“I prefer to avoid them myself,” Ernie said.

  As they reached the front of the line, they were greeted by an elderly woman—Dr. A’s mother, no doubt—seated in a burgundy velvet armchair, her face partly veiled by a black mantilla. She was flanked by a middle-aged, suited man who bore a vague resemblance to Dr. A, and the family patriarch, a silver-haired gentlemen with a walrus moustache.

  “Please accept our condolences,” Dorothy told Signora Amoretto. “I’m Dorothy Westin and I was a patient of your son’s. This is my friend, Ernie Conlon.”

  “Sorry for your loss,” Ernie said. The woman nodded, smiling slightly. She must not speak any English, Dorothy realized. Then the signora spotted Summer, and her smile instantly faded.

  “Hi, I’m Dorothy’s granddaughter,” Summer began. “I used to work—”

  Signora Amoretto suddenly burst into a flood of angry Italian, gesturing to her concerned family members and repeatedly pointing at Summer.

  “Uh-oh,” Summer muttered to Dorothy. “Does she think I killed her son, too?”

  The older man put an arm around his wife, glowering at Summer.

  “Now hold on just a second,” Ernie said. “What exactly is the problem here?”

  “Ernie, please,” Dorothy whispered.

  Dr. A’s brother stepped forward. “It is the shoes, signorina,” he told Summer. “My mother says they are the shoes of a—how do you say it?—streetwalker, worn to her son’s funeral.”

  The woman gesticulated wildly. “Donna dissoluta!”

  Dorothy quickly tried to guide Summer away, but her partner didn’t budge. She couldn’t tell if the girl was frozen in shock or whether she was gearing up to replicate Marilyn’s pugilistic skills.

  “I think she called me a tramp, Dorothy.” Summer said. “Can you believe that? These are really nice shoes. They’re Italian.”

  The gathering crowd in the room stepped aside for Detective Donovan, who flashed them his gold badge, his mouth set in a thin line. He murmured something in a low voice to Dr. A’s brother, who nodded and, in turn, spoke to his parents in Italian. It sounded as if he were trying to calm them down, at least.

  “Maybe you should take Ms. Smythe-Sloan home,” the detective told Dorothy, in a firm but kind tone. “The family seems a little overwhelmed right now.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Summer insisted. “I swear. This is so bizarre. Do you think—”

  “I think dinner would be a splendid idea.” Dorothy took Summer by the arm as Detective Donovan herded mourners back into a receiving line. “Don’t you, Ernie? We’ve all paid enough respects for the evening.”

  “But what about Marilyn and Eduardo?” Summer asked, as the three of them hustled toward the door.

  “We’ll just have to find some other way to investigate those two,” Dorothy said.

  “I can’t believe Mia didn’t even show up to her own fiancé’s wake,” Summer said, when they reached the hall. “I mean, she was complaining at the salon about having to come for two nights, but still... “

  “Perhaps she was unavoidably detained,” Dorothy said. “Or she might have been here earlier, and left before we arrived.”

  “Or maybe her former-future-mother-in-law thought she was a tramp, too, and kicked her out.” Summer frowned.

  “Let’s head over to The Pewter Spoon,” Ernie said. “I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m getting hungry. Never thought I’d get used to eating at five o’clock.”

  “I’m starving, too,” Summer said. “I’ll be right back, okay? I just want to tell Dash I’m leaving with you guys.”

  Dorothy was about to suggest that Summer ask her friend to join them when Marilyn walked briskly past.

  “Marilyn!” Dorothy called, but the woman must not have heard her. She hurried to catch up. “Excuse me, dear, it’s Dorothy Westin.”

  Dr. A’s personal assistant turned. “Oh, hello, Dorothy.” She looked and sounded more like her old self today, Dorothy noticed. Her dark hair was well-coiffed and her black linen suit was crisply stunning. She certainly didn’t look like a woman who had assaulted a considerably larger man a few minutes earlier.

  Perhaps punching Eduardo out had been good medicine for her. Immediately, Dorothy chided herself for that thought.

