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Rose sidled up beside me, holding a sleeve of cups in her hand. Her gaze immediately went to the woman in black passing by the front window. “I see you’ve met Estrelle.”
So that was Estrelle. No wonder there had been alarm in Dez’s voice when Maggie had mentioned the name on the phone yesterday.
Shewasalarming.
I rinsed the steaming pitcher. Maggie had drilledclean, clean, cleaninto my head straight off the bat this morning. “Not formally, though she wants me to be at her shop at six tonight.”
Both Rose’s eyebrows slid upward and surprise rounded her eyes. “Best you don’t be late.”
“I don’t even know where her shop is. And what happens if Iamlate?”
“Her shop is right next door. Stitchery. I don’t want to know what’ll happen if you’re late. You don’t either. Trust me. The last person who stood her up suddenly developed body odor that lasted nearly a week.”
My jaw dropped. “I mean, that’s just a coincidence, right?”
“Estrelle is… well, you’ll see for yourself the more you get to know her.”
“But I don’t particularly want to get to know her. She didn’t evenaskme to meet her tonight. She demanded it.”
“Be that as it may, I wouldn’t stand her up if I were you. Her demands are not to be taken lightly.”
I glanced out the window again—the woman, Estrelle, was long out of sight at this point, but one big question lingered. What in the world did the old woman want with me?
When I had first met Dez Brightwell, I hadn’t thought him a man in need of assistance. He’d been well groomed, articulate, and openhearted.
And perhapshewasn’t in need.
His house, however, most definitely was in dire need of help.
I’d come to the beach house straight from Magpie’s, arriving sooner than expected because Maggie had let me off early, claiming I’d learned enough of the coffee business for the day.
When I first got there, I thought perhaps I’d cometooearly, because Dez didn’t immediately answer the ringing doorbell. Finally he appeared, looking flustered and sounding exasperated.
“Molly’s playing hide-and-seek.” He’d wiped a hand across his damp forehead. “I need to find her before Maggie gets here and thinks I’ve done lost her, too. That’s a lecture I do not need.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
I focused on listening to the sounds inside the house, filtering each, identifying, moving on, hoping to hear a cat’s meow or scratching. But I heard only the usual sounds of a home, the creaks, the electrical hums, plumbing burbles.
“An hour ago? Two?” He scratched his chin. “Could bethree or four now that I think about it. Time gets away from me sometimes.”
He ushered me down a long, wide hallway that had been narrowed by dozens of boxes. The hallway spilled into the back of the house, an open space that contained the great room, the kitchen, and the dining area. French doors in the kitchen were open wide to the screen room, letting in the sea breeze. Behind the house, the gulf was a sea of endless blue.
I heard the slightest movement, a whisper of air, really, and looked to my right. On the stovetop, Molly’s head stuck out of a large stockpot that sat among a collection of copper cookware. For a horrifying second, I thought she was being made into soup. Then I realized the stove wasn’t on. “There she is.”
Dez turned. “Molly,” he said, full of outrage.
She twitched a dismissive whisker and ducked back into the pot.
That had been a few minutes ago, and I still stood in the same spot trying not to let my shock show on my face. How did he live like this? Where did I even begin in cleaning this place?
Dirty dishes were stacked high in the sink—rinsed, at least, I noticed. Dust bunnies scattered with each footstep, diving for cover under couches and chairs. Here and there, clumps of cat hair latched together, looking like throw rugs. Dust piled thick and heavy on drapes, windowsills, side tables. There were boxes and bags everywhere. Running a vacuum in here would be impossible until some of this stuff was moved out.
“It’s a tad messy,” Dez conceded as he looked around. “My collection has grown a bit out of control.”
An understatement if I’d ever heard one.
“What is it you collect exactly?” It seemed an odd assortment to me, part antiques, part junk.
