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“In that case, I’ll be right back.”
She hurried down the back stairs, past the empty second floor, and into the kitchen, where she found Greta seated at the table finishing a crossword, the breakfast dishes stacked neatly in the sink. Dressed in a pink vest and white turtleneck, along with slacks and pearls that matched her earrings, she said, “Well, good morning!” and pushed her iPad aside. “That one,” she said, pointing to the screen where the puzzle was still visible, “was a doozy, let me tell you. A little trick to it today.” Then she added, “I’ve been hoping you were coming down this morning. Dear Lord, I saw on the news that Ned Crenshaw’s wife was murdered! And he’s injured?” She was shaking her head. “He was Didi’s first husband. Yes?”
Of course, Greta remembered Ned’s name. She had that damned book memorized. No way was Remmi going to get out of confiding in the older woman, and she owed Greta the truth.
“We found the bodies, called the police. Noah and I.”
“Noah?”
“Noah Scott.”
“The boy . . . I mean, he was the one on a motorcycle that night in the desert. Right? Oh, my!” Her eyes were bright with excitement.
“Yeah. He’s upstairs now.”
“Is he? And, of course, he’s not a boy any longer.” Greta’s eyebrows shot over the rims of her glasses. “Are you going to bring him down and introduce him?”
“Not now. Maybe later. We’ll see.”
“But why is he here? I mean, did he just show up out of the blue? I thought he was
missing.”
“He was.”
“So . . . what’s going on?”
Remmi didn’t have time for long explanations, so she filled the older woman in quickly, without too many details, sketching out what she’d done the day before, starting with discovering that Trudie Melborn was married to Ned, but also that she was the author of I’m Not Me. She explained about going to Sacramento with the intention of finding out more about the writing of the book and to learn if Trudie had contact with Didi or had any idea of what had happened to her and how she’d gleaned all the information she’d published about Didi’s life. She explained about finding both Ned and Trudie shot, Trudie dead, Ned ending up in a Sacramento hospital.
“Oh, my goodness!” Greta exclaimed, a hand to her throat, fingers twisting her pearls. “I just can’t believe this. You were probably in danger yourselves!”
“I don’t think so,” Remmi said, stretching the truth a bit as she remembered Noah, stern-faced, eyes dark, holding his pistol, ready to shoot if he saw the killer, while the dog barked crazily in the dark night. Had they been in peril? Possibly. But there was just no reason to worry Greta. “Anyway, we got home late.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I mean it’s upsetting, and I wasn’t great last night, and it took hours explaining everything to the police, but I’m okay.” That was probably another bit of a lie, too, as the events of the night before were more than disturbing. Her own nightmares were proof enough, but again, why worry the older woman?
“And poor Ned . . . will he make it?” Still grim-faced, Greta finally quit twisting her necklace.
“I don’t know. I think it’s touch and go. I take heart in the fact that he’s tough, you know, a real cowboy, but he was shot and . . . well, I just don’t know.” She felt an overwhelming sadness at the thought and turned to the refrigerator. “I just came down to borrow some cream for coffee.”
Greta made a shooing motion toward the refrigerator. “Anything you want, you know that.” She let out a breath as Remmi opened the fridge’s door and pulled out a small carton of half-and-half. “While you’ve been out chasing criminals, the most excitement around here is that the Christmas lights will finally be up today.” She motioned to the window, where a string of lights was swaying in a stiff breeze, yet to be hung. A ladder and a man’s torso and legs were visible as the worker attempted to secure the lights. “Nasty day for it, too,” Greta observed, “but I’ve been promised by the owner of the company that the lights will be tested tonight for the first time and should be spectacular even if it takes all day to string them.” She paused and gave her head another little shake. “But with what you’re telling me, it all seems so . . . small. So unimportant.” As if to add emphasis to her statement, the string of lights clattered against the window, and outside a man swore loudly.
A whirring noise caught Remmi’s attention just as she heard footsteps ascending from the basement. Turtles trotted into the room and rubbed against Remmi’s legs. A few seconds later, Beverly appeared, her face flushed slightly, her short hair a red mop. Spying Remmi, she said, “Hola. Buenos dias!”
“Good morning,” Remmi responded just as the whirring stopped and Beverly went back out to the hall.
“What’s that?”
“The dumbwaiter. Jade and Beverly cleaned it up and found out it was still operational.” She looked surprised herself. “Now they play with it, haul everything up and down with it. Beverly’s pretty proud of herself.”
“I sure am!” Beverly yelled from the hallway. “And it’s not play. It’s a lot of work. Man, this thing was filthy!”
“Hasn’t been used in about twenty years,” Greta whispered as the mottled cat hopped onto her lap and she automatically began stroking Turtles’s head.
Beverly said, “I’m telling you, it’s going to make my job a lot easier. Unless you find a way to put in a stacked washer and dryer on the first floor. That would be the best.”
Greta snorted. “I’m not giving up my powder room,” she insisted under her breath.
