MURDER AT THE VALENTINE WEDDING

Totally Addictive Cozy Murder Mystery

Massachusetts Cozy Mystery

Book 8

ANDREA KRESS

Copyright © 2025 by ANDREA KRESS

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Chapter 1

The pace of a relationship might ebb and flow, but the social requirements among old friends, no matter what the circumstance, were strictly maintained among the Brahmin in 1930s Boston. Those obligations were considered paramount to keeping upper class society stable, and no other event showcased this decree better in that regard than a wedding.

It was just such an occasion—the upcoming wedding of Valerie Latimer and Doctor Fred Browne—that was weighing on the minds of the Burnside sisters. Amanda had known Valerie so long that she couldn’t remember not knowing her. Their last mutual event of some significance was participating in a coming out party with others in their social group. After that, the former debutantes kept in touch with a monthly luncheon which, from Amanda’s perspective, only heightened how each young woman had begun to go her own way. Despite the growing distance, society decreed that they keep up their relationships with one another.

One early February day, Amanda and her younger sister Louisa were in their father’s library in their comfortable house in Beacon Hill discussing the pending event.

“I can’t believe she didn’t ask you to be her maid of honor,” Louisa said, curled up on a couch, idly flicking through the pages of a fashion magazine.

“Of course not. It doesn’t matter that we’ve been friends since the dawn of time. She’s marrying the man who asked me to marry him first. Just think how awkward that is. And after the recent ski trip where his mother was utterly humiliated, in no part by us discovering her the victim of a swindle, she would rather I be swallowed up by the earth.”

“It’s hardly the event of the year. I’ve never heard of such a disorganized thing. First, it’s large, then it’s small, then it’s got a large guest list but few attendants.”

“Well, she’s made her bed, as they say. She’s stuck with Fred’s sister, Caroline, as matron of honor, but I can tell you that wasn’t a happy decision on anyone’s part,” Amanda said. “It’s not as if they are the best of friends.”

“You should have seen the sour look on Caroline’s face when she saw what Valerie had in mind for her dress. And the ghastly color of green that was an awful choice for her pale skin and blonde hair.”

“Since she is the only attendant, why couldn’t she ask for another dress?”

“Something to do with Valerie’s idea of the color scheme. Pink and green.”

Amanda made a face. “Sounds like a diluted version of Christmas.”

“Well, she could hardly have red! Even if the wedding is on Valentine’s Day.”

“And whose idea was that?”

“I think it was Fred’s. Not for sentimental reasons, either. The church was easily available on a Wednesday. And the rental of the reception venue was less expensive than a weekend spot.”

“He’s not paying for that. That’s the responsibility of the bride’s family,” Amanda said.

“I got the impression that he wanted to let Valerie’s family know that he intended to be frugal and expected the same of them.”

Amanda shuddered. “How romantic.”

“Did you get them a present yet?” Louisa asked.

“Yes, the expected place setting of her choice of china,” she said without enthusiasm. Her fiancé was baffled. “Brendan asked why we were gifting her with china when they will be living with his family, who surely have enough of that already.”

“A pragmatic comment, but he has a valid point. I’ve given them the same and felt foolish about it, knowing that it will be sitting in a barrel wrapped in excelsior in their basement until they get a house of their own. And who knows how far in the future that might be.”

“There’s something that I have always wondered about. If Caroline’s husband’s family is so wealthy, why are they still living with her mother?” Amanda asked.

“I really don’t know. Several explanations: José’s family is not as rich as he pretends, or maybe that’s some cultural thing about living under the same roof.”

“Certainly not a financial necessity. In Brendan’s sister’s case, her falling pregnant just as her husband lost his job made moving back with her parents an economic decision. Still, with the other siblings and the baby, things are rather hectic there. Speaking of parents, I thought José’s parents were in Florida. If you were Caroline, wouldn’t you rather be there than here? Caroline doesn’t have anything to occupy her time. No volunteer work and no job. At least José has something to do overseeing the Oasis.” Amanda stopped from saying more, knowing that it was a sore point that Louisa’s boyfriend, Rob Worley, actually ran the place.

“If they’re coming to the wedding, you can ask them then,” was Louisa’s reply.

“If I were in their shoes, I’d prefer to spend a day in mid-February in Florida rather than Boston.” Amanda was quiet for a few minutes, contemplating the scenario of Valerie’s life in the near future. “What happens when Valerie has a baby?” she asked.

“Won’t that be a jolly, crowded household,” Louisa said.

“Crowded, yes. Jolly, not so much.”

Like other idle assumptions about the future, many events intervened to thwart the plans of the newlyweds and their families. The most significant one was a murder at the wedding.

Chapter 2

Amanda rode into work in her father’s car, hers being serviced that day. It was fun to chat about the office with him since she had been working as a private investigator for the attorneys in his law firm.

“What’s the gossip?” he asked her.

“Gossip? How should I know? The attorneys can’t make heads or tails of how to interact with me, and the secretaries assume that I’m a snob because I’m a partner’s daughter.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case. You are a very affable young woman. It’s just that their world is divided into women who either sit outside their boss’s office or are in the typing pool and men who sit in their offices talking on the phone and meeting with people. You have your own office, small though it may be, but no secretary. You talk on the phone, request few documents to be typed and spend much of your day out and about. I’m sure they can’t fathom what you do.”

“It’s not as if I could tell them since it’s all confidential. And not nearly as glamorous as they might think. Sitting in the back room of a bank looking through someone’s financial transactions, peering into safety deposit boxes or following errant husbands.”

“You know that last part is the one I am still not comfortable about.”

“Daddy, it’s not as if I’m a Peeping Tom looking through windows or taking compromising photographs.”

They had stopped at a light and he looked over at her with one eyebrow raised. “Are you sure?”

“Certainly,” she said. There had been some photos taken, but no looking through windows. Yet.

“As to gossip,” she said, wanting to change the subject, “I’ve noticed an interesting phenomenon. When two people who work together are beginning a relationship, they’ll flirt and chat. But when that relationship takes off, they make a point of not talking to each other at work. That’s how you know it’s serious.”

“Care to name names?” he teased.

“My lips are sealed. Aren’t I good at being discreet? Say, did you notice that Emerson Webster has been at the office a lot recently?”

“Who’s he?”

“Valerie’s former fiancé. The charming young man with bright red hair who can’t seem to stick with anything very long.”

“Is he an attorney or just seeking legal advice? Surely, he’s not working for us or I would have been informed.”

“No, he’s not an attorney. I think he’s working for Hugh Van Eaton, doing legwork of some sort.”

“That’s unusual. Ambulance chaser, I imagine,” her father said.

“What’s that?”

“Someone who hangs around, usually at the hospital, waiting for someone who has been injured, and convinces them that they need legal representation to sue the party who harmed them.”

“Is that legal?”

“Yes, indeed. Just a bit shabby for the reputation of our firm. Although young Hugh has brought in some significant sums recently by doing just that. At the partners’ meeting we were of two minds about his expansion into what he calls ‘personal injury.’”

“Because the firm wants to maintain its lofty status?”

Her father smiled a bit. “What I’m concerned about with this ‘personal injury’ business is that plaintiffs see this as an opportunity for a big payout and then exaggerate their pain and suffering, as people refer to it.”

“Surely there are doctors who have to attest the medical issues,” she said.

“Yes. And if the plaintiff is the breadwinner and can’t work for a period of time, there are financial damages that can be sought. In the practice of law, when it comes to two parties in disagreement, it isn’t unusual for the attorneys on either side of the case to resort to hyperbole. People are not just injured, they are ‘grievously affected for the rest of their lives’ by what occurred. Everyone in the courtroom is used to somewhat emotional or extravagant language—the judge if it’s a bench trial, the people if selected for a jury trial.”

“You’ve never used exaggeration like that at home when in a discussion with Mother about something,” Amanda said.

He laughed. “I wouldn’t stand a chance with your mother. She knows all my tricks. I save that for the courtroom, although I’m hardly ever in court anymore.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes I do. It’s very energizing to have to be on your toes no matter how much you’ve prepared. But as you get older, the practice becomes more one of settling out of court. It saves both parties money and the strain of the conflict. I’m doing what I was meant to do at this stage in my life. Let the young, hungry men explore new avenues of practice.”

“What Hugh is doing sounds quite lucrative. He has asked me to track down some people for him, so I don’t know exactly what Emerson does.”

“We just have to make sure they are both on the straight and narrow with his cases. Reputation is everything in this profession.”

Mr. Burnside liked to be early, making the two of them among the first in the office, aside from the Office Manager whose task it was to open each day as well as supervise the female staff.

“Morning, Mr. Burnside, Miss Burnside,” Miss Stevens said. She had been with the firm for more than twenty years and took great pride in her responsibilities. As nine o’clock approached, the other staff members began to stream in, including the young woman who would staff the front desk that day.

Miss Stevens nodded to the young woman, who put her hat and coat in an adjacent closet before smoothing her hair and sitting down.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Miss Stevens said, feeling relieved of her task and retreating to her own office.

Amanda proceeded to her small space with its tiny window and worn desk—not anywhere as large as the attorneys’ offices. Those ranged from grand for each of the partners to large for the old-timers to ordinary for the newer men. She didn’t mind the size of her space; she was glad to be working during these difficult financial times, earning her own money, although her parents could well afford to continue to support her until her marriage. It was the sense of independence that meant the most to her. She organized the notes on her desk and waited until almost nine-thirty before approaching the secretary of Mr. Murray to see if he had some time available that day for her to report to him. Amanda had learned it was wise to wait until then to make sure that the attorney was in that day; she had once made the beginner’s error of showing up on the dot of nine, to the embarrassment of the secretary who was just coming in as well as her boss who had not yet arrived.

Approaching the office of Mr. Murray, she could see his secretary from the back, peeking into a small mirror, patting her hair into place and tilting her head from side to side to check that there was no shine on her nose. In doing so, she saw Amanda coming toward her and turned around.

“Good morning, Miss Burnside.”

“Good morning,” Amanda responded. “I was wondering if Mr. Murray had a bit of time today where I could give him my report.” His door was closed, which could mean he had not arrived, was behind it but needed quiet, or was consulting with a client.

“Let me see,” she said, running a manicured index figure down the page of his appointment book. “I can squeeze you in at ten. Do you know how much time you will need?”

“Twenty minutes at the most,” Amanda said.

“Very well.” The secretary looked up with her charming smile and penciled in Amanda’s name.

Going back to her space, she saw Emerson standing in the doorway to Hugh’s office. The secretary was absent from her post.

“Hello,” she said.

“How are you today?” he responded. “Hugh, look who’s here.”

She was a bit surprised at the informality of his address to the attorney who came out and nodded to her.

“The big day is coming up soon,” Emerson said.

Both Amanda and Hugh were puzzled.

“Valerie’s wedding,” he clarified.

“Oh, are you going?” Amanda asked.

Emerson laughed. “I’m the last person they’d want to see.”

“Why? You didn’t break it off,” Amanda said, instantly regretting her choice of words and blushing.

“No. And neither did Valerie. It was that gorgon who kept spilling negative things about me into her ears.”

Amanda wasn’t sure to whom he referred.

“The grandmother. Mrs. Latimer.”

“I’ve met her several times. A formidable woman,” Amanda said.

“That’s putting it mildly. She runs the show in that family. I think she and Valerie’s parents were upset that I took up two years of her time. Two years off the marriage market.” He looked at Amanda’s left hand and noticed the ring. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Brendan Halloran.”

“Do I know him?”

“He’s head of detectives in the Boston Police Department,” she said.

“Oh ho! I’d better watch my step then,” Emerson said, giving Hugh a friendly nudge with his elbow and making a surprised face. He looked at his wristwatch and said, “Got to be going. See you later.”

After he was well out of earshot down the hall, Hugh said, “Poor guy. I got invited but he doesn’t know it.”

“I didn’t know you knew the Latimers.”

“I assisted Mr. Wheeler with the father’s business not too long ago. He took a shine to me. And I think they were worried there would be more women than men in attendance.”

“Ah,” she said.

“Are you a member of the wedding party?”

“No, they’ve decided to keep things simple. Just Fred’s sister and brother-in-law as attendants. To be honest, I’m sort of glad I’m not.” She paused, evaluating what she had just said. “We’re great friends, it’s just that it’s a mid-week wedding with work for me the next day, and when you’re an attendant, it’s quite a long day. You can’t just decide you’re tired and go home.”

“Understood. Perhaps we’ll be at the same table,” he said. “Excuse me,” and with that he went back into his office, leaving Amanda standing outside.

What an odd fellow, she thought. Sometimes he seemed to have all the social graces and, at other times, none at all.

Chapter 3

Amanda met Brendan for a quick lunch down the street from her office and, as usual, he was there before her.

“Busy day today?” he asked.

“Not particularly. Just reported out on a case I’m working on. Initially, I thought that reviewing bank documents for a pending divorce case would be tedious, but in some cases, it’s actually quite interesting. Mr. Murray told me that most clients claim they are in financial distress until you see that six months previously there was a healthy bank account and then a sudden large withdrawal rendered them almost penniless.”

“Ah, that old trick. I wonder where the man hid the money.”

“Not naming names, but we’re representing the husband. It’s the wife who was stockpiling funds that seem to have disappeared.”

“Do you know what you want?” he asked, looking down at the menu and seeing a line forming at the counter. She told him and he went up to take his place in front of the glass counter filled with deli meats, cheeses, olives and pickles.

When he came back, she told him that she had chatted with Emerson Webster that morning and that he seemed to have no hard feelings about his breakup with Valerie. “I remember that he was a fun person but not too serious. They were mismatched from the get-go.”

“If you want serious, you can’t go wrong with Fred Browne. I don’t think I ever saw him smile. Did he ever tell you a joke or make you laugh?” He poured the contents of a bottle of root beer into a glass for her.

She thought a moment. “Now that I think of it, no.”

“Ah, that was his mistake. Whenever you hear about a happy couple, the woman never leads with how handsome or rich the man is. Instead, she says he makes her laugh.”

“Really? You’d better get working on that. We’ve been in here less than ten minutes and you haven’t teased me or made a joke yet.”

“Okay, here’s one. A rabbi, a priest and a minister walk into a bar. The bartender looks at them and says, ‘Say, is this some kind of a joke?’”

Amanda tried to suppress a laugh. “That’s very good.”

“I have a thousand more where that came from.”

“How about we leave them wherever that came from for another time.”

“All right. This is not a joke, but a good piece of gossip. Hugh Van Eaton bought the Daugherty house in your neighborhood.” Brendan waggled his dark eyebrows up and down, smug that he knew something she did not.

“What? How could he afford such a place? And how do you know?”

“I’d like to say I have my spies everywhere, but what happened is that one of the young men who lives at that address called to report a prowler had been spotted the night before and then they found that someone had tried to jimmy the lock.”

“Beacon Hill doesn’t seem safe anymore,” Amanda said.

“The detective who spoke to the young man learned that Hugh was now the owner of the house and evidently rents out the other bedrooms to three of the four who used to live there. That makes for a steady income stream. I don’t know who is living in the annex where Daugherty lived, but I imagine whoever it is pays a bit more than the men who share two bathrooms in the big house. As to where he got the money, I assume a young attorney on the way up could secure a bank loan. And perhaps his family has some money.”

Amanda shrugged. “I really don’t know. The most I know of him is that the firm has the newer lawyers work with either an established colleague or one of the partners, and he works with Mr. Wheeler. I think Wheeler recruited my father all those years ago. Anyway, he’s one of the oldsters and that’s why his name is on the letterhead.”

The counterman yelled out Brendan’s name, and he got up to retrieve their order.

“That was fast,” Amanda said, looking down at her ham and cheese on rye.

“Since the wedding is coming up, can you give me any tips on what clothing I should wear?” he asked.

“Why—the usual, of course.”

“This?” he gestured at his suit.

“Heavens, no. You need to wear a dinner jacket. Black tie. If you don’t have that, you can rent it.”

Brendan groaned. “I’m not looking forward to this event at all. Fred hasn’t said a civil word to me ever. And then we have to get a present for them.”

“I already got one and sent it to her house.”

“Oh. You don’t just bring it along to the reception?” He took a bite of the corned beef sandwich he had ordered.

“That would be unwieldy, and sometimes thieves sneak into receptions and help themselves to the goods.”

“They should follow the Irish tradition and give cash.”

Amanda tutted. “Isn’t done.”

“Sure, it is. The bride goes from table to table at the reception with a specially made purse and people stuff bills in it.”

“How does she know who gave what?”

“That’s the job of a bridesmaid who trails behind her with a little notebook.”

“See, that’s why I’m glad I wasn’t tapped to be one of the attendants. Although Valerie’s family would rather beg on the street than collect cash from the wedding guests. One thing that we can be thankful for is, with only a matron of honor and best man, that tedious wait on the part of the guests while the photos are taken will be shorter.”

“Drinks or just a drizzle of champagne?” he asked.

“You’ll be pleased to know it will be an open bar stocked with the good stuff.”

“Ah, now I’m starting to look forward to this.”

While they ate their working man’s lunch, an entirely different scene was unfolding in Mrs. Latimer’s dining room in Beacon Hill where Valerie and her mother were having a three-course lunch with her grandmother.

Grandmother Latimer had been a beauty years earlier and maintained the same style of dress and hairstyle that was popular when she was a young girl: the Gibson girl hairstyle, the pinched waist and proud bust. She believed that the rules and styles of her heyday should continue into modern times and never ceased commenting on the deterioration of style, manners and society in general.

They had barely tucked into the consommé when she began in her usual imperious tone.

“Now, it’s not too late to have a change of venue for the reception. As I stated before, I am more than willing to have it here since the number is guests is limited. We’ll just move the furniture out of these three rooms.”

“Madre,” her daughter-in-law began. “The guest list has swelled to almost sixty, and I can’t imagine fitting all those tables and chairs here. And how to accommodate the caterers?”

“Fred didn’t want it to be too ostentatious,” Valerie said, instantly regretting her choice of words.

The spoon Mrs. Latimer was about to put into the beef consommé halted mid-air and she opened her eyes wide.

“Does the young man think that this,” here she gestured with her hand at the grand furnishings in the dining room and presumably meant for the rest of the home, “is ostentatious? I should think that, from his family’s origins and their more recent debacles, they might have appreciated having their reputations uplifted.”

She paused for maximum effect and put the spoon in the soup.

The two other women looked at each other.