  “Marilyn, some friends and I are planning to get a bite to eat,” she said. “We’d love for you to join us.”

  Marilyn hesitated. Dorothy wasn’t sure whether she wanted to accept, or if she was stalling to come up with a good excuse. “A relaxing dinner might do you good,” she prodded. “Don’t you think?”

  Marilyn gave her a thin smile. “You may be right,” she said. “I’d be delighted.”

  “We can drive you, if you want,” Ernie offered, as he came up. “The restaurant is just down the road.”

  “Oh, no need for that, thanks,” Marilyn assured him. “I’ll just meet you there. See you soon, then.”

  As Marilyn stepped through the door, Summer arrived with Dash in tow. “I found one more for dinner.”

  “The more the merrier.” Ernie stepped aside to let another group of swollen-eyed women, their arms linked for support, pass them.

  “Marilyn is joining us, also,” Dorothy told Summer and Dash. “Maybe we can find out more about that little boxing incident.”

  A large contingent from Hibiscus Pointe was the next to approach. It took considerable time for Dorothy to extricate herself and Ernie from the ensuing chitchat.

  “Finally, some air.” Summer took a few deep breaths, as they started down the walk to the parking lot. She did look a bit shaky on her feet. The heels, perhaps. Or possibly her close encounter with Signora Amoretto.

  “I hear you,” Dash said. “It was like that scene from Total Recall in there, when all the piped-in oxygen on Mars gets shut off.”

  “Dorothy and I are parked a ways down the street,” Ernie said, “so I guess we’ll meet you young folks at the restaurant, too. I’ll be right back with the car, Dot.”

  “No, I’ll go with you,” she told him. “A little exercise will do me good, after being cooped up like that.”

  A few minutes later, the two of them stared down at Ernie’s Toyota Camry in horror.

  All four tires had been slashed, leaving them flatter than IHOP pancakes. In the dim light of a distant streetlamp, Dorothy barely made out the four words scratched into the passenger door in crooked, capital letters:

  MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Summer gazed up at the fake wood beam above her head, lined with equally fake pewter mugs and utensils. At least The Pewter Spoon had better AC than the funeral home.

  It was a good thing, too, because the crabby hostess in the tacky colonial garb refused to seat her and Dash until their entire party had arrived. A lot of mourners from Dr. A’s wake had had the same idea about dinner.

  That included Gladys Rumway, who was chugging mai tais as she dug into a monster lobster. Her loyal sidekick Mary Lee had settled for what looked like—but probably wasn’t—a cherry-stuffed Shirley Temple and a Cobb salad.

  “I wonder what the deal is.” Dash checked the time on his phone again. “We’ve been here almost forty-five minutes. Do you think they got lost?”

  “I doubt it. We’re just down the road from Piretti and Sons,” Summer said. “Maybe they had a fender bender or something.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Dash said. “Do you have Dorothy’s number?”

  “She doesn’t have a cell, can you believe it?” Summer said. “I told her she needs to get one.”

  “Hamel, party of five,” the hostess announced. “Last call.”

  “Excuse me.” Summer stepped up to the reservations stand. “My grandparents are stuck in traffic, but they’ll be here any second. Can you please give us just a little more time?”

  “Sorry,” Colonial Witch said. “I’ll have to put you at the bottom of the list again.”

  Summer leaned over the stand to try a different tack. “It must be really hard working here, huh? This is the dumbest idea ever for a restaurant. Even for Florida.”

  The hostess shrugged. “At least I have a job. Here, have a buzzer.”

  Ouch, Summer thought. Was it that obvious she wasn’t employed?

  As she turned away, Dorothy, Ernie and Marilyn showed up together at the door, all three of them out of breath. Summer handed the buzzer back to Colonial Witch. “Guess we won’t need this. Hamel, party of five.”

  “You didn’t tell me she was going to be here,” Summer heard Marilyn say to Dorothy, in a too-loud voice, as they waited for the hostess to track down more menus.

  Obviously, Dr. A’s assistant still hated her.

  “Marilyn, you remember Summer,” Dorothy said, smoothly. “And Ernie, of course.” She introduced Dash, who shook Marilyn’s hand with a charming smile.

