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My mom not only wouldn’t tolerate her kids and husband swearing, but she had managed to train the whole town as well not to swear in front of us. And believe me when I tell you Zelda could swear with the best of them.
“Ian ordered some food from the diner for his Halloween bash and also from a few of the other restaurants and bakeries in town. He’s smart keeping it local. He’s also smart inviting a good portion of the town. I can’t wait to attend and enjoy all that eye-candy.”
“I’m with you on that, Zelda,” Amy said and slid into the booth after Zelda slid out.
“Now I just have to figure out a costume to wear,” Zelda turned to Amy. “You’re good with that sort of thing. Come up with a costume for me to wear and I’ll give you free lunch or supper for a week.”
Amy happily agreed. “You got it.”
“I was thinking about your costume after talking about it yesterday” Amy said and took a sip of the peach iced tea I’d ordered for her and myself—favorites of ours.
I know Amy well enough to know when she’s saying something without really saying it. “You have an idea for my costume?”
“I do,” she said excited.
“You said Ian would pick out a good costume for me from his extensive modeling outfits,” I reminded. “What made you change your mind?”
“Ian doesn’t quite know you like I do.”
Since it had been established many years ago that I have no sense of style, and Amy was right about knowing me, I did the smart thing. “Tell me what I’d look good in.”
Amy smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “That black Christian Dior dress from the fifties your aunt wore and left men breathless at the sight of her.”
“I just looked at it the other day!” I chuckled.
“And Ian would look smashing in a black tux from that time period,” Amy said.
“Would I have to wear high heels?” I didn’t do heels. Actually, it was that I could barely walk in them. They just weren’t for me.
“One night, Pepper. I’m telling you when the people around here see you, they’re going to think it’s your aunt—you look that much like her. Why do you think you took such great photos? You photograph as beautifully as your aunt.”
“Okay, I heard enough of how beautiful I supposedly am today,” I cautioned, not comfortable with hearing it.
Amy sighed dramatically. “Poor, baby, you have to suffer with your hot Scot boyfriend telling you how gorgeous you are.” She rolled her eyes. “I should have such problems.”
“Robert Struthers,” I reminded her for our reason for lunch, not that we needed one.
“Tell me you’ll consider wearing your aunt’s dress first,” she said.
She didn’t say—or else—but I knew that’s what she meant. “What costume will I wear to Ian’s Halloween party? Why I’m wearing my aunt’s black Christian Dior dress of course.”
“Wise choice,” she said with that same smug Cheshire Cat smile.
“Spill it,” I ordered.
“I talked with Robert Struthers’s secretary,” she said.
“My dad did briefly as well but found nothing.”
“That’s because Officer Claire spoke with the woman first and didn’t exactly put her in a cooperating mood. That woman doesn’t know the meaning of ‘you get more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.’”
“Claire can be abrupt,” I said, having felt her sting on several occasions.
“Abrupt?” Amy laughed. “She’s plain rude and for a police officer she’s not good at listening and reading between the lines.”
“What did you get from reading between the lines?” I asked, eager to know.
“I found that his secretary, Glenna, loves romance novels.”
I shook my head. “How does that help?”
“Duh, when you’re an avid romance reader you belong to a special group, and we stick together. After discussing our mutual interest and exchanging book recommendations, Glenna easily surrendered more information about Struthers. She told me that he might have told people he was going on a holiday, but that he only booked the holiday a week prior to leaving and right after he talked with Edwina Sheffington.”
I waited to find out who the woman was while Amy took a bite of her chicken wrap and a sip of her tea, while I slowly enjoyed my grilled cheese.
“Edwina Sheffington was Struthers’s uncle’s secretary for fifty years. As soon as I heard that I knew I had to talk with the woman.”
“And what did you find out reading between the lines with Edwina Sheffington?” I asked, wishing I was as skilled as connecting with people as Amy was, but at least I put her talents to good use.
“Baking,” Amy said, saluting me with a French fry. “We had the most delicious chat about biscuits, referred to as cookies here, and an assortment of cakes. We’re exchanging recipes.”
“Of course, you are.” Two phone calls and she got book recommendations and recipes, not to mention info in a murder case. The woman was remarkable.