“I’m sorry, Granny. That’s not what I meant.”

“In my day,” she began with her usual preamble, “young ladies often were married in their homes, with the reception to follow there. My wedding was an exception because of my father’s position and so many well-wishers wanting to attend the ceremony. As we left the crowded church and stood on the steps, the sidewalks were full of those who were unable to get a seat inside. We had an open coach take us back here for the reception. That’s how things were done.”

“Yes, Madre,” her daughter-in-law said.

“Now, about the flowers,” Mrs. Latimer said looking over at Valerie.

“We’ve already finalized the order,” the younger Mrs. Latimer said, hoping that would be the end of the discussion.

“I know it’s Valentine’s Day, but I hope you’re not succumbing to the common theme of red and white. So gaudy and at a wedding of all places.”

The maid came in and took away the soup plates. Another maid came in with individual plates of asparagus crepes with hollandaise sauce. After serving the two senior women, she returned with a plate for Valerie.

“It’s early for asparagus,” the younger Mrs. Latimer said.

“Yes. Cook ordered them especially for today from the greengrocer. Lord knows where they came from. Even if it’s February, it’s nice to think that spring is just around the corner.”

“It is delicious,” Valerie’s mother said. “Our cook doesn’t like to make sauces.”

“Doesn’t like?” Mrs. Latimer said. “You should get another woman in. Sauces are the basis for the best dishes. I never heard of such a thing.”

“Staff is hard to get these days,” was the response.

“With people in line for soup and selling apples on the street, surely you could find a better cook.”

“It’s a skilled profession.”

“I wouldn’t call it a profession. Medicine, law and university positions are considered professions. A cook is a job. I’m sure you could find someone better. I hate to say it, but the last time I dined with you and my dear son, the roast was overcooked and the gravy somewhat gelatinous. You’re right, she can’t seem to do sauces well.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Valerie, darling. Have you lost weight? You’re looking a bit peaked.”

“No, Granny.”

“Just pre-wedding nerves, I think,” her mother answered.

Valerie got up suddenly. “Excuse me,” she said, dashing from the room.

Mrs. Latimer was shocked. “Whatever is the matter?” she said.

The younger Mrs. Latimer got up and followed her daughter to the closed door of the guest bathroom.

“Valerie? It’s me. Are you all right?”

There was no answer.

“Valerie? Will you let me in?”

The door opened to the young woman seated on the closed toilet with her head in her hands. She had been weeping.

“Oh, darling. I know, the days leading up to a wedding are fraught with nerves. I don’t think I can remember anything of those weeks. Please don’t worry. The first night won’t be so bad.”

“Mother, you don’t understand. I’m not worried about the wedding or the first night. I can’t stand being around Granny anymore. She is so horrible to you! She’s bossy and opinionated and cruel. How can you sit there next to her and take it?”

Her mother’s shoulder sagged.

“It’s an unfortunate but true observation that mothers-in-law can be like that. I hope that Mrs. Browne doesn’t act that way.”

Valerie laughed. “No, she is just strange in her own way. I think I can deal with her.”

“Can’t Fred see his way for you to live away from that household? His feckless sister, that foreign husband, and Hextilda herself. I’m sure he could afford it. Why is he insisting on all of you living there together?”

“I think he needs to keep an eye on his mother, and his sister is often oblivious to what is going on. Oh, what a mess. I just want to be done with this dreadful lunch and Granny’s insinuations.”

“I’ll tell her you don’t feel well and we’ll leave right away.”

Valerie’s mother returned to the dining room and announced that her daughter didn’t feel well and they needed to leave.

Mrs. Latimer gave her a cold glance. “I hope it’s not morning sickness.”

“Thank you for the lunch, Madre,” was the cold response, and that was the last time they spoke to one another until the day of the wedding.

Chapter 4

“This is the strangest feeling. Not going to work in the middle of the week to attend a wedding,” Mr. Burnside said, fumbling with getting the black bowtie just right and then pulling it undone a moment later.

“Edward, really! Why all the fuss?”

“I’ve spent the entire morning marking time reading the newspapers rather than being in the office.”

“Does being in the office sound like more fun that attending a wedding?” his wife said.

“To be honest, yes.”

“Come here, you’ve got the bit in the back turned around,” she said.

“I must say, dear, you look lovely. Louisa has done you proud with that dress.”

“Thank you. It fits perfectly.”

“And what a nice shade of pink.”

“Not pink; it’s mauve. I didn’t want to wear pink, which Amanda said was part of the wedding’s color scheme. Hold still,” she added as he squirmed at the mention of ‘color scheme.’

“Is that what we’re looking ahead to when Amanda and Louisa get married?”

“Edward, how many weddings have you and I attended over the years? Of course, there is always a color theme, usually carried out by the bridesmaids’ dresses and the floral arrangements. This pink and green arrangement will be replicated in the reception, too. There, I’ve straightened out the back, now you can continue with the magic of making the bow.”

Mrs. Burnside returned to the vanity, sat down and pinned her hair more securely before powdering her nose and applying lipstick. She turned her head from one side to the other and left the room in search of her younger daughter.

“Louisa,” she called out before she reached her open door. “I love the color of the dress but suddenly I look so pale,” she said referring to her gray hair.

“Come sit down,” Louisa said, vacating her bench in front of the vanity and seating her mother facing away from the mirrors. “Now I know you think that rouge is over the top, but I’ll blend it with a little powder so you’ll have pink cheeks. No need to have those two round circles of red that some women wear. I also think you could do with a little bit of eyebrow pencil.”

“Oh, no. That seems like too much,” her mother said.

“I’ll be very light in my touch.” She bent to apply small strokes with a light brown pencil on her mother’s eyebrows. And now, a bit of mascara.”

Her mother turned abruptly to look at herself in the mirror. “Oh, I like it so far.”

“Turn around again. Now, look up. Not with your chin, but with your eyelids. This might feel a little strange, but I’ll brush it lightly. Not too much. Just be sure not to rub your eyes or you’ll look like a raccoon. There.”

Mrs. Burnside turned around again and admired the makeup. “That’s beautiful.”

Amanda had come to the open door still in her robe but otherwise with her hair done and makeup completed. “I feel I should give a wolf whistle, except I’ve never been able to do one.”

“Just as well. It’s very unladylike. But if that is meant as a compliment, I shall take it. Your father is almost ready and I certainly am. I just have to put on my hat. How much longer will you both be?”

“Dress, shoes and hat and I’m ready to go,” Amanda said. “Louisa?”

“Just need to take the pin curls out and arrange my hair.”

“That could take another half hour,” her sister said.

“You’re lucky with that bob, but as they say, beauty takes time,” she said with a smirk.

“Watch out. I just may throw a slipper at you,” Amanda said, retreating to her own room to finish dressing.

They later assembled in the sitting room and Mr. Burnside poured each of them a tot of sherry. “To settle the nerves,” he said.

“To the lovely couple and may we not have an afternoon affair for you girls,” he said raising his glass as did they.

The girls laughed.

“Daddy, I promise it will be a lavish late-night affair. Or an elopement,” Amanda said.

“Don’t you dare,” he said. “Years of buying finger bowls, silver teapots and crystal ashtrays should stand you in good stead to get your own haul when the time comes.”

They put on coats and waited in the front vestibule while Mr. Burnside went down the back stairs to the garage and brought the car around. Looking at his pocket watch, he saw they had a full half hour before the wedding, with the church only ten minutes away. Guests were assembling on the church steps and chatting when Mr. Burnside dropped off the three women so he could park the car on a side street. Brendan and Rob were standing together and met the young women with a kiss on the cheek and a handshake for their mother.

“You both look so handsome,” Amanda said.

“Oh, look, there’s Violet. I’ll just chat with her until your father gets here,” Mrs. Burnside said.

“I’m glad you think we look fine because this tuxedo is the strangest thing I’ve ever worn.”

“You’ve met Valerie’s mother and grandmother, haven’t you?” Amanda asked and, not waiting for an answer, pulled Brendan up the steps where the two women stood chatting with other guests.

Grandmother Latimer turned her head at their approach and Amanda asked if she could introduce her fiancé. “Mrs. Latimer, I’d like to you to meet Brendan Halloran.”

With a somewhat startled expression she said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hoolihan.” She held out her gloved hand and they nodded at each other.

“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” he said. “Rather warm for February, but that’s a good thing.”

“Yes, indeed.” She looked around as if not knowing what to say next so Amanda came to the rescue.

“I suppose Fred is already inside?”

“Yes.”

They heard a loud laugh and realized that Hextilda was nearby. Amanda had the urge to slip away, but Fred’s mother sailed over in their direction.

“How nice to see you both!” She had a strange, beige lace dress on and a feathered hat on her head. “My mother’s wedding dress,” she said. “I’m so sentimental.”

Amanda remembered the edict that female guests did not wear a white dress to a wedding as to appear in competition for attention, but under closer scrutiny, the dress was not only old-fashioned, but somewhat discolored and would never pass for white.

Grandmother Latimer had the stiffest of smiles for her soon-to-be in-law as she struggled for some compliment and gave up.

“We’ll let you two catch up,” Amanda said, hooking her arm in Brendan’s and returning to Louisa and Rob.

“Such a snob,” Amanda muttered.

Mr. Burnside, who had parked their car and joined his wife, looked at his pocket watch again. “We could go in,” he said.

“This is strange,” Mrs. Burnside said. “Without groomsmen, who is going to seat the guests?”

“I think we are supposed to be educated enough to do it ourselves,” Amanda said and allowed her parents to go first into the church. At the end of each each pew, white and pink flowers emitted a light floral scent, while the organist provided some pre-wedding music. The Burnsides nodded to friends as they made their way to the fourth pew on the bride’s side, with the two younger couples going in first.

“How are you two gentlemen today?” Mr. Burnside said in a low voice.

“Very well, sir,” they both answered.

“I hear this is going to be a raucous event.”

They both smiled at his comment but didn’t dare laugh.

“Edward!” his wife admonished.

Brendan looked around the church at its stained glass window but general lack of statuary.

“Do you think they’ll spot me?” he asked, referring to his upbringing as a Catholic.

“Just don’t cross yourself and you’ll be fine.”

Little by little the guests came in and filled the pews, along with local folk of no relation who liked to attend and sit in the back. The organist continued to play and Mr. Burnside peeked at his pocket watch again.

“Edward!” his wife said and he put it back.

The music changed as José Guzmán first escorted Grandmother Latimer to her seat on the bride’s side, then returned minutes later with Hextilda to take her place in the front pew on the groom’s side. Lastly, he brought Mrs. Latimer to her position on the bride’s side before disappearing into the vestry and coming back out with the minister, who took center position in front of the altar, and then he and Fred took their places to the right in front.

“She must be here,” Mrs. Burnside said, seated on the aisle and craning her head.

A few minutes later, the organist began to play the processional, and everyone stood and turned toward the open doors at the back of the church.

It was a pared-down event; there was no flower girl or ring bearer, just Caroline solemnly pacing down the aisle, her hair loose around her shoulders under a picture hat and a green satin dress. Louisa made a sharp intake of breath and Amanda cleared her throat as she looked at her sister.

“See?” Louisa said in a whisper.

Amanda didn’t respond but quietly agreed that the color was unflattering. At least the pink and white bouquet she carried brought a little color to the ensemble.

Then Mr. Latimer, his cheeks red with pride, escorted Valerie, her face in a tight smile, down the carpeted aisle.

“She looks petrified,” Louisa whispered.

“Not everyone enjoys an audience,” Amanda whispered back, getting a stern look from her mother.

The Burnside family smiled broadly as the bride passed by and took her place at the altar. Her father kissed her cheek and she handed her bouquet to Caroline. The familiar words began.

"We are gathered here today, in the sight of God and the presence of friends and loved ones, to celebrate one of life's greatest moments,” the minister said with a smile.

Valerie swayed a bit and the minister looked at her with concern before she crumpled to the ground. The collective groan from the assembled guests was punctuated by Valerie’s mother’s scream as several people rushed forward. Fred put his hand out to fend off anybody’s attention or interference and he called out.

“Does anyone have smelling salts?”

Surprisingly, Grandmother Latimer, the last person one would expect to need them, produced a small bottle from her handbag and gave it to him. He waved it under Valerie’s nose and she tossed her head from side to side and attempted to pull herself up.

The crowd was standing, trying to see what was going on and murmuring. Mrs. Burnside had clutched her husband’s arm and looked to her daughters as if expecting an explanation. Amanda stood on the kneeler to get a better view.

“She seems to be getting up.”

“I bet she didn’t eat a bite today,” Mrs. Burnside said. “Nerves.”

Someone had found a chair and brought it forward so Valerie could be seated. Fred pushed her head down and spoke to her softly.

“She’s all right,” he said to the guests.

There was a collective sigh and some applause. Fred turned to the minister and asked him to proceed with the ceremony.

Louisa and Amanda exchanged a look of surprise.

“Couldn’t he have waited a bit longer?” Louisa said.

Everyone sat down, and the minister went through an abridged version of the usual invocation and moved swiftly on to the declaration of intent. They affirmed their pledge to each other and exchanged rings. The minister had omitted his usual words and a prayer but made sure to give them his blessing. It was the fastest ceremony anyone had witnessed and, due to the circumstances, had one of the loudest vocal receptions as everyone stood and cheered.

Fred helped her to her feet, the organist began to play Mendelsohn’s Wedding March, and the couple made a wobbly walk back down the aisle to the vestibule to take part in the reception line.

“They’re surely not going to have her stand for the next hour as we file out,” Mrs. Burnside said.

Brendan leaned over and whispered in Amanda’s ear, “I didn’t know Protestant ceremonies were so exciting.” She merely shook her head at his attempt at humor.

“It will be smooth sailing from here on, with the happy couple leaving the reception early and we can all resume our normal schedules.”

Chapter 5

Valerie’s mother was so affected by the events that her husband had to prop her up and assist her down the aisle. Grandmother Latimer was trying to smile, but her face was like thunder that anyone in her family should have created such a scene. José was trying to take her arm, but she was not having it and almost ran her son and daughter-in-law down in her haste to leave.

It was the strangest of weddings that anyone had remembered attending, with the bride seated in the vestibule, her face still pale yet smiling, and guests keeping their congratulations and well wishes to a minimum for the sake of the poor young woman.

“Good thing she’s married to a doctor,” someone was overheard saying as they shuffled forward.

The Burnsides reached the head of the receiving line and gave their perfunctory remarks to the couple and the family and quickly went down the steps and followed Mr. Burnside to his car, Brendan and Rob having come together.

“Do you suppose they’ll take the formal portraits now?” Mrs. Burnside asked as the passenger door was opened by her husband.

“They’ll have to,” Louisa said. “They can’t very well come back tomorrow and do it.”

“Where are they having their honeymoon?” Mrs. Burnside asked.

“They are planning on going to New York City,” Amanda said.

“Oh,” Mrs. Burnside said in a tone indicating that was not nearly as exciting as she had imagined.

“He’s got responsibilities at the hospital,” Amanda said. Then she wondered why she felt she had to defend their choice. For all she knew, it wasn’t a matter of frugality. Perhaps that’s what both of them wanted to do. She had other ideas for herself.

“How long do you think all that is going to take? The photos, I mean,” Mr. Burnside asked.

“I hope they haven’t made Valerie thank everyone who attended the ceremony.”

“There will be hors d’oeuvres and drinks to sustain us before the meal is served. And plenty to talk about concerning Valerie’s fainting episode,” Louisa said.

Mrs. Burnside turned around from the front seat. “What are you suggesting?” she asked.

“Nothing, Mother. It’s just that it was most unfortunate and, if it hadn’t been so public a scene, Grandmother Latimer might have smacked her with her handbag.”

Despite the ridiculous image that presented, they all laughed at the joke.

“Onward,” Mr. Burnside said, turning on the ignition and heading the car toward the club where Valerie’s father was a member and Amanda’s former fellow debutantes had their monthly lunch. The reception would be in the large ballroom of the club rather than the smaller private room where the young women met and would consist of many fewer people than who attended the service.

Mr. Burnside dropped the women off at the front door and went to park the car. They waited inside for him as Brendan and Rob were already there. Once the entire party was assembled, they checked their outerwear and went to the bar that had been set up, with waiters circulating with trays of hors d’oeuvres.

Amanda looked around and caught Hugh’s eye; he came over with his date to their party standing in a group.

“Mr. Burnside, good afternoon,” Hugh said. “I’d like you to meet Henrietta Baker.” She was a tall young woman wearing a floor-length, dark rose satin bias dress that clung to her frame.

Amanda noticed that he didn’t refer to her as his date, his girlfriend or friend.

Mr. Burnside introduced Hugh and the young woman to his wife and the others adding, “And, of course, you already know Amanda.”

“Yes, and Mr. Halloran, too, from a previous encounter.”

The gentlemen shook hands all around.

“Are you here for the bride or the groom?” Louisa asked.

“The bride’s side,” he responded. “I’m actually standing in for Mr. Wheeler, who hasn’t been feeling too well of late.”

“What sort of law do you practice?” Rob asked.

“Estate and, more recently, personal injury,” he answered. “Probably sounds boring. Say, haven’t I seen you at the Oasis?” he asked, holding up a finger.

“Yes, I help run the place.”

Amanda smiled at the way that Rob made it sound as if his function was distant from the day-to-day activities.

“It’s a swell place,” Hugh said.

“You’ll have to take me some time,” Henrietta said, raising an eyebrow at Amanda. “How do you know Hugh?” she asked.

“I work at the firm, too.”

“Are you his secretary?” Henrietta asked.

“No, I’m an investigator,” Amanda replied and noticed her mother winced a bit, still not entirely on board with her elder daughter’s choice of profession.

“Ooh, that sounds exciting!”

“It is interesting,” Amanda said, not wishing to go into any of the details.

“Do you investigate murders?” Henrietta asked, wide-eyed.

Amanda gave a small laugh. “That’s not part of my job for the firm. It’s more Brendan’s department.”

“Gosh! Tell me more!” Henrietta said, looking excited at the prospect.

“All very mundane and sad for the families, as you can imagine,” he said with a serious look.

“I admire your dress, Miss Baker,” Louisa said. “May I ask where you got it?”

“Thank you. I know a seamstress who made it for me based on a photo I saw in the newspaper.”

“I ask because I design clothing for Monsieur Josef and I created something like that a few months ago, except in a different fabric.”