  The woman defrosted a degree or two. Pathetic, Summer thought.

  After they were finally seated, Dorothy told Summer and Dash what had happened outside the funeral home. “Fortunately, Marilyn was driving by, and she kindly gave us a ride after the tow truck arrived,” Dorothy finished.

  “I can’t believe someone keyed your car, Ernie,” Summer said. “That’s crazy.”

  “Brand new tires, too,” Ernie said, gloomily.

  Dash shook his head. “How could anyone have done that much damage without people noticing?”

  “Well, we were parked a fair distance from the funeral home,” Dorothy said.

  “Are you sure the tires were slashed?” Summer asked. “Maybe the person just let the air out, as a joke or something.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Dorothy said. “There were very clear cut marks on what was left of the tires.”

  “And that message scratched in the door.” Marilyn shuddered. “What do you suppose it meant?”

  Duh. Was Marilyn really that clueless, or was she just a superbad actress? “Maybe, ‘stop trying to find out who killed Dr. A’?”

  “Yes, whoever that person might be.” Marilyn glared in her direction.

  Summer ignored the jab, and picked up the drink menu. If she ever had to place a bet on crazy murderers, it would be the whack queen, hands-down.

  Marilyn had left the funeral home first. Could she have done the damage to Ernie’s car and then waited around to see Dorothy’s reaction?

  It wouldn’t take much time or muscle power to slash tires and key a car door. And Marilyn definitely had a mean streak. She hadn’t had any problem clocking Eduardo.

  What had happened to that guy, anyway? He hadn’t shown up at the wake again, as far as she knew. Maybe he’d been embarrassed that he had a huge black eye. Or maybe...

  Dorothy cleared her throat. “Summer?”

  She suddenly realized that their waiter, a kid wearing a tri-cornered hat and tight blue leggings, was waiting to take her drink order. She could feel Marilyn’s eyes boring into her.

  What was that woman’s problem? She’d had it in for her since she’d first showed up at Dr. A’s office. Was she just an incredibly jealous person in general or had Marilyn planned to frame her for their boss’s murder from the start? Because she was now sure that was exactly what the witch was doing.

  Marilyn had to have been turning Detective Donovan against her. Otherwise, he wouldn’t keep showing up all over the place, and hinting she was in some kind of trouble.

  “So, Marilyn, how have you been since Ernie and I last saw you?” Dorothy asked, when the waiter left.

  “Better, I suppose.” She stabbed at a butter pat with her fork. “That Detective Donovan has been plaguing me with endless questions.”

  Better you than me, Summer thought. The fact that he’d been bugging someone else besides her was a good sign. Maybe Marilyn wasn’t framing her after all. Maybe the detective was just a suspicious person. That was his job, she supposed. And he was really good at it.

  “What kind of questions?” Ernie asked Marilyn.

  She shrugged. “The same ones, over and over. A blow-by-blow of everything that went on that morning, and...well...some rather personal questions about my relationship with Tony.”

  “So the police are aware you were more than employer and employee, then?’ Dorothy pressed.

  Marilyn glanced at Dash and Summer. “This all stays between us, of course,” she said.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Dash said. Summer nodded. Obviously, the woman loved bragging about her big relationship.

  “They should be grilling Mia, if you ask me,” Marilyn said. “She’s another young woman who could get away with murder.”

  “Another?” Dash sounded innocent. Summer kicked him under the table.

  “Marilyn, you mentioned that Mia already knew about you and Dr. A?” Dorothy delicately squeezed a lemon slice into her water.

  “Well, it should have been obvious.” Marilyn sniffed. “Tony was just interested in her money, if you ask me.”

  So why waste your time? Summer wanted to ask.

  “Goodness,” Dorothy said. “But wasn’t Dr. A quite well off himself?”

  “Oh, yes, he had a very successful practice,” Marilyn said. “I’m certain of that, because I kept his books. But he also had a taste for the good life, and it’s possible that he occasionally spent more than he earned. Not that he ever spent much on me,” she added, sounding bitter.

