“Did she figure out that you didn’t cook dinner?”
“Francie distracted her. I don’t think she gave it any thought. Hmm. Do we know any other single men their age?”
Grinning at the thought of matchmaking for her demanding mother-in-law, I said good night and headed home, passing the colonel as he crossed the street to his house. Despite the cold, he was humming.
By the time I reached the kitchen, June was entertaining everyone with tales from her date. “He’s so refined. We ate in an exotic Moroccan restaurant—with our fingers! You should have seen the belly dancer.” She lifted her arms and waved them around as she glided across the floor.
While June changed out of her pretty dress, Hannah helped me put out spiced nuts, nachos, zesty homemade salsa, crackers, and a heavenly soft goat cheese with Italian herbs. I licked a dab that clung to my finger and was tempted to scoop up more of the tangy mixture to lick. Dad mixed a batch of his famous whiskey sours and poured a Scotch for Craig.
We passed the rest of the evening playing cards. Craig lost more often than anyone else and after a while, I suspected that he was losing on purpose. It didn’t matter, but it piqued my curiosity. Did he think he would win us over by losing?
Normally, I’d have stayed up with Hannah, but tonight I went up to bed when June and my parents retired, hoping it didn’t mean age was creeping up on me too fast. Chalking my fatigue up to the murders and the hectic pace of Thanksgiving Day, I gratefully snuggled between my down comforter and my feather bed. Daisy nestled at the foot of the bed and Mochie pawed at me until I lifted the comforter and he could crawl underneath it.
I woke briefly around one o’clock and thought I heard Bernie walking around downstairs but drifted off again quickly.
In the morning, I thought I was the first one up, but I could hear soft murmuring when I reached the bottom of the stairs. June sat by a small fire in the kitchen fireplace, talking again. To Faye, I presumed. I said, “Good morning,” and started breakfast. My presence didn’t seem to bother June. Mochie jumped into her lap and except for the fact that she was talking to a dead person, it made for a sweet scene.
Nina showed for surveillance duty at a quarter past eight. Clad in black jeans, a zip-front black velour top that clung to her curves and black running shoes dotted with rhinestones, she stood at my kitchen counter pouring organic breakfast blend coffee into a stainless-steel travel mug.
As I entered the kitchen she glanced over her shoulder at me and nearly spilled the coffee. “You have to be kidding! Who knew there was a uniform for sleuths?”
I had dressed the same way, except my black sweatshirt hung loosely, disguising any shape beneath, and little gold stars decorated my shoes. “Pour me one of those, too, will you?”
I wrapped leftover croissants in aluminum foil and stuffed them into a canvas tote along with a bag of organic white cheddar cheese puffs.
“Where’s the wedding party?”
“Upstairs, getting dressed. Even Bernie was up early this morning.”
Nina carried the coffee, I carried the snack tote, and we left quickly, before we had to explain our plans to anyone. At the hotel where Mars and Natasha were staying, Nina took a parking ticket and circled slowly through the dim garage in search of Natasha’s robin’s-egg blue Lexus.
“Do you have a signature color?” I asked.
Nina sputtered. “A what?”
“Like Natasha. Everything is robin’s-egg blue. Her Christmas card last year was in shades of green with touches of red but she still managed to get one tiny bit of robin’s-egg blue in the picture. It’s her signature color.”
Nina sniffled as though she were crying. “I wanted robin’s-egg blue but it was taken. I can’t believe it has a name,” she muttered. “I just thought Natasha was obsessed with blue. Hey! We didn’t miss her. There’s her car.”
Sure enough, on the fourth floor of the garage sat the blue Lexus with license plates that read NATASHA. At least she made it easy for us to know we found the correct car.
Nina parked in a nearby spot where we could watch the elevator doors as well as the Lexus. An hour later we’d eaten all the croissants, made a substantial dent in the cheese puffs, and had only sips of coffee left. Surveillance, even with your best buddy, was boring.
“Maybe she walked.” Nina smacked the dashboard. “We should have parked outside.”
Another fifteen minutes went by before the elevator doors opened and Natasha strode out. She wore three-inch heels, a camel turtleneck, and a matching skirt with a persimmon-colored cape draped loosely over her shoulders. She intended to impress someone.
Nina started the engine. “She stills struts like a beauty queen. Just watching her be so perfect makes me itch all over.”
I was afraid Natasha might notice us, but she didn’t pay us any attention at all as she stepped into her car and pulled out of her parking spot.
In the garage Nina hung back a good distance, making me wonder if she’d done this before. But as soon as Natasha passed through the gate at the entrance, Nina hit the gas pedal. She paid for parking in one swift motion as the Lexus turned left. In hot pursuit, Nina swung onto the street, but a khaki-colored, soft-top Jeep pulled out in front of us.
Nina hit the brakes hard. “What’s your hurry, buster? At least his stupid car will block Natasha’s view of us.”
Parade-style, the robin’s-egg blue Lexus, the beige Jeep, and the dark green Jaguar drove slowly through King Street, the heart of Old Town. Tourists strolled along the sidewalks, stopping to gaze in store windows. Brunching diners inside restaurants looked out over passersby.
Including Bernie.
I craned my neck to see better. It was Bernie, for sure.
“Nina.” I grabbed her arm. “Is that who I think it is with Bernie?”
Heedless of the traffic, Nina slammed the brakes and stopped in the middle of the street. “Mrs. Pulchinski. Oh, that can’t be good. How could Bernie know Mrs. Pulchinski?”
Good question. One that produced goose bumps on my arms. How long had they known each other? Did he know Otis, too?
Nina pressed the gas and hurried to catch up to the Jeep. In a few blocks, we would be close to home. “You don’t suppose they’re having an affair?” she asked.
In all the times Bernie visited, he’d never brought a girlfriend. Somehow I imagined him with a more sophisticated type than Mrs. Pulchinski. She wasn’t much older than us, but she wasn’t the type I’d have picked for Bernie. On the other hand, Bernie, in spite of all his international travels, drifted from one job to another and was definitely a beer-and-pretzels kind of guy. Maybe Mrs. Pulchinski was his type.
I didn’t like what I was thinking. But I couldn’t find any other explanation for Bernie and the dead PI’s wife to be having brunch together. Were they romantically involved? Or was their meeting a business transaction related to murder? Could he have killed her husband? But he didn’t have any reason to kill Simon. Maybe the two murders weren’t related. Not Bernie!
Nina winced. “It’s not easy when the suspects are people you know. How could Bernie have possibly met her?” She drew in a sharp breath of air. “Do you think Mrs. Pulchinski was at the stuffing contest? Maybe she killed her husband and Simon.”