“Why, that’s the photo I saw! Of course, it was a black and white illustration and didn’t do it justice. I had her make the sleeves full length because it was a church wedding, not a night club event.”

“I may have to get your seamstress’s name. Monsieur Josef is always looking for talented artisans and, judging by the finished result, she must be quite good.”

Henrietta blushed. “The choice of color was quite by accident. I knew it was a Valentine’s Day event, but you can’t wear red to a wedding. How funny to find out that the theme was pink and green. Someone might have mistaken me for a bridesmaid.”

The two women pulled away from the main group deep in discussion about couture while Hugh had taken an interest in Rob’s enterprise.

“That’s a clever thematic look of the Oasis—a place of respite in the desert. And the palms and the murals of the dunes. You opened your place at a propitious time, riding the wave of the end of Prohibition.”

“Actually, it was a dinner and dining place during the dry years, so we already had a steady clientele who moved quite easily into what it is today.”

Hugh turned away from the group, taking Rob by the elbow. “Do you think that’s a good investment at this time, or are there too many clubs already?”

Mr. Burnside smiled at his wife as he sensed the party breaking into smaller conversational groups.

“Brendan, speaking of investment ideas, I understand your family owns rental units,” he said.

“That’s right,” he answered.

“Do you have a manager or does your father do everything himself?”

“My father has a full-time job elsewhere but my parents work on it together. There are only two duplexes, and I live in one of them. My mother is the bookkeeper and, somehow because I moved out of their house, I’m now the manager of the rentals, too.”

“In addition to your detective work?” Mr. Burnside asked.

“There are three other tenants. Sober, pay the rent on time, not such a big undertaking. But it’s good to have someone on site in the event of a mechanical emergency, for example.”

While Mr. Burnside was interested in how such things worked, his wife was concerned that Amanda was starting to move into working class circles. When they married, would they be living in a small apartment sharing a wall with another person or family? She didn’t understand how her family, which had been so stable and socially secure, was changing into something entirely different. Although she liked Brendan, she almost wished that Amanda had stayed with Fred Browne. Good family and a respectable profession. A little stuffy, but then, she never really got to know him.

“Mother?” Amanda asked.

“Sorry, I was off in the clouds,” she responded.

“Would you like to sit down? We may be waiting for a while as they take the formal portrait, and with Valerie not feeling well, who knows how long we’ll be here sipping wine and nibbling on toast and shrimp.”

“Good idea.” She sat down at a small table nearby. No sooner had she done so than a friend of hers came up, and they put their heads together to dissect the wedding ceremony debacle in whispers.

Cecile, one of Amanda’s old friends who seemed to have come out of nowhere, suddenly took her hand.

“Another of the X-Debs is gone.”

“I know she looked ill, but I think it was just nerves,” Amanda said.

“No, I mean gone from the ranks of singlehood. Well, this must be your beau?” she said, looking Brendan up and down. “Peter, please keep up,” she said to a befuddled man trying to sort out where she had headed.

“This is my old friend, Amanda,” Cecile said, introducing him to her. “We’ve known each other since we pulled each other’s braids in a game of hopscotch.”

“You did the pulling after I called you out about cheating,” Amanda corrected her.

“Such a stickler for the lines and the rules.”

“So, you young women have been cutthroat for ages?” Brendan asked.

“We’ve toned it down quite a bit. But when you’re six years old, those games are important.” She stopped and looked to see if her boyfriend was following the conversation. He wasn’t much for talking but was filthy rich, which, as far as Cecile was concerned, was far more interesting.

“Quite a ceremony,” Peter observed.

“Yes, the poor girl,” Brendan said.

“We’ll remember this forever, poor Valerie.” Pulling Amanda aside, she whispered, “My mother told me that at her best friend’s wedding…”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear!”

The two men looked at each other awkwardly, wondering what could have been so horrible that another generation of women were still aghast.

“Look, there’s Patricia,” Cecile said. “I thought she was sailing in the Caribbean or something, but I’m glad she stayed back for the wedding. What did you get her, by the way?”

“Place setting.”

“Same here. Oh, aren’t we dull,” she said to Brendan. “You have the most exciting life of any of us. Do share.”

Brendan was taken aback. “In what way do you think it’s exciting? What has Amanda told you?”

“Cops and robbers, running around after miscreants, solving murders. More exciting than accounting, wouldn’t you say, Peter?”

Her boyfriend didn’t seem to know what to say. “I manage our family’s money. Hardly accounting. But we’ve never had a murder to my knowledge.”

Not for the first time did Amanda wonder what Cecile and Peter had in common. She was caustic, funny and sharp as a tack. He was steady, a bit dull, but, then again, there was all that money.

“Come on, let’s hijack the hors d’oeuvres,” Cecile said, pulling her boyfriend behind her in search of something to eat.

“Interesting couple,” Brendan said.

“What’s become of my father?” Amanda asked. “Ah, he’s found a fellow attorney with whom to talk business. Good for him. This social stuff bores him to death.”

“Look, there’s Gayle,” she said waving to one of her friends.

Gayle came up with her husband and gave Amanda a hug. She turned to Brendan and said, “I’m one of Amanda’s oldest friends and the first one married. Baby’s at home so we can’t stay too long. I understand you’re going to be next.”

“Yes, but we haven’t set a date.”

Gayle leaned forward. “Poor Valerie. Every bride’s nightmare.”

“She’s a shy person, so I imagine all the attention got to her,” Amanda said.

“I was a bundle of nerves myself when I got married.”

“You didn’t look it,” Amanda said.

“My father noticed and said he would give me some Dutch courage in the car on the way to the church. A good slug of brandy did the trick.” She laughed. “Once the ceremony was over, there was nothing to worry about.”

Amanda smiled but thought that the first night might be something to worry about, but perhaps for Gayle it hadn’t been the first night.

Rob finished his discussion with Hugh and returned to Brendan, who looked as if he was feeling a bit excluded. They asked if either of the women needed a refill and both went to the bar.

Gayle leaned into Amanda and whispered, “What do you think about the fainting?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nerves in front of an audience? Second thoughts about Fred? In the family way? I well know the symptoms.” She took a sip of her wine.

“I don’t know what it was, but please, don’t share your thoughts on the matter. She’d be mortified. Tongues are wagging already.” She glanced around and everywhere she saw two matrons in conversation, it seemed to be in whispers.

“I’m sorry. I thought it was just between the two of us. Oh, where are they—I’m starving,” she said.

For another half hour Amanda was able to make the rounds of her friends from their coming out not so long ago and talk to the others in attendance. There was a sudden commotion, and Fred and Valerie walked into the room to cheers. She looked revived and their abrupt appearance made a receiving line pointless.

“Let’s begin!” Fred said in a loud voice, very unlike his usual circumspect self, leading his bride through the room into the dining room proper. Behind him lagged Caroline and José, Mr. and Mrs. Latimer, Grandmother Latimer, still stern faced, and Hextilda, effusive and scattered. There could not have been a greater difference between the two older women.

They proceeded to the head table and, as there were more women than men, Mr. Latimer had the obligation to sit between Caroline, whom he hardly knew, and Hextilda, who made him nervous. On the other side of the bridal couple at the head table was José next to Mrs. Latimer, with Grandmother Latimer at the end, who, by her expression, thought she ought to have a more central position since she was paying for it all.

The waiters scurried around pouring champagne in everyone’s glass as the guests checked the table assignments and took their seats, chatting cheerfully. All the glasses filled, the hubbub died down and Mr. Latimer stood up.

“Thank you all for being here at this joyous moment. May I present Doctor and Mrs. Fred Browne.” He picked up his champagne coupe and all the guests stood and toasted the couple.

They talked through the meal, with many people lining up at the head table for a personal word with the couple. Hugh excused himself at one point to go up and have a few words with Mr. and Mrs. Latimer.

Finally, coffee was served, starting with the head table, and there was anticipation for the cutting of the cake that had been wheeled out at the same time. It was a three-tiered pink confection, decorated with roses that roused a sigh from the guests who craned their necks to get a glimpse.

Just as the two waiters positioned the cake to the side of the head table, there was a crash and Grandmother Latimer fell face down on the tablecloth, quite dead.

Chapter 6

There was only a moment of silence and then chaos broke out as everyone at the head table stood up, along with many of the guests, and gasped in horror. Mrs. Latimer screamed.

“Madre! Madre!” She bent over the inert woman and shook her shoulder.

Fred pushed her out of the way and took the older woman’s pulse. He shook his head.

Mrs. Latimer collapsed over her mother-in-law’s body and sobbed while her husband had to make his way past the others at the table who stood in his way. He finally reached her and tried to pull her away, but she clung to the woman whose lifeless eyes faced in her direction.

Valerie sank down onto her chair and stared.

“It was too much excitement,” Caroline said, putting an arm around the bride.

Brendan made his way to the head table and said to one of the waiters who stood dumbstruck, “Please, call an ambulance.” He knew there was likely no chance of reviving her, but she deserved the decency of being transported immediately.

“Are you sure?” Brendan asked Fred, who nodded.

“What do we do now?” Amanda said to Rob, who was standing next to her at their table.

It seemed that no one knew what to do at that point, and some sat back down while others murmured to one another.

Fred took a napkin and put it over Grandmother Latimer’s face, which made the scene even more macabre. He assisted Mr. Latimer in pulling Mrs. Latimer off the body and back into her seat. Her shoe fell off and Brendan reached down to retrieve it. Standing up, he noticed that the deceased had finished her dinner and drunk her coffee but there was a white residue in the cup. He gave the shoe to Mr. Latimer and, taking another napkin off the table, wrapped the cup and went back to his table.

“Here, put this in your bag,” he said to Amanda, who looked down at her evening purse not much larger than an envelope.

“I don’t see how it would fit.”

“Never mind.” He simply held the lumpy napkin in his hand.

“All right,” she said, wondering what the small package could be.

The club was close to the hospital, and shortly an ambulance siren could be heard, the sound that always made people stop on the street to see where it was heading. That day, it halted outside the front doors of the club and two attendants came in with a stretcher but stopped when they saw Fred formally dressed. It took them a moment to realize it was the doctor they knew in a different context and that he seemed to be the groom.

“I’m afraid she has passed already,” he said.

They nodded, and there was an awkward moment when the guests didn’t know if they should stay while others began to leave.

Brendan muttered under his breath.

“What is it?” Amanda asked.

“I don’t think it was a natural death, and we can’t detain this entire group of people.”

“Thank you all for coming,” Fred said to the crowd and took Valerie by the hand and led her out of the room.

“This is ghastly,” Louisa said. “It should be the happiest day of her life. She’ll never forget this.”

Caroline and José clung to each other as did the Latimers. Hextilda sat by herself, seemingly shell-shocked.

Mr. and Mrs. Burnside came over to Amanda’s table and embraced their daughters. “We’d better go,” Mr. Burnside said.

“I’ll take Louisa and Amanda with us,” Rob said, looking at Brendan.

“Can you just drop me off at my car?” he asked. He held the napkin with the cup in his hand and wanted to take it over to the police lab as soon as possible.

The entire room emptied quickly, with hardly anyone speaking, although there would certainly be discussions when people got home.

Brendan was dropped off and didn’t bother to return home to change his clothes before driving to the station. It was past normal working hours, but he wanted to make sure that he logged in the coffee cup. He was surprised that Clyde, the head of the forensics unit, was still there by himself in his lab coat.

“You didn’t have to dress up for me,” Clyde said, taking in Brendan’s dinner jacket, silk scarf and overcoat.

“Interesting situation. An elderly matron drops dead at her granddaughter’s wedding reception and everyone assumes that it was the excitement of it all. I happened to notice this,” Brendan said, carefully holding up the cup still in its cloth cocoon. Clyde peered inside without touching it.

“I’ll say. Do you want to stick around while I test it?”

“Sure.” Brendan took off his overcoat and scarf and folded them over the back of an office chair before following Clyde into the lab in the next room.

“If that jacket is rented, you’ll want to wear a coat,” Clyde said, taking a lab coat from a coatrack in the corner.

He busied himself carefully scraping the residue out of the cup into a small beaker without touching the exterior of the cup. “We’ll look at this tomorrow for fingerprints, although we’re not likely to find any but those of whoever drank from it.”

Next, he mixed the residue with some water to make a liquid and then sought out several small bottles with dropper tops.

“Okay, one drop of sodium hydroxide, swirl it around. Five drops of ferrous sulfate. Swirl. Finally, five drops of hydrochloric acid. Careful swirl.” He paused. “Hm. Dark red.”

“And?”

“Cyanide.”

Brendan whistled. “It could have been anyone who did this.”

“Where was she seated?”

“At the head table. There were eight people at a long table on a dais facing the guests.”

“Who was milling around them? Waiters?”

“Yes, but when we came into the ballroom, each place setting had already been laid. Someone could have put the cyanide into her cup before anyone came into the room.”

“Who had access to the room before you all went in?”

“As far as I know, just the wait staff.”

“There you go.”

“But there were guests who went up to the head table to speak to the family before everyone found their places. And even some after the meal was in progress. It could have been planted at any time.”

“You’ve got quite a job ahead of you then. Talk to those who sat next to the woman to find out who came up,” Clyde said. “And confirm with the coroner that she died from cyanide poisoning.”

Brendan groaned at the thought of having to interrupt the family’s mourning to question them. Then he wondered if Fred and Valerie were still going on a honeymoon.

Louisa was voicing the same question in the living room of her parents’ home. “Can they even think of going away at a time like this?” she asked.

Mr. Burnside had poured each of them two fingers of whiskey but refrained from making a toast. “Worst wedding I’ve ever been to,” he commented, standing near the fire and jabbing at it with a poker.

“Edward, the fire’s fine as it is.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burnside. I think this was needed,” Rob said, holding up his glass.

“Grandmother Latimer was already in a state after Valerie fainted. I think she just stewed over the humiliation too much, and it cost her life,” Mrs. Burnside said, sipping her drink.

“She was an imposing woman,” Amanda said. “Valerie once told me that the whole family was terrorized by her.”

“I think that also pertained to some of her business dealings. Having lost her husband so long ago, she took on his interests, expanding into real estate.”

“Really. I can’t imagine,” Mrs. Burnside said.

“Gosh, Mother. I think we need to show you more appreciation for your soft-heartedness,” Louisa said. “We’re fine that you’re not a business tycoon.”

“That is a very lovely sentiment. Thank you. But you girls haven’t given me a moment’s heartache. Not like some other girls your age.”

“I don’t think Valerie has been any trouble. She’s so compliant. It took her long enough to let go of Emerson, who everyone knew would never make much of himself, charming though he can be,” Amanda said.

“If they have to stay until Grandmother Latimer’s funeral—well, do you suppose she’s moved in with the Brownes? Or staying at her parents’ place?” Louisa mused.

“For having no high opinion of either of them, it’s strange that you’re so curious about what happens next.”

Louisa was thinking of a sharp retort when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Amanda said. Because they had anticipated being gone until early evening, Mrs. Burnside had told Simona and Mary that they could have the rest of the day off.

“Probably Brendan, anyway,” Louisa said.

It was.

“How did it go?”

“I just dropped off the cup.” He decided not to tell her more at the moment. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow, but I wanted to stop by.”

“Take off your coat at least,” she said, holding up her cheek for a kiss.

“Brendan, so nice to see you,” Mr. Burnside said. “What a dreadful day.”

“The poor family,” he responded.

“Have a glass of cheer at least.”

Louisa, lost in thought about the day’s events, shook her head. “And that beautiful cake! What became of the cake?”

Brendan looked puzzled.

“Louisa has been obsessed with all the ‘what ifs’. About the honeymoon. Cancelled, I should think. About where they’ll be spending the night. Not on the train to Manhattan. Now the loss of the cake.”

“I’m just putting myself in Valerie’s shoes. She must have been mortified by fainting at the altar. Almost as if she didn’t want to get married. Then Fred having a chair brought to make sure she went through with it.”

“What was he supposed to do? Cancel the whole thing? It was just as well that he had her go through with it.”

“Like being thrown off a horse. You get back on as quickly as possible,” Mr. Burnside said.

His wife looked at him, aghast at the analogy. “Well, I never!”

Chapter 7

Brendan got to the station early but had to wait until at least nine to call the coroner, who, it turned out, had not yet begun on Grandmother Latimer. Instead, Brendan went to the forensics lab where Clyde was in his lab coat, as if he hadn’t left the night before, typing with two fingers.

“Morning,” Brendan said. “Am I interrupting?”

“No. I’m just so slow at this that I’m happy to give it a break.”

“Why not ask for a secretary?” Brendan asked.

“Do you think I could do that?” he asked.

“Of course. You managed to get approval and funding for this whole setup. You can’t keep putting in hours like this.”

“I did go home after you left last night. Maria had a special Valentine’s Day meal for me.”

That stopped Brendan in his tracks. He had not realized that Clyde’s relationship with his landlady, the widowed cousin of Dominic Barone, had progressed so quickly.

“What did you have?”

“Stuffed shells and calamari. “

“Impressive.”

“She’s a great cook.”

“Back to the cyanide. Please explain because I’m used to dealing with more overt forms of violence and murder. Not poisoning so much. Where do you even get it?”

“Maybe a feed store? It’s used in mining—not sure how they deploy it—also in manufacturing.”

“Assuming that someone in the ballroom administered it, where would they get their hands on it? Not in downtown Boston.”

Clyde shrugged. “That’s more your job than mine. My knowledge of it is textbook only. “

“We’re in the middle of a big city. No mines for miles around, I don’t think. But there’s lots of industry. Still, how does one get one’s hands on it, much less know how to use it to poison someone?”

“I suppose they could go to a library and find out. You learn so much from books. I read about poison rings from the Middle Ages. A big stone that has a hinge on one side so you go to pour someone’s wine and manage to lace it with poison,” Clyde said.

“So we’re looking for someone who wore a great big ring?”

“Probably looking for someone with a great big grudge, don’t you think?”

“I’ve got a meeting to go to. I’ve left a message with the coroner to call me as soon as he’s finished.”

Brendan muttered as he made his way back to his office where Dominic stood waiting for him.

“That reporter Gleason is asking to see you.”

“I don’t have time for him today. I’m waiting for confirmation from the coroner but there’s a good chance we’ve got a lot of people to talk to with this Latimer death.”

“Wait—I don’t know anything about it,” Dominic said.

“The wedding I attended yesterday was cut short just before cutting the cake when the bride’s grandmother keeled over.”

Dominic made a face. “That’ll ruin a party.”