  “Did Dr. A have a business partner, by any chance?” Summer asked.

  “Not to my knowledge.” Marilyn looked down at her bread plate. “Tony and I were partners, in fact, on a product with extremely lucrative potential.”

  Dorothy nodded. “The health shake.”

  “You mean the drink that killed him?” Ernie said. “Who’d be stupid enough to buy that?”

  “I don’t know what happened with Dr. A’s drink that morning.” Marilyn bristled. “I told you, someone must have tampered with it.”

  Summer ignored Marilyn’s direct glare and took another sip of piña colada. “You don’t know a friend of Dr. A’s named Eduardo, do you? The girls down at Maurice Georges said they used to hang out together a lot.”

  “No,” Marilyn answered, coolly. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  Even if she hadn’t seen the golden gloves action at the funeral home, Summer would have known the woman was lying. She was really good at detecting liars.

  “Oh, I met someone recently named Eduardo,” Dorothy spoke up. “Now let me see... He’s the maître d’ at a lovely restaurant downtown. I can’t seem to remember the name of it...”

  “Chameleon,” Summer said, helpfully.

  “That’s it.” Dorothy beamed. “I saw him this evening, in fact, outside the funeral home. He was holding a hand over his eye. You know, I could have sworn it looked as if he might have had quite the shiner underneath.”

  “Interesting.” Marilyn made a discreet attempt to check her lipstick in the dull pewter finish of her butter knife, then twirled the implement between her fingers.

  What was it with this woman and knives?

  “I’m not sure this is dinner conversation, Dorothy,” Ernie said, in a low voice.

  “Waiter!” Dash called, as their minuteman waiter passed their table. “I think we’re ready to order now.”

  As they waited for their orders, everyone chatted politely about the predicted path of a tropical storm brewing off Cuba, the latest Milano restaurant reviews and the threat of yet another new strip mall planned just beyond the Hibiscus Pointe gates.

  Bored, Summer busied herself by checking out their fellow diners. Gladys and Mary Lee were gone. They’d left behind a mile-high lobster carcass, several empty drink glasses and the remnants of a hot fudge sundae.

  Marilyn’s phone buzzed loudly in her purse. “Excuse me, please,” she said. “I’m afraid I have to take this.” She rose and quickly exited the dining room.

  “That’s precisely why I don’t have a cell phone,” Dorothy said.

  “Did you really see Eduardo outside Piretti and Sons?” Summer asked, as the minuteman brought her an iced tea. Their dinners were taking forever.

  “Not exactly.” Dorothy gave a small smile. “I just wanted to see Marilyn’s reaction. I think we’ve confirmed she’s not a person whose word we can trust.”

  “I wonder where Eduardo went after we saw him, though,” Summer said. “I mean, either he or Marilyn had to have messed up Ernie’s car, right?”

  “It would look that way,” Dorothy agreed.

  “What do you think, Dash?” Summer asked. She scooped another heaping spoonful of sweetener into her tea. “You’re the only one who actually knows this Eduardo guy.”

  “Not that well, really.” Dash nudged the fake-pewter sugar bowl closer to her. “Other than the Julian connection, he’s more of a friend of a friend who used to frequent a club called Aqua Marine.”

  “Do you think we could talk to your friend?” Summer asked. “Maybe he could tell us more about Eduardo, and even Dr. A.”

  Dash shrugged. “Sure, we could try, I guess. A.J.’s pretty forthcoming with any information of the social variety. He usually hits Aqua Marine on Friday nights. He rarely shows up before midnight, though.”

  “Perfect.” Summer licked her spoon. “Tonight is Friday, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but I don’t know.” Dash hesitated. “I’ve been out of the club scene for a while now. Julian’s an early riser, and since we’ve had Juliette-Margot and moved to the Villas, our nightlife ends about nine.”

  “Don’t you guys ever hire a sitter?” Summer said.

  Dash grinned. “Are you kidding? Julian’s into Black Hawk parenting, so he tends to veto that idea. Believe me, I’ve tried, but—”

  “Do you know where this A.J. lives?” Dorothy broke in eagerly, then caught herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

 

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