle of the table and shrugged. “Oriana Brodie, I suppose. She hired her.”
“Brodie?” Joe’s red eyebrows shot up. “As in carpet-sweeper Brodie?” He saw Judith and Renie nod in unison.
“Damn! Then I did recognize the TV star and the ex-jock.”
He let out a big breath and clicked the ballpoint 46 / Mary Daheim
pen several times. “I suppose that’ll mean a lot of pressure from all sides. Did I hear somebody say another one of them is some big-shot doctor?”
Judith gave Joe a commiserating look. “Harvey Carver, Norway General. His wife’s the Duchess of Do-Good. The Brodie daughter writes romance novels under the name of Guinevere Arthur. And Mrs. Brodie used to be an opera singer.”
Joe drummed his fingers on the oak and let out a low whistle. “Why couldn’t I get stuck with one wino bashing another over the head with an empty bottle of rubbing alcohol?” He turned to Price. “If the medics are done, get the body out of here. I want the medical examiner’s report as soon as possible. And,” he added as Price headed out of the little parlor, “tell the guests they can go wherever they want—as long as they don’t leave the house.”
Renie was running a hand through her short brown curls.
“I don’t get it. The fortune-teller is supposed to be a minor celebrity on the Hill. But this crew didn’t know her. Not even Oriana, right?” She appealed to her cousin for confirmation.
Judith nodded. “There was supposed to be some big announcement—by Otto, I guess—about how he was going to divvy up his estate. I don’t think they ever got that far, though.”
“Money, the eternal motive,” said Joe in an undertone, getting to his feet. “But that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with your fortune-teller. First, we find out who she was. Did she bring a purse?”
“Purse.” Judith momentarily went blank. “Oh, it wasn’t a purse, it was sort of a satchel thing. It’s in the flour bin.”
“And your guests’ coats are in the cat box,” Joe dead-panned. “It all makes perfect sense.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, let’s go find this satchel. She ought to have some I.D. in it.”
Judith led the way, but Renie lingered behind, ostensi-JUST DESSERTS / 47
bly studying the yellow and black tape which now cordoned off the dining room set. The body had been removed, along with many of the items that had been on the table. A glance into the living room revealed Otto and Oriana, still in front of the fireplace, arguing. Harvey was browsing among the crammed bookshelves while Ellie leafed nervously through a gardening magazine. The rest were nowhere to be seen.
In the kitchen, two firemen were poking about, though whether they were checking for evidence or inspecting the wiring, Judith couldn’t tell. She nodded politely as she showed Joe into the pantry. It was the classic well-stocked larder, right down to the old-fashioned cooler where she kept extra butter and other semi-perishables. The room was small and cramped. Judith resisted the urge to turn around and confront Joe Flynn in relative privacy.
“Here,” she said, pulling out the door to the flour bin. “It’s in this grocery bag.”
Except that it wasn’t. The bag floated free in her hand, and Judith let out a little cry. “It’s gone!” She stared at Joe, reminding herself not to let those green eyes mesmerize her.
“Did your men find it first?”
Joe looked grim. “I doubt it.” He whirled out of the pantry, surprisingly nimble of foot.
But none of the emergency personnel knew anything about a satchel in a flour bin. After a brief discussion with Kinsella and one of the firemen, Joe surveyed the kitchen and pantry area. He bent down to study the
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