“I had Clyde test some residue I found in her coffee cup. He says cyanide.”

“What a dandy thing to bring to a wedding.”

“Let’s get the meeting started and I’ll make the assignments for the rest of the week. I’ll have to make some reassignments because of what happened last night.”

Amanda was sifting through the little slips listing the phone messages that had come in the day before when she was gone. There was a knock on the side of her open door with Hugh Van Eaton standing there.

“Wasn’t that ghastly?” he said.

“Oh, yes,” Amanda agreed.

“How is the family?”

“Please sit down,” she gestured. “I haven’t spoken to them. My mother had a note of sympathy from our family sent over and some flowers.”

“I’m glad you said that. I’ll do the same shortly.” He paused and looked away from her for a moment. “You know I have Emerson doing some legwork for me, but he’s rather busy with a complicated case. I was wondering if you might be able to step in.”

“I suppose it depends on what you need.”

“I’m representing a man who was injured in an automobile accident. He’s still in the hospital. What I need help with is ascertaining his loss of earnings. Basically—what economic loss his injury has had on the family.”

“Has he stated what that amount is?”

“He’s an hourly worker and there is some seasonality to his job, so his income is not the same month to month. And I’m afraid he’s not particularly good with numbers.”

Amanda was taking notes and wondered how anyone could be ignorant of what they made but said nothing.

“Part of the problem is that, even though this is a valid injury case, his wife is reluctant to reveal how much he actually makes. She’s with him every time Emerson has gone for an interview and stifles the man’s replies. It doesn’t help that he is still on painkillers.”

“What would you like me to do? Talk to the employer?”

“He’s being kind of dodgy about that, too.”

“Why? Was it a work accident?”

“No, it wasn’t, but I’m guessing the employer doesn’t have Workers’ Compensation Insurance.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“It’s a complicated topic, but simply put, most employers must pay for insurance that provides benefits to workers who are injured or ill on the job due to work-related injury or illness.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t a work accident.”

“That’s right. So, the employer is not required to cover him. But I’m guessing the employer doesn’t have the required coverage anyway, which could put him in trouble if the authorities found out. That’s why he’s being difficult. Mr. Savich, the victim, probably got some pressure from his boss not to be too talkative, and the wife doesn’t understand these things very much. The man was crossing the street in a crosswalk and this car came around the corner and knocked him down. Broken hip.”

Amanda winced. “Sounds terrible.”

“We want to make sure that Mr. Savich gets what he is owed for the time that he will require to heal and get back to work. And he may not be able to work at a job that requires physical labor ever again. That’s why it’s so important to fight for his rights.”

“I see. Where is he now?”

“At Mercy Hospital. I’m sure if you were to go there at any time of the day his wife would be there and you might get information from her that we couldn’t. And you can just bill your time to the Savich case.” He stood up. “I’m sure she’d feel more at ease talking to you than Emerson. Not that there is anything wrong in his approach. I think it’s just because he’s a man.”

“I have some telephone calls to return and I’ll be right on it.” She stood and shook hands with him. Whatever thoughts she had about him previously seemed to have been lifted by his concern for this new client, who likely wouldn’t be able to pay him well.

While Amanda and Hugh were talking, Mr. Burnside and his partners were in the board room having their usual mid-month partners’ meeting. They had developed a unique way of reporting on the state of the business, with rotating assignments that lasted six months. Their billable hours, which affected the fiscal health of the firm, were closely tracked. Another topic was personnel and what holes needed to be filled, another was the capital requirements of the practice, such as rental space and furniture, and finally the legal and political trends that might affect the health of the firm.

There was the usual catching up of events, with the death of the elder Mrs. Latimer, whose family had been clients for decades, taking precedence.

“Wheeler wasn’t able to make the wedding yesterday, and I am concerned about his ongoing ill health,” Mr. Burnside said. “I know we are sensitive to the needs of our colleagues and Wheeler is a partner of long standing, but we’ll probably have to have a conversation with him about what he will be able to continue doing in terms of work. Mr. Van Eaton attended the unfortunate Latimer and Browne wedding in his place yesterday, and he is familiar with many of his mentor’s clients.”

“Are you suggesting that Wheeler retire?” Carson asked.

“That’s a delicate topic, but I’m sure it’s one that he has reviewed in his own mind at his age. Are you willing to take on the task of speaking with him?”

“Absolutely not!” Carson said to laughter around the table. Then he added more soberly, “It’s a terrific blow to the sense of self. He must realize he hasn’t been operating at full speed for the past year or more. Yet his client base is one of the pillars of the practice.”

“They’re the old guard, all right,” Butler said. “And their children and grandchildren continue to work with us.”

The men nodded as one.

“Should we perhaps suggest that he reduce his hours?”

“I’m concerned even though he has been mentoring Van Eaton—and the young man has built up his own independent client base significantly—that the nuances of Wheeler’s clients’ affairs may not have been transferred.”

“He does like to keep those cards close to his vest.”

“In the event he does retire, we can’t afford to lose current and potential clients. While he does an excellent job giving advice to his clients that they accept, it tends to be conservative.” Butler held up his hand before anyone objected to the characterization. “That’s the law as he was taught, and that’s the kind of advice the older folks want. But some of the younger generation may think their parents have been too cautious or careful. Perhaps they have friends or college classmates who took to the law. That’s where we face a real danger.”

“What is the solution?”

“Should we have Van Eaton be present at his client meetings?”

There was muttering around the table.

“He’ll think it’s obvious that we want him to go. And that’s not necessarily our intention.”

“He has spoken to me about slowing down a bit. That his wife would like to spend more time visiting their children and grandchildren, who unfortunately are scattered here and there.” Mr. Burnside said.

“Do we need a woman’s touch?” Butler said.

All eyes turned to Burnside.

“Isn’t Wheeler’s wife close to your Margaret?” Butler said.

Burnside answered slowly. “Yes.”

“She’s a clever and discreet woman. Perhaps she or one of the other wives could have lunch with her and just talk about what’s next as their husbands age.”

“I’m not throwing her into the lion’s den alone,” Burnside said.

“Eloise Wheeler is hardly a lioness. She might appreciate that others are in the same position as she.”

“Be careful. Get the women together and they might get rid of the lot of us!”

That received a lukewarm laugh from the older of the partners.

“I propose we let Van Eaton have access to all of Wheeler’s files so he can at least get some inclination of the direction of the man’s thinking in regard to each client’s expressed wishes and if there are any notes he made about the tenor of his meetings. You know, was the client relaxed, was there some anxiety on their behalf, and so forth,” Burnside said.

“Agreed,” they all said.

“At the same time, please urge your wife to call on one of the other wives to have a casual lunch to winkle out the Wheeler family’s thoughts about how hard he has been working and if he should scale back a bit,” Butler added.

Everyone but Edward Burnside favored the second proposal, but seeing he was outvoted, he nodded his head. He knew that Margaret was going to have lunch with Eloise Wheeler that very day.

Back in his office, he called his wife, an unusual event for the couple who tended to keep work and home affairs separate.

“Well, hello, dear. How nice of you to call.”

“Margaret, I’m afraid I have a delicate issue to propose to you. Actually, more of a mission.”

She was concerned about his tone and sat down in the chair beside the small table that held the downstairs telephone.

“We are concerned about Wheeler, who has been ill lately. He has been with the firm so long and it has been a great part of his life. As it has mine. But as esteemed a colleague as he has been, I—rather we—have been wondering if he is of a mind to continue working.”

“Poor man. Perhaps he feels he will let you all down if he were to retire.”

“Excellent point, Margaret. The thing is, I was wondering if you might have a delicate conversation with his wife.” He paused, sensing her reluctance. “Certainly not about retiring, but about husbands in general and the effects of work on family life.”

He was shocked to hear her laugh.

“That is one of the tiresome topics we talk about whenever we do get together!”

Mr. Burnside was taken aback. “You do?”

“Of course. But we also talk about household staff, current fashions and gossip.”

“I hate to ask you this, but would you slyly bring up the topic of men working too hard and needing to scale back for the sake of their health?”

He heard her sigh. “It’s a topic we have broached before. No need to be sly.

She has already confided in me concerns about him, so it would not be out of bounds of our usual conversations.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m not asking you to be a spy or anything. Or to betray the confidence of your friend. It’s just that the male ego makes it difficult for a man to admit when he needs to give up on something.”

“It’s something that women well understand,” she said with a smile in her voice. “I’d better get ready. I don’t want to make Eloise wait.”

Brendan’s late morning meeting had been moving slowly as one of the newer detectives took the term ‘reporting out’ to mean reading out the questions and answers from the notes of his interview with someone who had hit a pedestrian. Eyebrows were raised around the room until Brendan stopped the young man mid-sentence and suggested that he summarize the conclusion.

Looking up and realizing the effect his recitation was having, he said, “He says the man just stepped out in front of the car.”

One of his colleagues gave a few claps.

“Knock it off,” Brendan said.

“Is the man alive?”

“Yes, in the hospital.”

“And the driver?”

“We’re having a hard time getting in touch with him.”

Brendan sighed.

A secretary appeared at the door, beckoned to him and gave him a slip of paper that made him blow the air out of his cheeks.

“Well, fellows, the best laid plans and all that.” Holding the paper up, he said, “The coroner has just confirmed that the late Mrs. Latimer died of cyanide poisoning. Administered at the wedding by the looks of it.”

“What a way to go,” one of them said.

“It falls to us to figure out who among the sixty or so guests plus staff put it in her coffee cup and what they stood to gain by it. I’ll make a list of the guests at the head table and we’ll begin with them. For those of you to whom I assign these folks, come to meeting room three at four o’clock and I’ll inform you about their relationships. Dismissed.”

Amanda had made her way to Mercy Hospital, the place where she had first volunteered as a debutante, followed by a paid position setting up clinics for children in various neighborhoods in Boston. That job had ended when the hospital board soured on the Director and he left for a position in Hartford. Strange—she had got along with him well enough that he offered her a position there, but since his departure, she hadn’t heard a word. Mercy Hospital was also the place where Fred Browne practiced, but she had no expectation of seeing him there after the previous day’s tragedy.

It hadn’t been long since she was a familiar figure in the hospital, but like the rapid change everywhere, she noticed she didn’t recognize the reception staff at the front desk or any of the faces she passed in the hall as she made her way to the recovery wing. The nurse at the desk in the unit was the first one who looked familiar and gave her an inquisitive glance when she looked up from the report she was working on. Amanda asked for the number of Mr. Savich’s room.

“Busy man,” the nurse said. “Room 687, just down there on the left. His wife is with him, and the doctor has asked that we limit visitors.”

“I understand,” Amanda said, wondering what sort of limit had been put on him. She turned to go and asked, “Has my brother been to see him today?” She was merely fishing and didn’t know if the nurse would question her further.

“We don’t take names, dear. Three men have been in there and it’s not even lunch time.” She bent her head to finish writing.

Busy man, indeed, Amanda thought. How could the poor man get any rest?

He wasn’t in a ward with many others or even a shared room. That was unusual unless the patient was contagious or very well-heeled. The door to the room was closed, and she knocked on it softly and opened it slowly.

“Hello, Mrs. Savich?” she asked of the woman seated by the bruised man in the bed who seemed to be asleep.

The woman looked up and Amanda thought she had never seen anyone quite as distressed. Her dark hair was pulled back in a stark bun and she wore a black dress that accentuated the dark circles under her eyes.

“I’m so sorry about your husband. What an awful thing to have happened.”

The woman was clearly confused about who the elegantly dressed young woman was.

“I’m Amanda Burnside. I work with Hugh Van Eaton, the attorney who is representing your husband in this injury case.”

“Yes, the blond man. He was here this morning.” She had a slight accent that Amanda could not place. “He keeps asking my husband questions that he can’t answer. He is in so much pain when he is awake that they give him injections to sleep.”

“That sounds terrible. Does he know you’re here?”

“From time to time he opens his eyes and is glad I’m here. Thank the Lord we don’t have children or I wouldn’t be able to be by his side every day.”

Amanda walked over to the woman and patted her hand. “It must be very difficult for you all the same.”

“Yes. And so many questions.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Van Eaton is so kind to take my husband’s case for no fee. He asks questions but my husband has no answers.”

“Surely he remembers the accident?”

“Oh, yes. He told me one time when he was awake about the moment of the accident. He said it was as if time stood still, and he knew the car would hit him but he couldn’t move out of the way fast enough.” She put her head in her hands. “Mr. Van Eaton has given us money for the rent but what about next month? I don’t know how long he will be in the hospital. How will we pay the hospital bill?”

Amanda realized that Hugh must have taken the case on a contingency basis and some percentage of the final payout would be his. While it was honorable that he had already covered some of their expenses, this kind of situation could lend itself to trying to get the highest possible judgment, resulting in a hefty fee for the attorney. It made her recollect her father’s phrase ‘ambulance chaser.’ Is that what Emerson did? Look for likely cases with a possible jackpot at the end?

“One of the things that Mr. Van Eaton does is determine how much money your husband usually earns. Then, when he contacts the insurance company of the man who hit him, he can get a fair settlement. Obviously, your husband won’t be able to go back to work for a while.”

The woman looked up at Amanda and said, “The lawyer said he may never be able to work again. Ever.” She broke into sobs.

Amanda patted her back and thought that, even if that were the case, it had been cruel of the attorney to say that so soon.

“What does the doctor say?” Amanda asked.

“He hasn’t told me much and seems to talk to the attorney more than to me. Maybe it’s such bad news that he can’t bear it.”

“While it’s important that he gets well as soon as possible, we need to put a monetary value on what he’s missing by not being at work.”

“Nobody asked me that,” she said. She looked up at the ceiling to recollect the last pay slip he had brought home and gave that number to Amanda. “Some weeks it’s a bit more, some weeks a bit less, depending on what jobs his boss has.”

“That helps a lot,” Amanda said. “Can you tell me the name of the doctor? Maybe I can find out how soon your husband can be released.” By the looks of his bruised face and arms and his lack of responsiveness to her conversations with his wife, it could be a long time.

“It’s Doctor Jensen.”

“Is there anything I can get for you or help you with?” Amanda asked.

“Say a rosary for him. For me. For us.”

Amanda nodded and knew she would have to ask Brendan for the details on how that was done. She said goodbye and went back out to the nurse’s station.

“Mrs. Savich said that Doctor Jensen was treating her husband. Can you tell me where I can find him?”

“Second floor. I don’t know where his office is. Ask the charge nurse to direct you.”

“Thank you,” Amanda said and could feel the nurse’s eyes on her back as she retreated to the elevator.

Amanda found Doctor Jensen standing outside his shared office chatting with a nurse, and he was surprised to be approached.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Doctor Jensen, but could I have a few words?”

“Sure,” he said, ushering her into the space that had two small desks. He pulled the only other chair over to his side of the room for her and asked what he could help with.

“Hugh Van Eaton asked me to make some inquiries.”

His face relaxed. “Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Mr. Van Eaton is representing Mr. Savich about his injuries, and I was wondering how long it might be before he is back at work.”

He made a concerned face. “His pelvis was broken in two places. It’s going to be a long recuperation. And once he’s able to move and walk, I couldn’t possibly say whether he could ever again do the kind of work he has been doing.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t told what kind of work that was.”

“He was working in a brickyard. Manual labor. Lifting and carting. Even for a younger man, that’s a lot of wear and tear on the body. I didn’t want to scare his wife too much, but I don’t see him doing that kind of work ever again. He will walk in time, but resuming physical labor? Not a chance.”

“That’s awful. How much longer will he be here in the hospital?”

“Many more weeks. Now there are rehabilitation places, kind of like a step up from a hospital, where they will work with him to regain as much function as possible. Private, of course, so pricey. But if he wants to continue a normal life, it’s worth it.”

Amanda wondered how in the world they expected someone who worked in a brickyard to afford private rehabilitation care, and the furrow in her brow indicated her worry.

“I know it sounds dire, but from what Hugh has told me, the man who hit him is not only very well off but had too much to drink and admitted it. And was well insured. Mr. Savich will come out of this just fine. Financially speaking.”

She thought that was an odd thing for a doctor to mention but thanked him and left.

Chapter 8

Eloise Wheeler arrived first at her husband’s club and was greeted by the maître d’, who gave her a welcoming smile.

“Right this way. Your usual table?”

“That would be lovely.” He pulled out the chair at the table alongside the windows that brightened up an otherwise cloudy day. She had barely settled in when Margaret Burnside came in, all smiles, and gave her friend a pat on the shoulder.

“How are you today?” she asked Eloise.

“I’m well. How are the children?”

They continued to ask each other about the children over the years although their offspring were young men and women with lives of their own.

“They’re well. And yours?”

“Doing splendidly. I say, what about poor Mrs. Latimer?”

“Oh, what a horrible thing to happen at a wedding.”

“Poor Valerie. You know, I was quite surprised that your husband attend the event. Although now that I know what transpired, I’m not sorry. I thought he might have been ill and that’s why we didn’t see you.”

“No, he’s been preoccupied lately. Something to do with work. You know these husbands of ours never want to share the important things.”

A waiter came by, handing them each a menu and asking if they’d like something to drink. After glancing at each other, they both ordered a glass of white wine and smiled at the rare indulgence.

“I think the men are getting to the stage or the age where they should retire but can’t imagine what they would do with themselves if they did,” Eloise said.

“Exactly. But think of all the knowledge and expertise they’ve gained during their long professional careers. I can understand them not wanting to leave it all behind.”

“I had lunch with Dagmar last week, and she said her husband was teaching a class at the law school just to keep current. It isn’t going well. He said the students are lax in their preparation and casual in their approach to doing the reading. Instead of it keeping him feeling young, he said he feels like a fossil.”

The waiter arrived with their wine and the two women ordered a light lunch. They held their glasses up in a toast and each took a sip.

“Speaking of fossils,” Margaret began, “my daughters sometimes use awful slang words and I don’t understand what they are saying.”

Eloise looked shocked.

“Not anything foul, just not as we were taught to speak.”

“The times change, Margaret, and I don’t know if we should hold on to the old ways or move with modern ones. I think that’s what’s troubling my poor husband. His practice means so much to him. What is he to do? Take up golf? That would only keep him occupied in the warm months. Stamp collecting? I fear if he stops work or even cuts back, he’ll just be around the house, getting under my feet.”

