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“No shortcuts,” Zoe said, and they all laughed — everyone except Lily, who at a year old, wasn’t old enough to appreciate the adults’ silliness.
Dinner was thick, juicy burgers, fresh tomatoes, and sides of homemade potato and macaroni salads.
Grace wouldn’t have thought she eat more than a bite considering she was still feeling a bit nauseated, but she was hungrier than she thought and ate almost an entire burger.
After dinner, once Lily had been fed, played with, bathed, and put down for the night, the four women gathered in the living room.
Molly opened the email from her dad and sent it to the printer Zoe kept in a corner of the living room, printing out four copies.
There was a list of ten names on the paper, but only two were familiar to anyone in the room.
“Winston Haversham? I know him! He’s a very nice British man who lives off Buena Vista Road. He has tea at Caffeine Ivy’s almost every morning,” Zoe said.
“And I know I’ve heard this name before,” Emily said, pointing to one on the list. “Anna Bonnet Sanders. She’s Albert Herves’ administrative assistant, and the scuttlebutt is she’s having an affair with him.”
“Was,” Zoe said. “Washis assistant andwashaving an affair with him. I heard they broke up with hard feelings, something about her losing money, and him breaking up with her over it.”
“Oh, that sucks,” Emily said. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first relationship to end over money.”
“Or the last,” Zoe said. “Now, who wants dessert? It’s finally time to head into Chocolate Pudding Place.”
“Mmm, Zoe made pudding pie for dessert. It’s the best.” Emily grinned and went into the kitchen to fetch the pie.
Turned out, Zoe’s version was chocolate pudding layered over graham crackers and topped with homemade whipped cream, and it was delicious. If Grace’s stomach would’ve allowed it, she would’ve had two pieces, but she decided not to push it.
“So, tomorrow, we’ll go and have ourselves a chat with the proper Brit Mr. Haversham, and maybe see if we can find Anna Bonnet Sanders to talk with about bad boyfriends. Youcan certainly commiserate with her on that one, Molly. Your boyfriend was the pits.”
“First, let’s not speak ill of the dead. Yes, Jeremy was a thief and an all-around asshole, but he’s dead, so we should have a little respect. Second, you’re not going anywhere for at least another two days. You are going to park your ass in bed and stay there while I wait on you hand—” Molly raised her good arm — “and foot.”
“Molly, I’m perfectly—”
“Concussed. You are perfectly concussed, and we’re not taking any chances.” Molly held her hand up to cut off any further discussion. “We can tell the Sheriff about Haversham and Sanders.”
“I’m sure she already knows. I’m just nosy. I want to talk to them myself.”
“You might get in trouble for interfering with an investigation.”
“I’m not interfering. I’m just…having a conversation.”
Molly put her foot down. “That’s a moot point, because you’re going to bed right now.”
Grace felt a bit put out but had to admit it was nice to have someone care about her enough to give her grief over disobeying the doctor’s orders.
“Okay, Nurse Ratched, take me back to bed,” Grace said, then laughed when she realized from her puzzled expression that Molly was too young to get the reference toOne Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Hell,Gracewas too young to get it and only knew it because she was a movie buff. “I’ll explain it to you later. Let’s go. I’m beat and my headache is coming back again.”
Chapter 10
Three days later, Grace and Molly decided to walk the couple of blocks from the house to the downtown area and were at Caffeine Ivy’s just in time for opening. Their plan was to get a table near the rear that gave them a good view of the rest of the cafe and wait for someone matching the description of Winston Haversham they’d gotten from Zoe and Emily.
They ordered coffee and spoke quietly to each other as every new person walked into the cafe.
It was almost an hour later when a distinguished-looking gentleman walked in. He had gray hair, a beard more white than gray, and wore a neat, winter-white mohair overcoat, black jeans, and lined boots. There was a bright red scarf jauntily wrapped around his neck. While he waited in line to order his coffee, he stripped his matching leather gloves off one finger at a time and then stuffed them into one of his coat’s pockets.
“That’s got to be him. Winston Haversham,” Grace whispered to Molly. “Gotta be.”
“If he’s British, then he must be. He looks just like the description Zoe and Emily gave us.”
Grace slid out of her seat and walked over to the pastry display case, looking as if she were browsing the selection. In reality, she was listening for the man to make his order.