“These men are so absorbed in their work lives and put all their energies into it—at the expense of paying attention to the family. After all, who raised my girls? Certainly not Edward. He was happy enough to attend their musicales and dance performances, but I was the one who arranged for their schools and their friends and oversaw their studies. I’m not complaining; that’s how it has always been and always will be. If their work goes away, I’m afraid that’s when things fall apart.”

“One thing that has cheered Morton up is mentoring one of the younger attorneys at the firm. Now there is a place where experience and years of work are appreciated. And if my dear husband decides to slow down a little, he can feel reassured that the young man can step in and hold the fort, so to speak.”

“Enough of husbands,” Margaret said, and they both laughed. “I wanted to tell you about this new style dress that Louisa has been talking about.” And from there, their discussion veered into fashion, social gossip and charity work. At least, Margaret had felt her duty to her husband had been done and she could inform him of the state of mind of Eloise’s husband. Which, in a few years, might be his state of mind as well.

Brendan finished his paperwork and hurried to his car to pick up Amanda for lunch.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked as he opened the passenger door for her.

“Just a few minutes. It’s warm enough in the lobby. Where are we going?”

“To Top Hat Rentals to return the tux,” he said, pointing to the suit in its cloth-zippered case lying across the back seat.

“That’s fine. I bet we can find somewhere to get a bite in that neighborhood. What’s up at work?”

“I’ve assigned the men to interview folks about the Latimer case.”

She turned to him. “What? Every guest? That will take weeks.”

“We’re starting with the head table. Somebody must have seen something.”

“I would be surprised at them being able to recollect anything of note. With the aftermath of Valerie fainting and the general excitement of the event, they might not be the most observant witnesses,” she said. “And the death afterward might overshadow what they had previously seen. If you know what I mean.”

“Yes, the events of the day before her death were such that they might be a blur in peoples’ consciences. It’s not unusual.”

They drove away from Amanda’s workplace in the busy financial district and she commented, “Look, there’s Hugh. I wonder where he’s going.” She craned her neck to catch a better look at the man hurrying along the street but other pedestrians blocked her view. “I’ve just come back from a visit on Hugh’s behalf to inquire after one of his clients who is in the hospital with a broken hip due to a car accident. He’s been trying to get information from the man about his salary in order to establish how much there would be in lost wages. He asked me to go and talk to the man’s wife, since the man seems to be out of it. What an awful situation; there’s a very real possibility that he will never be able to do work again.”

“Let me guess: he does some form of manual labor. Was he hurt on the job?”

“No, just crossing the street. And the person who hit him was insured and wealthy, from what they told me.”

“Who was it?” Brendan asked.

“I haven’t asked yet.”

“If the man is extremely rich, he may try to buy the worker off.”

“Why would he do that if he had insurance?” Amanda asked.

“If the man who was injured doesn’t file a report, then the insurance company doesn’t know about it and won’t cancel his insurance. There’s also a possibility that the reputation of the offender is such that he wishes to be protected.”

“I wonder if that’s what’s going on. I know the poor man must be in extreme pain because his wife said he’s on painkillers and doesn’t talk much. He just lay there while I talked to her.”

“Or someone doesn’t want him to until a deal is struck. Look, there’s the rental place. I’ll just pop in if you want to wait in the car.”

While he was gone, Amanda looked around at the neighborhood that seemed to be primarily Scandinavian by the names on the storefronts. Down the street she spotted a café, Mattson’s, and thought that might be fun to try. It was interesting that, before she met Brendan, she was a creature of habit, hardly eating out, and when she did, it was typically sandwiches or meat-and-potatoes sort of food. He had introduced her to Italian, Chinese and once even a Turkish place.

When he came back to the car, she stepped out and pointed out the restaurant in short walking distance. They found the windows steamy from the hot food that was to be found inside. A jolly woman with apple red cheeks and wearing a traditional folk dress pointed them to an empty table.

“What’s the specialty?” Brendan asked.

“Herring in sour cream for starters and then Swedish meatballs, of course.”

Brendan looked at Amanda. “Sound good to you?”

“Oh, yes. And some hot coffee.”

“Although a glass of beer would be more appropriate. But can’t go back to work smelling of alcohol,” he said.

“I should say not. Will you be working late because of the Latimer case?”

“I’ll send the men out in teams to do preliminary interviews with the bridal party. I’ll give them a day. I know the families are in shock, but it’s important to get fresh impressions.”

“Poor Valerie. I thought it bad enough that she would be remembered for fainting at the altar, but having her grandmother die during the reception tops it all.”

Their coffee arrived and was served carefully, as though it were a rare commodity. It had an exquisitely strong aroma and, once cream and sugar were added, brought a broad smile to Brendan’s face. When the food came out from the kitchen, he surveyed the plate with pleasure.

“I almost feel sorry for the men having to tackle the family at a time like this,” Amanda said.

“Feel sorry for me, too. I’m going to be in the thick of it soon enough.”

Brendan was in the meeting room with Dominic, shuffling through the assignments of detectives and people to be interviewed.

“I think we can do a preliminary today covering most of the head table. We may have to wait until tomorrow to talk to the staff.”

The detectives had come in minutes before, knowing that ‘if you’re not early, you’re late.’ There was no blackboard on which to diagram the placement of the folks at the head table, but a large poster board served the same purpose and Brendan had already drawn the rectangle of the table with circles, each with a name above it, for the people.

“There are—were—two Mrs. Latimers. We’ll call the elder one Grandmother Latimer; she sat on the far left end of the head table. Next to her was José Guzmán, the groom’s brother-in-law, and Mrs. Latimer, mother of the bride, then Doctor Fred Browne, the groom, Valerie Latimer, the bride, Caroline Guzmán, Mr. Latimer and finally Hextilda Browne, mother of the groom.”

“Grandmother Latimer came from old money. Her husband amassed significant real estate holdings, which his widow managed after his death. She lived by herself, aside from many household staff in a big house in Beacon Hill. Her son, whom we’re calling Mr. Latimer, takes part in property management and management of his mother’s vast estate. Mrs. Latimer, his wife, does the usual charity work and events with her friends. Valerie is their only child. They live in a smaller house about a block away from the mother.”

“Doctor Browne works at Mercy Hospital, his sister doesn’t have a job, and her husband, José, is owner of the Oasis nightclub. Hextilda is a writer of popular fiction and mother to Caroline and Fred. The Guzmáns and Fred live with her, and it was my understanding that Valerie was going to live with them as well.”

Brendan did not mention that his fiancée was a good friend of the bride or that Amanda’s sister’s boyfriend was the managing director of the Oasis. The detectives already knew that he had been at the wedding but assumed it was in the capacity of some casual relationship to the family.

“Dominic, you and Art take the first go-round with Mr. and Mrs. Latimer. Get an impression of them and the relationship between them and the older woman. Naturally call beforehand but they’ll be at home today, I imagine. Do try to make it today. The rest can wait for tomorrow. Hank, Lou, take Hextilda, her daughter and son-in-law. Bob and Herb, talk to Fred and Valerie, and go gently there. The doctor can be a bit prickly and the new bride has been through a lot. We’re not looking for motives here; we want to know their observations of people coming up to the head table to converse with Grandmother Latimer or any of the bridal party. Somebody either slipped the cyanide into the empty coffee cup that was already at the place setting or after the coffee was poured.”

“Third possibility,” Herb said. “The waiter who poured the coffee put it in.”

“Fourth possibility,” Bob countered. “It was meant for someone else.”

“Fifth,” Art began but Brendan shut him down.

“I can see those wheels working, but let’s get the basic information. Then we’ll start on the hotel staff. Good luck, all.”

Brendan handed them the addresses and telephone numbers of their assignments, and they left to call and make the appointments. He took his poster board back to his office and leaned it facing the wall behind him so that a casual visitor could not see it. The usual background noise of the office ceased and he put his head out the door to see what was happening. The Chief had walked in. He chatted with whoever was still in the bullpen before making his way to Brendan’s office.

Not missing a thing, including the poster board, he said, “Have a big social studies presentation today?”

Brendan stood and managed a chuckle before explaining what it was for. The Chief availed himself of a chair and Brendan sat down.

“I’m afraid this is going to be a difficult case, because it took place in a crowded room with people mingling before sitting down for the meal.”

“I understand you were among the minglers,” the Chief said, steepling his fingers in front of his chest.

“Yes, my fiancée knows the bride very well. The groom, as well.”

“The bride fainted at the altar. Is the groom that bad?”

Brendan was always impressed with how the man was so well informed.

“Serious and stodgy.”

“That’s what some gals like. Steady fellas. What do you know of the Latimers?”

“Wealthy. Class-conscious.”

“That goes without saying. The old woman and her husband before her had their fingers in many different businesses and properties. Keep that in mind.” The Chief stood up to go, as did Brendan.

“Anything else going on that I should know about?” he asked.

“No, sir. Not that I know of.”

“Good. Good,” he said and left.

Now what was that about? Brendan asked himself.

Chapter 9

The two detectives felt tense as they approached the house and saw the black wreath on the door and all the drapes drawn.

After a deep breath, Art rang the doorbell, which was answered by a maid in full uniform with a black armband and a solemn face.

The detectives took off their hats and explained that they were there to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Latimer and had called earlier.

“Yes, sir. They are expecting you.” She let them in, took their hats and coats and asked them to wait to be announced. She left them standing in a small sitting room and returned a few minutes later without their outerwear and asked them to follow her.

Beyond the small room in which they had been waiting was a huge sitting room with furniture set out in groups as if it were usual to have many people sitting and conversing at once. She led them through that room down a long hallway and finally opened the door to a library with a fire warming the room.

Mr. Latimer stood up while his wife sat on a sofa, introductions were made, and the detectives were directed to two large armchairs.

“We apologize for intruding on your grief, sir, but it is necessary at this early stage to learn as much as possible before impressions and memories fade.”

“I understand completely. I am shocked by the coroner’s finding and I hope that it is not going to be publicly announced.” He looked at his wife, who clutched a balled-up handkerchief.

“It is certainly not the intention to embarrass the family.” That was true, but he knew he could not guarantee that no one would inform the press, who would relish the notion of a society scandal.

“Isn’t there the possibility of some mistake?”

“I’m sorry. Such as?”

“That the coroner made an error. Or that somehow the chemical got into her coffee by mistake. You know, some cleaning solution was not properly rinsed out of the cups and dishes.”

“I’m not aware of using cyanide as a cleaning agent. It seems to have been deliberate.”

Mr. Latimer closed his eyes.

“Perhaps it was meant for somebody else. And there was a mix-up,” Mrs. Latimer suggested, looking from Dominic to her husband and back again.

There was silence for a few moments before Dominic resumed. “Can you think of any motivation for what happened to your mother?”

“None whatsoever. She could be shrewd in business dealings, but she never injured anybody financially as far as I know. And I worked closely with her on her investments. She never received a threat, to my knowledge.”

“Do you think she would have told you if she had?” Dominic asked. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Art writing in his small notebook.

Mr. Latimer sputtered. “I think she would have.”

A look at Mrs. Latimer suggested that her mother-in-law was tough enough to imagine she was immune from harm.

“She lives—lived—in her own house. If any threat had come by post or telephone, I wouldn’t have been aware of it unless she had told me.”

“Do you know if she was in favor of your daughter’s marriage to Doctor Browne?”

Mr. Latimer looked to his wife and back to the detective. “She seemed to be. Why would that matter? She was not effusive emotionally, if you know what I mean. Brought up in Victorian times where you control your feelings.”

“She did mention once to me that she thought Valerie could do better,” Mrs. Latimer said.

“That’s true, but Valerie had been engaged before to someone who was not up to snuff.”

“What does that mean?” Dominic asked.

“Emerson Webster. Charming young man who couldn’t seem to decide upon a profession. And with no real money of his own. Doctor Browne is a serious and steady young man. Although his family is…”

Dominic let the moments tick by, waiting for the man to finish his sentence. His wife did, instead.

“Not quite the right kind of people. The father was new, the flashy money type. And Fred’s mother and her trashy novels.”

“Now, now,” Mr. Latimer said, although clearly not contradicting his wife’s opinion.

“You’re sure that none of her business dealings might have played into this?”

“No. I’m sure I would know if that were the case.”

“Can you think of anyone who wished her harm.”

“Absolutely not.”

“May I ask about the disposition of her estate?”

“We’ve been fully informed on that, of course. As the wedding plans were being made, my mother made sure that all involved were aware of her wishes. She’s left her house to Valerie outright and the rest of the estate comes to me. There was no reason for any of us to hasten my mother’s death, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Certainly not. I apologize if that’s how it appeared. You know in investigations, we often have to ask uncomfortable questions.”

Mr. Latimer looked away. “I understand.”

“Was your mother under any kind of pressure recently? Anything worrying her?”

“No,” he answered quickly.

Art was busy writing and then Mrs. Latimer spoke up.

“You may not agree with me, dear, but I think Madre was a little upset at Valerie moving in with the Brownes. Although she was anxious that our daughter get married, and in the end had no objections to Fred, it would mean a change.”

“Yes, she liked to see Valerie more than she was able. Not that anyone prevented it, just that a young woman likes to be out and about with her friends and go shopping. She did her duty by her grandmother, it was just that with my mother sometimes that wasn’t enough,” Mr. Latimer said.

Dominic nodded, knowing of the expectations parents had that often seemed oppressive. He stood up and said, “I think that’s all we need to know now. There may be more questions in the future, especially if something comes up.”

Art stood up as well and they shook hands with the Latimers. Mr. Latimer went over to the mantel and pulled a long, wide, embroidered cord. The detectives looked puzzled, wondering what was to happen next and, oddly, the telephone rang several times on the desk nearby.

“Excuse me,” Mr. Latimer said, looking annoyed that a staff member hadn’t answered.

“Yes, yes.” There was silence and he turned away as he listened. He hung up the phone and turned back to them.

At that point, the maid who had let them in opened the door and they realized the cord had been pulled to summon her although it made no sound in the room.

Mr. Latimer stood still and then said, “Our attorney, Mr. Wheeler, just died.”

“What?” Mrs. Latimer said, standing up.

“He fell down the stairs at his club and broke his neck.”

Chapter 10

Once the shock wore off, an emergency partners’ meeting was called and, unlike their usual gatherings that started with greetings and chit chat, they assembled quietly in the board room.

“This is extraordinary,” Butler said. “The poor man.”

“He was doing poorly lately. Perhaps he had a blackout or a stroke and fell down.”

“He might have become dizzy and lost his footing,” Murray said.

“He wasn’t in the office yesterday or today. I understood that he wasn’t feeling well. Not to be so blunt, but if he wasn’t well, what was he doing having lunch at his club?”

“Yes, you’d think he would be at home. Very strange.”

“I’m not going to be the one to question what he was doing at his club as if he were neglecting his duties. Perhaps he had a lunch meeting with a client,”

“Yes, entirely possible.”

“I hate to ask it, but did he usually have a drink with lunch?”

The room fell silent. There were few among them who didn’t have an alcoholic drink at lunch at their respective clubs, especially when entertaining a client. It showed a certain bonhomie that the attorney was competent but not going to be overly serious. It was how you broke the ice.

“I never saw him drink to excess. It couldn’t have been that.”

“The man was nearing sixty-six,” Butler said, and then looked around the room to see if he had hit a nerve with anyone approaching that age.

“When this meeting is over, will you ask my secretary, Miss Brunson, to order flowers to be sent to Wheeler’s home. We’ll all sign a note of condolence that can be taken over with the delivery.”

The men nodded agreement before shaking their heads at the sudden tragedy.

Mr. Burnside spoke again. “Aside from acknowledging his tremendous contribution to the firm over the years, we need to consider the continuity. He worked with many clients who have been with us for years.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with Mrs. Latimer?”

That gave them pause.

“I can’t see how. That’s not our concern right now. We’ll have to get someone in to look at his files and become familiar with anything he had been working on.”

“Remember, Van Eaton was working with him on some things. He might be the logical choice.”

“True. If everyone is in agreement, why don’t we get him in here and ask him?”

Everyone nodded and Carson pressed the buzzer embedded in the side of the table. His secretary promptly arrived with a notebook and pencil.

“Yes, sir?”

“Could you locate Mr. Van Eaton and ask him to report to the board room immediately?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, trying to hide her amazement at the strange request. They usually never invited anyone to their partners’ meetings unless she was called in to take notes. And it was strange that she hadn’t been asked on this occasion.

Some minutes later, the secretary knocked on the door where the partners sat in silence and, opening it, she ushered in Hugh Van Eaton, looking by turns surprised and concerned as if he had been called to the principal’s office.

“Please sit down,” Carson said.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but poor Mr. Wheeler died earlier today.”

“Yes, I did. It was quite a shock. To me, at least. What an awful thing.”

“You worked with him on some of his cases, didn’t you?”

“Yes. He was generous in talking to me about almost all his clients. He knew I had an interest in estate law, and he sat down with me many times after he had met with a client to review their concerns and his recommendations. It really spoke to his thoughtfulness that he never rushed into any advice but somehow led the client to his way of thinking without overtly saying anything.”

“That’s the Wheeler I knew,” Murray said.

“It was not extraordinary to see a client come into a meeting with a frown of concern on their face and, after an hour or so, exit with a look of relief. He was masterful at putting clients at ease,” Van Eaton said.

“Do you think this had anything to do with the death of Mrs. Latimer?” Butler asked.

Hugh looked around the room as if to wonder why he should be asked his opinion and shrugged his shoulders.

“Come on now. That’s idle speculation,” Carson said.

“Just as any good defense attorney would argue,” Mr. Burnside said to mild chuckles.

“We’re in a bit of a quandary, Van Eaton. With Mrs. Latimer’s death, we’ll need to reassure the family that the legal documents are in order and that a competent attorney is familiar with the disposition of the property. We can’t just have anyone rummaging around in the files. And being a man of great finesse, I imagine there are things discussed and implied that he didn’t record in his notes. Did he happen to share any such things with you?”

“I knew he took very few notes during client meetings, except where the individual wanted some wording in a will or trust changed. It would have been off-putting to be jotting things down as someone was talking. As if it were a detective in an interrogation.”

“Indeed,” Burnside said. “We can’t have that!”

“What we’re asking you, Van Eaton, is to familiarize yourself with his files. The Latimer file is of the utmost importance since Mrs. Latimer is only recently deceased.”

“I know. I saw her at the wedding of her granddaughter,” Hugh said, looking for confirmation from Mr. Burnside, who nodded. “That was such a shock.”

“You may not know, and I’m asking for your discretion, but Mrs. Latimer did not die of a heart attack. She was poisoned.”

Hugh’s blond eyebrows rose almost to his scalp line. “Was there something in the food we ate?” he asked, reflexively touching his stomach.

“We now know that she was poisoned at the banquet.”

“In front of all those people? How is that possible?” he asked.

“We have a competent group of detectives working on that. I hope that none of the family members is responsible in any way. Even so, getting the details of the estate and the bequests is paramount as they may lead to other things.”

“If you could drop all but the most pressing work you have and look at the Latimer file, we would be most appreciative. Once you have examined it and any notes that Wheeler made—keeping in mind that he was discreet with his comments—then meet with Butler for review. In light of the fact that she died under suspicious circumstances, we want to make sure that the police have the background on the death of a wealthy woman.”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh said. Looking around the room and seeing that he was being dismissed, he nodded and left. He wondered if the time was right to take over Wheeler’s entire portfolio but knew it was too soon and would seem crass.

As he walked down the hall, he saw Amanda. She stopped him.

“I just heard,” she said.

“Yes, poor man.”

“Had he been ill or was it an accident?”

“I don’t know the details.”

“It’s dreadful. You worked with him closely, didn’t you?”

“Yes, almost after I first arrived here. It is a terrible loss for the firm.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said and proceeded to her small office, closed the door and picked up the telephone to call Brendan.

“What?” he said.

“Don’t you think that’s unusual? The attorney and his client both dead?”

“What? Who?”

“Morton Wheeler. The Latimers’ attorney.”

“That is unusual. It would be good to find out if there were any recent changes in her will. What I mean is, did she request any changes that hadn’t been recorded yet.”

“Good point. I don’t know if I can get access to that information. I’ll ask my father about the issue.”

They finished their conversation with the intention of talking again before the end of the day, which was something they usually did. As she sat pondering what to do next, the telephone rang and she almost jumped out of her chair.

“It’s a Mr. Latimer for you,” the receptionist said before connecting them.

“Is this Amanda?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Latimer. I wanted to offer my condolences for the loss of your mother.”

“Thank you. It’s been very difficult. She was the backbone of this family. And of the community as well.”

Amanda thought that last comment was a bit of a stretch. To her knowledge, the elder Mrs. Latimer certainly made her presence and status known in society, but she never thought of her as one of the leading philanthropists. Perhaps she supported many causes, but it was her stern and commanding presence that didn’t speak of kindness. Amanda knew that the woman was an intimidating grandmother to Valerie. Now she wondered what sort of mother she had been to Mr. Latimer.

“I’m calling you because Valerie told me that you were doing private investigations.”

“Yes. I work for the firm part-time and can take on cases on my own.”

“I’d like you to look into my mother’s death.”

Amanda paused a moment. “I believe the police are already working on the case. I don’t want to get in their way.”

“I don’t intend to besmirch the police. I suspect they have a great many cases to deal with.”

“That’s true.”

“Be that as it may, I would like you to look into our dear mother’s demise.”

Amanda hesitated, wondering if she needed to pass this by her father or Brendan or both. Then she realized that Mr. Latimer had to be aware of all the connections—Boston still being a small town in many ways—and she agreed.

Chapter 11

“Is Mr. Burnside available?” Amanda asked Miss Brunson, who suppressed a smile at the attempt of the father and daughter to maintain a professional relationship.

“I’ll see,” the secretary responded, getting up and knocking on the closed door before entering and speaking to him.

“Send her right in!” he said cheerfully.

Miss Brunson stood aside while Amanda went in and shut the door.

Amanda plopped herself down in one of the leather chairs across from her father.

“Oh, Daddy. I may have made a mess of things in trying to be helpful or ambitious or to prove myself.”

“What have you done?” he asked.

“I agreed to help Mr. Latimer investigate the murder of his mother.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I don’t want to step on Brendan’s toes, for one thing.”

“You can always ask him. But I suspect that the two of you acting together will uncover more than either of you working alone.”

“He has a whole staff of people to assist him. I’m afraid I won’t come up with anything new.”

“That’s entirely possible. In which case, you’ll have confirmed that the police have done their utmost. If they can find out who did this to Mrs. Latimer, that is.”

“Do you think I should ask to see her will?”

“Just get permission from the family. Explain to them that you’re not giving them legal advice, you just want to make sure to put them in the clear. If they balk—well, that’s a problem. You know that Mr. Wheeler was her attorney.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not talking out of school here when I tell you that Hugh Van Eaton will be taking over that particular file. Perhaps others, but we’ll see.”

“He’s taking on quite a bit considering he has at least one client, Mr. Savich, who will need a lot of representation,” Amanda said.

“Who is that?”

“An accident victim with what will be significant hospital bills and who may not be able to work again due to his injuries.”

“That sounds awful. I’ll be sure to advise him to let us know if he feels he is in over his head. As for you, young lady,” he said, pointing at her, “that advice is the same. It’s going to be difficult working with a close friend. I know from experience.”

“What was that?”

“Never you mind, Miss Burnside.” He made a shooing gesture with his hand, but she just smiled at him.

While Amanda was having her chat with her father, Hugh was already in Mr. Wheeler’s office, making a beeline for the drawer where he knew the Latimer file was kept. He had perused the entirety of his former mentor’s office many times when the man was not in or after hours, locking the door to prevent the cleaning staff from discovering him. It was through his scrutiny of the files that he had become familiar enough to make intelligent comments when conversing about certain estate issues.

One time Mr. Wheeler, sitting behind his desk with his fingers steepled in front of his face, droned on about a theoretical family that wanted to dissolve the trust upon the death of the successor trustee.

“I imagine that would be preferable to creating another trust that would tie the next generation to one another for decision making, especially if they had different life situations or didn’t get along,” Hugh had said.

Wheeler’s eyebrows had shot up at the comment. “Very perceptive of you, young man,” he had said.

Hugh did not appreciate being referred to constantly as ‘young man’ or surprising the older man with his observations. In fact, it was exactly the advice Wheeler had given to one of his clients in his clear handwriting on a piece of paper in the manila folder that Hugh had read the week before.

Hugh knew that he had no business looking in Wheeler’s files without permission, but he had been anxious to make something of himself and thought that gradually he could take over the older man’s workload. It certainly wasn’t overwhelming, which is why Wheeler was able to take long lunches at his club, sometimes with his clients, always paying for their meal but then billing them for his legal advice. They were the old Boston families, some descended from whaling fortunes, who were careful with their money and appreciated the conservative approach to financial affairs.

Hugh had found that Old Mrs. Latimer’s will was fairly simple although she had significant assets. She had bequeathed everything to her son, who had been her right-hand man in business since the death of his father. However, once Valerie had become engaged to Fred Browne, a levelheaded and suitable person, nothing like that Emerson Webster, she had several discussions with Wheeler about what to leave her only granddaughter. She had decided to leave Valerie her house with its contents and her car. The thought of the young girl having to share a household with the scandalous Hextilda, the foreign son-in-law and flippant daughter was more than she could bear. Because she bequeathed so much to her son in terms of real estate and businesses, she felt that she was being fair. She also said that she had discussed her intentions with her son and he was in total agreement.

Now that he had permission to work on the Latimer estate, he found that, based on the date it was signed, no changes had been made since he had last looked it over. Even so, he knew that the firm and its attorneys subsisted on billable hours. Therefore, he would be sure to meet with the Latimers and go over it, paragraph by paragraph, page by page. He would also set up a separate meeting with Valerie and Fred, if she wished him present, to do the same. He was sure that the partners would be pleased by his diligence. Then he would suggest that some of the other clients had not been in contact for some time and it would be a good idea to meet with them for any updates or changes. At such a time, he would suggest some minor changes in wording so that revisions would be necessary. He was sitting on a goldmine.

Amanda was anxious about calling Brendan to tell him of the request from the Mr. Latimer, wondering if he would feel she was getting into his territory. To her surprise, he was enthusiastic.

“That’s great! We can use the assistance.”

“Just a minute. I’m not going to be working on your team, so to speak. I’ll be working for the family.”

“Understood, but if you uncover something illegal, you’ll need to tell me.”

Amanda paused. “I don’t know if that is part of a private investigator’s code of conduct, but it’s certainly mine. I may or may not share my observations or suspicions, however.”

“Oh, ho!” he said with a laugh. “That’s interesting. Considering you have been more than generous in the past. After all, what will we have to talk about over our dinner dates? Which movie we’ll see next?”

Amanda didn’t know whether to be amused or furious. “I don’t think you’re taking me seriously,” she said in as calm a tone as possible.

“Of course I do,” he said. “It’s just that we may be getting into some murky waters. Suppose you uncover that Mr. Latimer poisoned his mother? Or some other member of the family? Although she apparently didn’t have any other relatives.”

“I’ll get permission from him to look at her will. Hugh Van Eaton here is taking on the family’s estate business at the moment. We’ll see who had the best motive from a financial standpoint.”

Dominic appeared at Brendan’s door and motioned to him.

“Sorry, Amanda. Something has come up. I’ll call you later.” Hanging up he asked, “What is it?”

“That reporter, Gleason, is back and wants to talk to you. He is pacing up and down out there,” he indicated the foyer.

“Okay, okay. Can you send him in? Don’t let him snoop over anyone’s shoulder, though.”

“Halloran,” Gleason said, already at the door.

“Yes, sit down. Thanks, Dominic,” Brendan said.

“What do you know about a pedestrian getting run down two days ago?” Gleason asked.

“Killed, you mean?”

“No, squashed mostly. But still alive.”

Brendan then recalled the new officer who was giving a dissertation on the conversation he had had with the driver of a vehicle.

“I’m not totally familiar.”

“Well, the victim is in the hospital. Not likely that he’ll be walking for a long time. Guess who the driver was?” Gleason didn’t wait for a response because he was aware nobody had put two and two together. “Kenny Deegan. The Mayor’s stepson.”

So that’s what the Chief was slyly inquiring about earlier, Brendan thought.

“And it looks like he had a snoot full of booze. Care to comment?” he asked, pulling out a ragged stenographer’s notebook and a pencil from behind his ear.

Chapter 12

“Excuse me,” Brendan said and barreled out of his office into the bullpen.

“Where’s what’s-his-name?”

The few men present looked at him puzzled.

“Who?” someone dared to ask.

“You know, the new guy.”

Several fingers pointed to the hallway that led to the bathrooms.

Brendan flung open the door to the men’s room to the astonished look of the new officer, who was washing his hands.

“Do you have any idea who was involved in that pedestrian accident?”

“Yes, a Mr. Savich.”

“No, I mean the driver.”

“Oh, um. I think his name was Deegan.”

Brendan paused and saw the young man had no idea who that was.

“The Mayor’s stepson.”

“Oh,” he replied. Then more slowly. “Oh. Am I in trouble?”

“Not exactly. Did I hear someone say he had been drinking?”

“He smelled of alcohol and I asked him and he said it was mouthwash.”

Brendan closed his eyes in frustration.

“And he said the man darted out in front of him and he couldn’t stop in time. He gave me his information and we waited for an ambulance. Was that the proper protocol?”

“Yes. It’s just that the Chief and the Mayor are close friends, and I’m sure the Mayor does not want this in the newspapers, and Gleason—you’d better get to know who he is right now—is sniffing around already. And the injured man already has an attorney. It just makes for a proper mess.”

“Sorry,” he said, drying his hands on the towel roll.

“It’s not your fault. We don’t have a clear legal definition of what ‘drunk driving’ is yet. And even if we did, it would be hard to make it stick on the kid, with all the connections he has and so forth.”

“Sorry.”

Brendan went back to his office, feeling the eyes of the men in the bullpen on him. At least Gleason had left and there was no paperwork on his desk that had been moved. It wasn’t sensitive, anyway.

He picked up the phone and called Amanda.

“Here’s a nugget for you,” he began and then related the conversation with the new officer and Gleason’s interest in the situation.

“Does this mean that the victim isn’t due a windfall because of the accident?”

“Depending on how the deck is stacked, it could be larger. You might want to let Hugh know what’s going on.”

“All right. But I won’t say the information came from you.”

“Thank you. It doesn’t matter, really. Gleason will leak it sooner or later and once it hits the paper, oh boy! Then the brass will lean on me to drop the case entirely, and the public will think we’re all corrupt. I’ve got some thinking to do,” he ended.

Brendan went back to the entrance and was pleased to learn that Gleason had indeed left. Soon Dominic came back from his interview with the Latimers and was anxious to report on what he learned but saw that his boss was in a foul mood.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s not?”

“Okay, I’ll be back later,” Dominic said, beginning to exit.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I have to unload this mess on somebody.”

“Do you want to hear about the Latimers first?”

“Not particularly. But yes, sit down and tell me. Maybe it will calm me down.”

Dominic sat down.

“Loving family on the outside. Mr. Latimer is hard to read, but his wife is cowed by him and the old lady probably ran right over her. Motive: years of suppressed anger?”

“Where would a woman like her get hold of cyanide?” Brendan asked.

Dominic shrugged. “They keep some in the garage for rat poison? I don’t know.”

“She wasn’t even sitting next to her mother-in-law.”

“Were people coming and going into the dining room before the reception started? She could have had some pretext, like putting her evening purse on the head table and, by the way, slipping something into a coffee cup.”

“I’ve only met her once, but she doesn’t impress me as a mastermind of crime.”

“True,” Dominic said. “But having a battle-ax of a mother-in-law might push a meek person to do something.”

“The key is seeing what the will holds. Who gets what.”

“If Grandmother decided to leave her fortune to an old age home for cats, then we may have a reason to look more closely at the family.”

“Aren’t you glad that we weren’t born into a wealthy family? We are practically immune from being bumped off by our kids, since all they’ll get is a lot of old furniture and faded photos of the grandparents.”

“Thank you for that cheering thought, Dominic.”

Having agreed to meet with Hugh in Wheeler’s office and look at the Latimer will, Amanda made her way down the hall. The deceased man’s space looked the same, with the diplomas on one wall and a hunting scene on another, the requisite legal reference books filling the bookcase behind the desk. It was strange that every attorney’s office had such a collection, but she had never seen anyone actually take a book down and look something up. Were they so well versed in what they did that there was no need to do research? Did they only refer to them when no one was present? Was the collection of works a graduation present?

“What are you looking at?” Hugh asked, following her gaze to the bookcase behind him.

“Nothing. You found the will?”

“Yes, have a seat,” he motioned to one of the chairs that faced the desk. “He and I looked at it together a few months ago when Mrs. Latimer made her final dispositions. I’m very familiar with it.”

“What changes did she make in her will?”

“A few bequests were added and one was eliminated because the person had already passed away. The big change was leaving her house and contents to her granddaughter.”

“Valerie? She gets that big house?” Amanda was shocked.

“Do you think she knew?”

“I don’t know. We never had conversations about things like that.”

Hugh smiled.

“Don’t think that, because we were debutante friends, we never had serious conversations. When we did, it wasn’t about a topic such as inheritance.” She thought for a moment. “Before she changed her will, who was supposed to get the house?”

“Her son was to get the whole estate.”

“Interesting. Does that change give anyone a motive to do away with her?”

“What do you think?” he asked her.

“Perhaps Mr. Latimer was angry about the change, or even his wife, if they knew about it. Do you know if Grandmother Latimer let them in on the change?”

“That’s what I understand.”

“Maybe Fred Browne was anxious to move out of his mother’s place. He surely knows about chemistry and poisons from medical school,” Amanda said.

“I don’t think they teach that exactly. I was a science major in college and that wasn’t something that was taught. They were careful to tell you what two things not to mix together in order to avoid an explosion in the lab.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “I guess I shouldn’t ask for details.”

“You probably don’t have those chemicals sitting around in your house anyway.”

“Do you think someone like Fred, a doctor, is capable of engineering the death of his grandmother-in-law?” Amanda asked.

“Who knows what people are capable of?”

“Indeed.” Amanda got up. “I meant to tell you that the Latimers have engaged me to investigate the murder. Gosh—it’s horrible to even say that word in connection with someone I knew.”

“If they’ve hired you, it could be their intention to lead you away from themselves. Be careful.”

Chapter 13

Bob and Herb, both long-time detectives, had been assigned to interview Fred and Valerie. All they knew of the two of them was that they had been married only two days, that he was a doctor and that they were at the Latimers’ house that afternoon.

Herb whistled as they approached the house. “I knew it was Beacon Hill, but I didn’t think it would be that big.”

“Maybe I should have put on my Sunday suit,” Bob said.

“Think they’ll let us in the front door?”

“They’d better. We’d have to drive a mile to find the back door.”

They rang the front doorbell and a maid ushered them in, taking their hats and coats.

“I’ll get Doctor Browne,” she said and left them standing in the space between the vestibule and the sitting room.

Herb craned his neck to look into that vast space, turned back to Bob and raised his eyebrows. They heard footsteps and turned their attention to the approach of a serious-looking man with dark hair in his mid-thirties.

“Detectives Wilson and Hansen, sir,” they introduced themselves.

“I’m Doctor Browne. We can sit in there,” he gestured to the sitting room and they followed him to a grouping of chairs next to a bay window where Valerie sat.

They introduced themselves to the small, young woman with the large eyes.

“You can see the change in the weather from here. I rather like the view,” Fred said.

The detectives sat down and Herb first offered his condolences for the loss of Mrs. Latimer before he began with his questions.

“We’re trying to determine who had access to the Mrs. Latimer’s place setting at the reception.”

“Well, the waiters, of course,” Fred said.

“Yes, we know that already. But did you notice if anyone came up to the head table and talked to Mrs. Latimer?”

“Many people stopped at the head table. You see, my bride had been feeling ill, so there was not a receiving line at the reception. Unusual, of course, but needs must. Instead, the guests were standing about or sitting in the adjoining room, enjoying a drink and hors d’oeuvres, while our formal portrait was taken in a separate room. When we were done, we went into the anteroom and then the ballroom. People stopped us along the way, but I was intent on having Valerie sit down as soon as possible to prevent a relapse.”

“A relapse?” Herb asked.

“I fainted in the church,” Valerie said.

“Oh. That’s too bad. Are you all right now?”

“Yes, I think it was not having enough to eat. And nerves.”

Herb thought of the times someone fainted in a church wedding and it was usually because they were hungover. He glanced over at Bob to make sure he was taking notes but didn’t want to make eye contact in the event his partner would have the same thought.

“Can you remember who came up to the head table once your two families were seated?”

“It seems just about everybody. At first, I would stand up to talk, then sit down, then up again. I felt like a Jack in the Box, so I remained standing. Guests didn’t just talk to me, they, of course, talked to everyone in turn. It was sort of a seated receiving line,” Fred said.

“Did you happen to notice anyone in particular talking to Mrs. Latimer?”

“I couldn’t single anybody out. She was seated on the end and from the expression on her face, I thought she was not happy to be seated there.” He paused. “She was someone who was used to being the center of attention. And she had paid for the wedding, of course.”

“Not your parents?” Herb asked Valerie.

“No, she insisted. That was her wedding present to us. It was very generous.”

“Did you get along with Mrs. Latimer?” he asked Fred.

“I didn’t know her that well. I’d met Valerie’s parents many times but her grandmother only a few.”

“Did you get along with your grandmother?” Herb asked Valerie.

She blinked her eyes. “Yes, of course. She was my grandmother.”

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm her?”

“I’m afraid we didn’t know her in that capacity. I couldn’t tell you anything about her affairs,” Fred answered for them both.

“Is there anything you would like to add, Mrs. Browne?” Herb asked.

“No. Are you married?” she asked the two men.

Taken aback for a moment, they both answered yes.

“The wedding day is such an emotional event. There is so much pressure on the bride—I suppose that’s why I fainted. I couldn’t tell you who was at the reception and who was not. It was like a blur.” She gave a small laugh.

Fred gave Valerie a disapproving look.

“My wife and I eloped,” Herb said. “So it was very clear what happened. And nobody was there except the justice of the peace and his wife,” Herb said.

“You didn’t have witnesses?” Bob asked him.

“Sure. Their neighbors.” He laughed and then regretted it as Doctor Browne wasn’t in the mood for light humor.

“If there’s anything else you remember, please call us. It’s most unusual for something like this to occur in a place with so many people around.”

“Have you talked to the waiters yet? It would seem they are the most likely suspects,” Fred said.

“Someone else is doing that. But what possible motive would a waiter have to do what was done?”

“You never know.”

Amanda drove to the Latimers’ home with Hugh’s warning still ringing in her ears. The notion that Mr. Latimer or his wife could do such a thing was impossible. Yet family members were usually the most likely suspects in a murder investigation. Then her thoughts ran to Valerie. No, she couldn’t possibly have hatched such a scheme. Her old friend was intelligent, but certainly not cunning. And absolutely not mean-spirited.

She recognized two detectives passing in their unmarked car as she approached and wondered how the family could hold up, not only from the death of the matriarch, but also from the scrutiny they were now under. Mr. Latimer met with her alone in his study, and she could see the tremendous strain he was under from the dark circles under his eyes, barely disguised by his glasses. He shook her hand warmly and asked her to sit.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

“I have to ask you, Mr. Latimer, what do you think I can find out that the police can’t?”

“You know most of the people who were in that room. You were brought up with them, went to school with them, knew their families.”

“So did you. Maybe it is our familiarity with them that makes us blind to imagining that any of them could do such a thing.”

“Do you think the objectivity of the police is better?”

“Perhaps both approaches can complement each other.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Are you sure there was nobody who had a grudge against your mother?”

“Well, she was sharp when it came to business deals. Maybe someone resented that. But she never put anyone out of business to my knowledge. And certainly never swindled anybody.”

“May I ask you about your mother’s estate?”

“Of course. Mr. Wheeler at your father’s firm worked with her. Her will had been revised not too long ago. She was quite candid about her intentions with me and with Valerie.”

“I imagine Valerie shared that information with Fred,” Amanda said.

“I never asked her. I assume she did. She didn’t tell you?”

“That’s not the kind of thing we usually talked about. And what with the upcoming wedding, that was probably not foremost in her mind. I’ll need access to your mother’s household staff in the coming days.”

“What? They were at the church but not at the reception. You surely don’t suspect any of them. They’ve been with her for years.”

“Yes, but to be thorough, I really should speak with them. They may have seen or overheard something that could help.” She got up to leave.

“I don’t want anything to besmirch her memory.”

“Understood.”

On her way out, the maid who let her in stopped her.

“Miss Valerie wants to talk to you. She’s in her room.”

“Is Fred here?”

“He was but he’s left for the hospital.”

Amanda knew the way to her room, having been there so many times in years past. The door was closed and she knocked softly, calling out her friend’s name. The door flew open and Valerie pulled Amanda in, closing the door behind them.

“Oh, Amanda!” she wailed and threw herself into her friend’s arms.

“I know, I’m so sorry.”

Valerie pulled herself back with tears in her eyes. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

An awful thought sprang into Amanda’s mind: had she killed her own grandmother? And by mistake? Who had she meant to kill?

“It’s Fred. I never should have married him.”

Amanda exhaled in relief from her awful thought, only to be faced with her friend’s new dilemma.

“Sit down,” she said and pulled Valerie to sit on the bed beside her. “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened.” She glanced at the vanity with the lacy skirt and saw a man’s hairbrush on the glass top. At least they had spent the night together. Was that it?

“I got so caught up in the engagement excitement and fuss, the photo and announcement in the paper, the parties and teas. I didn’t see beyond my wedding day. Until it was my wedding day. He’s so cold and controlling. You must have known that—why didn’t you tell me?”

“Just because I dated him and we didn’t get on doesn’t mean I should have given you my opinion of him. You seemed perfectly happy.”

“The embarrassing thing is I seemed happy because I thought I ought to feel that way. Once the day loomed, I got cold feet. I told my mother, and she said that it was quite common and I’d get over it. But I didn’t. I told her again and she told me under no circumstances could I back out. The presents were here, the ballroom booked, all the guests had responded. She said Granny would cut us all off if I panicked.”

“So, you thought fainting would be a legitimate way to stop the proceedings?”

“That was real. As was the part when I came to and realized I was still in the dress and he was still going to be my husband.” She began to cry again. “What do I do now?”

Amanda realized she had no advice to give that could solve her friend’s problem. She kept quiet for the minutes it took for Valerie to let out her remorse, sigh and get up to blow her nose.

“And look at this,” Valerie said, holding up a small pill bottle. “He thinks I’m just upset about my grandmother. He wants me to take tranquilizers.”

“It wouldn’t hurt, would it?” Amanda smiled.

It was contagious and Valerie not only smiled, she began to laugh. “What a silly goose am I? A house of my own, a husband who’ll be working long hours, and nobody to tell me what to do. I’ve got it made.”

“Just don’t take too many of those,” Amanda said. “In fact, let’s have your father hold onto them for now.”

Valerie gave her a wounded look.

“Just to be safe.” Amanda held out her hand and dropped the bottle in her handbag.

Chapter 14

Amanda drove to Grandmother Latimer’s house, its curtains drawn and the familiar black wreath on the door. The maid who answered when she rang the bell looked surprised to have any visitors.

“I’m Amanda Burnside, and Mr. Latimer has given me permission to talk to all the staff. Is there a housekeeper or butler in charge?”

The maid stared for a moment and answered. “Mrs. Conroy is the housekeeper. I’ll get her for you. I’m sorry, come in, I’ll take your coat. What was your name again?”

Amanda was led to a sitting room with furniture that had been in style at the turn of the century. Valerie would have quite a job getting the place into the current one.

Someone cleared their throat and, looking up, Amanda saw a middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. She stood and introduced herself to the woman and they sat across from each other.

“I’m sorry to intrude at such a difficult time, but Mr. Latimer asked me to assist in finding out the circumstances of his mother’s death.”

“I thought they knew the circumstances.”

“I should have said finding out what motivation there could have been for it.”

“I don’t have any idea.”

“Did you witness anything in the days before that was out of the ordinary?”

“Of course. Her granddaughter was getting married and there were endless telephone calls back and forth about every detail. It was quite taxing for her, and she was a woman who had withstood many things in her life.”

Amanda paused and waited for the woman to continue.

“She had lost her husband and had to manage all of his affairs without having been informed about many of them.”

“Were you employed here at that time?”

“No, after his death. She needed someone to run the household while she took over what he had done.”

“What about her son? I thought he was involved in the businesses,” Amanda asked.

“Yes, but she was the one giving the directions, once she figured out what was where and how much things were worth. Men do like to keep their affairs to themselves, don’t they?”

“She did that all from here?”

“Oh, no. There is a place in the city that she would go to. At first, she didn’t think it was proper for a woman to work in an office, but then once she realized that she wasn’t working for anyone else, she changed her mind. She actually came to like going in each day. She left running the house to me, which wasn’t difficult as she was the only resident.”

“Did her son and daughter-in-law or Valerie come often?”

“No. She saw her son at the office every day. They had formal family dinners here on Sunday and aside from that, telephone calls. There are no other children or grandchildren.”

“Could you introduce me to the rest of the staff?” Amanda asked.

Mrs. Conroy stiffened. “I don’t see what they can tell you. I certainly know the comings and goings of this house better than they.”

“I’m sure you do. I just wanted to see if anyone had seen or heard anything strange in the recent past.”

“Very well. I’ll get them in here,” she answered before leaving.

It was not a productive hour that she spent talking to the cook, the chauffeur, and several maids. It seemed that Mrs. Latimer kept her staff at a distance to the extent that they only knew the granddaughter was getting married when some presents were delivered to her house rather than her son’s. They were still shocked at their employer’s passing and Amanda could feel the unease as they wondered if their employment would continue. It was a large house but only two people would be living in it and, as far as she knew, the will did not provide the funds to keep a staff of that size.

She asked the last person to let Mrs. Conroy know she was leaving but first wanted the address of the office. Anticipating the request, the housekeeper had already written it on a piece of paper for her as she left the house.

Brendan had staff interviews in mind, as well, except that he was on his way to the Latimers’ club with Hank, a detective who had been on the force for five years.

“How do you get to be a member?” Hank asked.

“First, you have to be nominated by someone. And then,” Brendan rubbed the fingertips of one hand together. “Initiation fee.”

“But you still have to pay for your meals if you eat there, right?”

“Yes, in addition to monthly fees.”

Hank scoffed. “Hardly seems worth it. Was the food any good at the wedding reception?”

“Not particularly. These folks don’t go in for ethnic foods or strong flavors.”

“Then I’m glad nobody has ever asked me.”

“They wouldn’t want the likes of us anyway.”

Since it was between mealtimes, they found Delaney, the restaurant manager, in his office with a large window that gave a view of the kitchen with a few chefs preparing for the dinner service.

“How can I help you?” he asked, ceasing to write but not getting up.

They removed their hats and introduced themselves. At that point, he stood up, shook their hands and suggested that they sit down.

“A most unfortunate event,” he said solemnly.

“You are aware of the details?” Brendan asked.

“Yes. I can’t imagine how something like that got into her food.”

“Coffee, to be exact.”

“Do you keep poison anywhere on the property?”

“The General Manager could best answer your question. I am only in charge of the kitchen, dining room and ballroom.”

“When there is an event such as a society wedding, do you normally stay to supervise?”

“Of course. The Latimer family men have been members for three generations. I was present, but behind the scenes to make sure that things went smoothly.”

“Until they didn’t,” Hank said.

Delaney shot a dismissive look at the gangly man in his too-large clothes.

“Are the waiters on duty now?” Brendan asked.

“They have a break until five.” He looked through the window to the kitchen to see what time it was. “You ought to come back then.”

“How many were working the Latimer reception?”

“Six were on the floor. Salads were already at the place settings, rolls on the table and water glasses filled. Once the salad course was finished, they cleared the tables and went back to serve the main course.”

“It was very good,” Brendan said.

The man smiled. “We do have some of the best chefs in Boston.”

“Could you write down the names of the waiters? Since there are so many, I’ll have some of my men assist in interviewing them.”

Delaney had a small crease between his eyes. “I know this is important, but I can assure you that none of them could possibly have a motive to do harm to one of the members. Their employment rests on the good reputation of the club. I ask that you be discreet in your questioning. I can provide you with a private space to do it.”

“That would be kind. What time would you say they start drifting back in?”

“In about a half an hour.”

“We’ll just take a walk around the block and be back then.” Brendan took Hank out the front doors of the club and suggested they have a coffee.

Down the block and around the corner was a small lunch place on the first floor of an office building. The sign on the inside of the glass door read ‘Closed,’ but they could see someone sweeping the floors.

Brendan knocked on the glass and the man looked up, irritated, before recognizing him and unlocking the door.

“Hey, Joe. Mind if we have a cup of coffee before you shut down entirely?”

“Have a seat. I’ll join you if you don’t mind.”

They sat at one of eight tables wedged against the wall while he brought out cups and saucers, a pitcher of milk and finally the carafe of coffee. He poured out three and sat down heavily.

“Been on my feet since seven. I’ve got to get out of this racket,” Joe said.

“Bet they’re hiring at the men’s club around the corner.”

Joe gave a withered smile. “I may not make a lot of money, but those guys have to suffer from the worst tippers in the world. And they work split shifts, too. At least I get to go home soon and stay there. I don’t know what they do when they’ve got to be there for lunch, punch out and then punch in a couple of hours later.”

“I guess it’s a job,” said Hank. “Whew, this coffee’s good.”

Joe winked at him. “I just put a drop in.”

“That’ll pep him up,” Brendan said. “Say, do you know the restaurant manager at that club?”

“I know of him. He used to work at the Parker House. Even snootier place than that men’s club. Someone bought it and booted him out to cut costs. He still acts like he’s working for the royal family or something.”

After some discussion of the up-and-coming local boxers, the detectives finished their coffee, tried to pay Joe—who refused—and then left. Not before slipping a dollar on the table when he wasn’t looking.

The first waiter to come back on duty was Bud, as he was introduced by Delaney, who didn’t think it was important to provide them with his last name. When he left the room, they got it from the man.

“Have you been here long?”

“Eight years. I’m part of the furniture.”

“You were serving at the Latimer reception on Valentine’s Day?”

“The one where the old lady dropped dead?”

“Yes. Were you assigned her table?”

“No. I had the southwest. That’s how we divide up the space. Albert got the head table.”

“Who decided the assignments?”

“Albert always gets the head table. He’s the tallest with the longest arms.”

Brendan and Hank thought he was joking and looked at each other.

“I’m not kidding! He can serve from behind or from the front ‘cause he can reach up.”

“Has he been here long?”

“Couple of months. Worked in some fancy places in New York before coming here.”

“Did you see anything unusual while you were working?”

Bud scoffed. “When you’re working, you’re flying around getting the meals out, trying not to drop or spill anything and someone’s always calling, ‘Boy!’ Although I’m almost forty. You’ve got no time to be paying attention to what the others are doing. I was back in the kitchen when all hell broke loose, and I ran out to see everyone standing up and some folks yelling.”

“I know. I was there, too.”

“Really? Well, why are you asking me all about it if you were there?”

“Like you, I was paying attention to the people at my table.”

Bud found the entire process puzzling and when he left, he ushered in the next waiter, who had the same story to tell: that he had been too busy to see what the others were doing. They made it through Henry, Jimmy and Gene with the same results. Albert, however had not showed up for his shift.

“Do you have an address for him?” Brendan asked Delaney.

“I have the address he gave me,” he corrected, both implying the man’s lack of honesty and his own lack of accountability if the waiter had lied.

“Let’s go then,” Brendan said to Hank and they went swiftly to the car and drove toward Southie.

Chapter 15

With a change of assignment, Dominic and Art were in Beacon Hill at Hextilda Browne’s house, seated and waiting patiently for her, her daughter and the son-in-law to come to the dining room. The cook had heard voices and put her head around the corner of the door to the kitchen. She nodded to them.

“I bet you’d like a hot cup of coffee on a cold day like this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dominic said.

She must have just made a fresh pot since she brought the two cups out to the men immediately and looked them over.

“This about the Latimer woman?” she asked, arms crossed over her chest.

“Yes,” Dominic said.

“What a thing to have happen,” she said. “That’s what you get eating out, not knowing who is preparing your food. Stay home, I say.”

Footsteps approached and the cook gave a wink and moved quickly back to the kitchen.

The detectives stood up at the arrival of the three people who looked surprised that coffee had been served without them and introductions were made.

Dominic was most surprised at the older woman, whose clothing was haphazard as if she had gotten dressed with her eyes closed. She wore an outdated mid-length flapper dress and long string of beads under a tweed jacket topped by a voluminous scarf. He almost couldn’t take his eyes off her as she fiddled with her gray hair, attempting to push it back into a bun, and wondered if perhaps she was addled in her old age. Feeling his eyes on her, she smiled brightly.

Her daughter was cold poise itself, looking bored before the first question had been asked. In contrast, her husband was at full attention, nodding as the detective explained their mission.

“I’m sorry,” Caroline said. “I don’t see what Mrs. Latimer’s death has to do with us. Yes, we were seated at the head table, but she was at the other end from me. I couldn’t even hear her, had she spoken.”

“We’re more interested in who approached the head table.”

José and Caroline looked at each other before he spoke. “So many people came up to congratulate the groom and bride.”

“That’s because they didn’t have a proper receiving line at the reception. And Valerie fainting at the altar cut short any opportunity for people to speak to them until they got to the club.”

“It was rather chaotic,” Hextilda said.

“Did you notice anyone in particular come up to Mrs. Latimer?”

“I couldn’t really see much as I was at the other end of the table. With a flower arrangement to my right obscuring my view,” Caroline said.

“I was seated next to her, but I still don’t know many people here,” José said.

“I’m surprised anyone came up to her. She was in a foul mood,” Caroline said.

“Why was that?”

“I suppose because the most important day of her only grandchild’s life was spoiled by that grandchild herself.”

“Now, now,” José said to her.

“Were you and Mrs. Latimer on good terms?” Dominic asked.

Caroline stifled a snort.

Hextilda looked down at her beads and furrowed her brow. “I would say perfectly fine.”

“She could be very demanding and overbearing,” Caroline added. “By tradition the bride’s family pays for everything, and to her that meant that she could dictate every stage of the event. Fred didn’t want such a big wedding and Valerie was caught in the middle.”

Art was writing these details down but couldn’t imagine that a disagreement about wedding details could result in a murder.

“Do you know of anyone who wished Mrs. Latimer harm?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know enough about her affairs to give an opinion,” Caroline said. She looked down at her dainty wristwatch and said to her husband, “Don’t you have to get going?”

Taking this as a hint to leave, Dominic thanked them all and Art closed up his notebook.

On the way to the car, they just looked at each other and shook their heads.

“How can a room full of so many people not see anything?” Art observed.

“My old stomping grounds,” Hank said as they turned from Dorchester Street to West Seventh Street lined with multifamily clapboard houses built right next to one another. “Well, not exactly. I had to stick to three streets over. Guys here were protecting their territory.”

“From what?” Brendan asked.

“Mostly us.” Hank looked down at the piece of paper with the waiter’s address. “Just up the hill there,” he said.

There were some cars parked along the street but for the most part the inhabitants of this stretch of the neighborhood could not afford a car. And public transportation was cheap enough and near enough not to need one.

“Well, someone’s home,” Hank said, seeing a light on in the downstairs living room through the sheer curtains that otherwise blocked passersby from seeing into the house.

They rang the lower doorbell and saw one of the curtains twitch before a woman came to the front door. It was then that she turned the porch light on.

“Yeah?” she asked, tucking her thick cardigan around her torso.

“We’re looking for Albert.”

“Who is?”

Brendan identified himself and she just stared.

“He’s not here.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“He left yesterday.”

“Where to?”

“What’s this about?”

“He was working at a club in town and someone died. He didn’t show up for work today and we’re wondering why.”

She said nothing for a minute. “He said he was going to New York to look for work. He didn’t like the snobs in that place, including his boss.”

“I can understand that. I didn’t like him myself.”

That got a heave of her chest that he took for a laugh.

“That’s all I know.” She began to close the door.

“Wait a minute. He may be in danger. If he was assigned to the head table, he might have seen something.”

She stared at them for a long time.

“Come in. But stay here,” she said, indicating the chilly hallway.

She went into the back of the house and after some minutes was followed by a tall man in his mid-twenties with rumpled hair wearing a wool sweater. He stopped short as if determining whether to go back.

“Brendan Halloran. We’re here to ask you what you may have seen at the wedding reception.”

“Which one?”

Brendan had the urge to roll his eyes. “The Latimer thing at the men’s club.”

Albert shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Did you see anyone put something in the woman’s coffee cup?”

“Which one was she?”

Brendan exhaled in exasperation. “The woman who keeled over before the cake was cut.”

“Ah. No, I didn’t see anything strange.”

“So why didn’t you go into work today?”

“I wasn’t feeling so good,” he said.

“The real reason.”

“Look, I lied to Delaney when I applied for the job in the first place. I didn’t work in those places in New York. I just knew people who did. I figured he wasn’t going to make a long-distance call for references.”

“Are you on parole?” Brendan asked.

The lack of response told him the answer.

“Besides, if anyone wanted to bump off the old lady, it would have been Delaney.”

“Why?”

“She bought the hotel where he used to work and fired him and some others to cut costs. He had nothing good to say about her once he found out they had rented the place for the reception. Go ask him some questions.”

“Well, well,” Brendan said as they drove back to the club. “Let’s see if Delaney’s memory has improved.”

They walked down the hallway to the office off the kitchen.

“Whatever that is, it smells incredible,” Hank said. “I thought you said the food wasn’t so great?”

“It was banquet food, not what you would order off the menu. It was fine; I like something with a bit of a kick to it.”

Brendan knocked on the closed door although they could see Delaney seated at his desk through the window. He looked up and motioned for them to come in.

“Is there something else?” he asked in a peeved tone.

“We just tracked down Albert.”

“Good for you. I hope you told him he’s out of a job.”

“That’s for you to do. Although he probably plans on moving on,” Brendan said. Neither he nor Hank had removed their hats as they stood in front of his desk.

“Tell me about your history with Mrs. Latimer.”

Delaney stiffened a bit but said in a nonchalant way, “She contacted me about having the reception here although it was clear she had hoped to have it somewhere else.”

“No, I mean the history prior to the reception.”

Delaney feigned a puzzled face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Did you ever work for her?”

“No,” he answered emphatically.

“Sorry, I phrased that incorrectly. Did you work at the Parker House before she bought it?”

“Yes.”

“And did she let you go when she bought it?”

“Along with many others. She was interested in saving money by gutting the staff. If you’ve been there since her takeover, you’ll see how the quality of the food and the service has gone downhill.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Brendan said. “Were you in the dining room during the Latimer reception?”

“I was at the back of the room. Observing and making sure the flow of service was up to standards. At no time during the reception was I in the front of the room. Nowhere near Mrs. Latimer. I couldn’t stand to be anywhere near that person, if you must know.” He lifted his chin up after uttering those words, almost challenging Brendan to accuse him of somehow poisoning the woman’s coffee.

Brendan didn’t take the bait. He just nodded his head and they left.

Chapter 16

The next day, Amanda went to her office to check on messages before tackling a review of her notes to date. Hugh appeared at her open door as she stood shuffling through files.

“Hello,” she said. “How are you doing?”

“Very well. The Latimer will seems tightly constructed, although I’ll have one of the partners give it a going over. It also seems that the family were well aware of the provisions. So, no surprises there.”

“Yes, there doesn’t seem to be much motivation for one of the family to have killed her unless they were anxious to get their inheritance sooner rather than later.”

“True, but you never know. I had the pleasure of meeting her with Mr. Wheeler once and I thought her a most unpleasant person.”

Amanda looked up at him. “I’d only seen her at formal events and she seemed intimidating.”

“More than that. It was ‘you need to’ and ‘you have to’ rather than ‘I was thinking that I might…’ as most women would say.”

“She was head of a significant fortune and holdings and used to giving orders, I suppose.”

“How are the police doing on the search for the perpetrator?”

“It’s slow going with so many people at the reception and many greeting the people at the head table when they got to the ballroom. They’re bound to find something.”

Hugh murmured something and left.

Brendan went to the police lab and saw Clyde hard at work looking at something under a microscope.

“I’ve come to rescue you,” Brendan said as Clyde’s head poked up and he turned around.

“Are you very busy?”

“Always something to be done. What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to Mr. Wheeler’s club to see if I can find out more about his last day there. My curiosity has been piqued by the notion that a wealthy woman died only a day before her attorney. It did seem to tie back to the family although I can’t pinpoint what specific motive there might be. Maybe we can view the accident scene and talk to some of the staff.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Wheeler’s club was one of the oldest, strictly men-only club in the city that had a large reading room, a dining room and bedrooms upstairs. Brendan imagined that members could sleep there if they had an early business meeting the next day but more likely to get away from the family for the night. The entire club was wood-paneled and somber, and the man at the front desk looked as though he had been there since the middle of the last century.

Brendan explained who they were and asked to see where Mr. Wheeler’s body had been found.

“Poor Mr. Wheeler. He wasn’t very steady on his pins. But what a sad way to go. We shall miss him greatly. Let me just get someone to cover and I’ll take you upstairs.” He rang the bell on the desk and a bellboy came out from a back room, expecting to carry luggage upstairs.

“I’ll be back shortly. You know what to do.”

They went toward the back of the first floor and up a wide staircase to the second floor before ascending a narrower set of stairs to the third floor.

“He tumbled down these stairs and Robert, the bellboy, found him at the bottom.”

“What’s up there?”

“Ten bedrooms. Mr. Wheeler was in the habit of having lunch, then nipping upstairs for a nap.”

“Was he meeting anyone, do you suppose?”

The man looked aghast. “We don’t allow women in this club.”

“I didn’t mean a woman. Perhaps a colleague or fellow member.”

“I beg your pardon. I don’t know if he was expecting to meet someone. The reading room downstairs is exactly that: for reading, not conversation. We’re quite strict about that. There is another room where members can chat or have a drink. That’s where he would have met someone, I think.”

“Thank you,” Brendan said. “We’ll just take a look around, if you don’t mind.”

“Go right ahead. Let me know if you need anything else.”

The two detectives mounted the stairs.

“Handrails,” Clyde said. “You’d think he would have held on if he wasn’t steady on his pins, as the man said. What was the post-mortem report for cause of death?”

“Broken neck. Not a stroke or heart attack that could have caused him to lose his balance.”

Brendan had pulled a small flashlight from his overcoat pocket and scanned each carpeted step from side to side as they went up. On the third step from the top the carpet rod had been dislodged from one of its moorings and the material bunched up with a small rip.

They looked at one another.

“That looks like a forceful slip,” Clyde said. “Was he a large man?”

“Average and, like many older men, slim.”

“Hm. The carpet rod could have been tampered with or perhaps it just came loose over time. He could have slipped, but…”

“Someone could have pushed him,” Brendan finished. “Since we had treated it as an accident, nobody talked to his widow to ask if there were any enemies. I suppose we’ll have to do that now.”

“Right now?” Clyde asked.

“Sorry, I meant soon. And I’ll do it. You’re more valuable in the lab. Before we go, let’s talk to this Robert person.”

They descended the stairs and went back to the front desk.

“We’d like to talk to Robert, if he’s here.”

“Yes, just a moment.” He rang the bell and the same young man who had been there before came out.

“Can you come upstairs and show us where you found Mr. Wheeler?”

Robert looked over to the man behind the desk who waved him on. “It’s fine. They’re just following up on some details.”

“How long have you worked here?” Brendan asked as they went to the wide staircase to the second floor.

“Since the crash. My father lost his job so I left school and got lucky to get this job. He still calls me a bellboy, but I suppose I’m more of a bellman now.” He smiled. “Work’s not too hard, people are nice, the pace is slow. I get free meals, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ve gone back to night school to finish up high school.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be done in June. Then the world could be my oyster.”

They reached the stairway to the third floor and stopped at the lower landing.

“He was sprawled out here with one leg bent underneath.” He gave a shiver. “I’ve never seen an accident victim before. He was a nice man.”

“How long was he here before you found him, do you think?”

“Not long. I was on the second floor and I heard someone cry out and a thump. I came up quickly and saw him there.”

“Did you see anyone else around?”

“No. But I did hear a noisy conversation some minutes before. It was loud enough that I could hear it downstairs.”

“Did you catch any of the words that were said?”

“Something like ‘what do you want?’ That was all.”

“Angry? Accusing?” Brendan asked.

“No, more like a question. I can’t be more specific.”

“I wanted to know if you had seen this,” Brendan said, walking up the steps and pointing to the carpet rod that jutted out at an angle.”

“Jeepers! Do you think he slipped on that?”

“Are these the only stairs up to the third floor?”

“No, these are the front stairs. There are back stairs that we’re supposed to use.” He led them to the upper landing and walked them to the end of the hall and pointed. “I guess we’re supposed to have two means of exit in the event of fire.”

Brendan opened the door to a set of uncarpeted stairs to the second floor and then another set to the first. He closed the door.

“Can you show me what room he was in?”

“Sure thing.” He reached in his pocket for a pass key and led them back down the hall to Room 8. It was simply furnished with a single bed, a dresser and chair and its own bathroom. Looking through the dresser and the night table, Brendan didn’t see any personal items and remarked upon it.

“Members don’t have reserved rooms. They use whatever may be available, since members who are from out of town and visiting are given priority. I know he was in this one because I was on this floor when he came up after lunch and I opened the door for him.”

“Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”

Robert nodded and went quickly back to his post in the room behind the front desk while they stayed upstairs.

Clyde bent down to examine the torn piece of carpet with a magnifying glass he extracted from his pocket. “It looks like the force of the incident pulled the fastener out of the step. But where is it?”

He crouched and looked at each subsequent step. “Is that it?” He picked up something shiny near the bottom and held it in front of his face. “A cufflink. Old folks trip all the time. But this looks like there was some force behind it to knock or pull a cufflink off. Pushed? Why? And by whom?”

“Something to do with Mrs. Latimer?” Brendan asked. “He was her attorney, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” Clyde said.

As they drove back to the station, Brendan asked if he could show Amanda around the lab since she was now a private investigator and could make note of the forensic capabilities.

“She’s due in about a half an hour,” he said looking at his watch. Clyde agreed.

Dominic was waiting for Brendan in his office.

“What’s up?” he asked, removing his hat and coat.

“We found a witness at the scene where the pedestrian got hit. He says the man was crossing at the corner and Deegan was going very fast. He also said after the man bounced off his front fender, Deegan kept going but stalled out. We almost had a hit and run on our hands.”

“One of the attorneys in Amanda’s father’s firm is handling the case for the injured man.”

“I hope we’re not going to get pressure to let the kid off,” Dominic said.

“We’ll see. Whatever the judge may give him will be nothing compared to what the lawyer will squeeze out of him and the Mayor to keep it quiet. Is the victim still in the hospital?”

“As far as I know.

“Hello, there,” Amanda said, breezing in. “Hi, Dominic. Must be busy here as nobody is out in the bullpen.”

“You’re early,” Brendan said. “Say, would you like to see the lab?”

“Absolutely,” she answered as Dominic left.

She put her coat over the chair facing his desk and, leaning over, gave him a peck on the cheek.

“That’s it?”

“What if the Chief happened to come in?”

“He’d be delighted, I’m sure. Something to hold against me.”

Brendan led the way past the open area, where the detectives worked, down a hall to a room facing north with plenty of light even on a cloudy day as that was. Clyde was already in his lab coat and looking at the cufflink, turning it over with his fingers.

“Clyde, you remember Amanda,” Brendan said and they nodded at each other.

“What have you got there?” Amanda asked.

“A gold cufflink with a small diamond in it. I believe it belonged to Mr. Wheeler.” He handed it to Brendan. “I suppose his wife will be able to identify it. Or not.”

“Where did you find it?” Amanda asked.

“On the steps at the club. At the bottom where he landed.”

They were silent a few moments with thoughts and motives whirling in their heads before Amanda spoke up.

“What kind of wonderful equipment do you have here?” she asked.

“Nothing very sophisticated, I’m afraid. Microscope. Here,” he reached over and pulled a hair from Amanda’s head to her great surprise. He did the same to Brendan.

“Torture chamber more like,” she said, rubbing her head.

“Take a look,” he said after positioning the hairs side by side under the lens of the scope.

“Well, you can certainly tell them apart,” she said after bending to look at the specimens.

“Now, if I change the lens to magnify it more, you can see the cuticle on the hair shaft.”

Amanda bent again. “Oh, my.”

“Because I pulled your hair out, you can see the root. If I had taken it out of your hairbrush, however, you might not have seen that. It’s the difference in whether someone exerted force. I presume you don’t dye your hair,” Clyde said.

“No,” Amanda answered, taken aback by his boldness.

“If you did, I could take a strand and put it in alcohol or acetone to leach the color out. That’s how you know if someone has altered their hair color.”

“Of course, you can also see the new growth, the roots, I would think,” she said.

“True. You can also see damage on the hair shaft if you get a permanent wave or apply curling irons. A lot of information from a small sample,” he said.

“Amanda and I are going to lunch. Would you care to join us?” Brendan asked.

“Thank you for the offer, but Maria packs me a lunch. I’m having veal parmesan and pasta.”

Amanda and Brendan looked at each other in surprise.

“I’m sorry, it’s only one portion,” Clyde said.

Brendan laughed. “We wouldn’t think of imposing. We’re off to Catalano’s anyway. Some hot soup will do us well on a cold day.”

As they walked to the front entrance of the police station, Brendan said, “He’s still a bit of an odd duck, but I’m glad to see that he has some positive qualities.”

“Yanking out a woman’s hair is not one of them. Even for the sake of a scientific demonstration. And who is this person making him elaborate lunches?”

“That’s Marie, Dominic’s widowed cousin. She’s his landlady.”

“Nice arrangement,” Amanda said.

“Aren’t you going to pack me lunches like that when we’re married?” Brendan asked.

“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to ruin the romance of eating at Catalano’s, dear,” she said with a smile.

Chapter 17

After lunch, Brendan went by himself to the Wheeler residence. It was a sad and uncomfortable meeting with the poor woman who so recently had hopes of a calm retirement with her husband and who was now alone. She didn’t seem to want to talk very much so Brendan asked if the cufflink belonged to her husband.

“Oh, yes! It was my wedding gift to him many years ago. The funeral home sent me his clothes and I assumed one of the cufflinks got lost on the way.”

“He must have dropped it at his club,” Brendan lied. He was now more certain that the man had been pushed and the jewelry had come off in the scuffle, but he didn’t want to distress the widow with his suspicions just yet. He expressed his condolences upon leaving and was still bothered by the lack of coherence of the events.

Next on his schedule was stopping by the Latimers’ business office to get an idea of the scope of their dealings. It was in a building that was the bastion of Boston finance and he was sure the rent was high. But, in business, as in other realms, appearances were paramount. He took the elevator to one of the top floors where the Latimer Company was located and easily found the office. A middle-aged woman sat in the outer office and seemed surprised to have an unannounced visitor.

Brendan introduced himself and asked if Mr. Latimer was in.

“No. Don’t you know there was a death in the family? His mother.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here. I was wondering if I could look around?”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t think Mr. Latimer would like that.” She reached for the telephone and began to dial.

Brendan put his hand out to disconnect the call and she hung up the receiver.

“I can come back with a search warrant if you’d like to make a fuss.”

Her mouth set in a hard line.

“Mrs. Latimer’s office is to your left and Mr. Latimer’s to your right.”

“Thank you.” He was surprised at her reaction as well as his own. But it got the job done. He left his hat on a chair in the reception room and went into Mrs. Latimer’s office first. It was neat with documents on the desktop and files in a wire organizer on a credenza behind the desk. He didn’t know what to expect and flipping through the folders didn’t provide anything useful. There was a portrait of a stern man above the credenza, probably the late Mr. Latimer. He put his hand on the frame and found that it was on a hinge and a safe was behind it. Guarding the family fortune, even in death.

Mr. Latimer’s office was more cluttered, as if he were the one doing more of the work. Files were open on the desk and his credenza had four organizers jammed with file folders. He picked one up that was labeled with an address and opened it to see a balance sheet of profit and loss. This property seemed to not be in the best financial shape. He opened another and saw something similar. Brendan had always heard that real estate was the key to stability and fiscal success. These two folders seemed to indicate otherwise.

He returned to the reception area and thanked the woman, picked up his hat and left. As he was closing the door behind him, he could hear her dialing the telephone again. What was it that she was so concerned about? He made a note to talk to Mr. Latimer at his home the next day.

Amanda was back at her office and was surprised to have Miss Brunson call her to go to her father’s office.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Burnside.”

“Same to you, Miss Burnside,” he said with a smile.

“I know you get paid to do our investigations for us, but I had another task that I think you could take on. The young woman who tallies the timesheets for billable hours has the flu and won’t be back until next week, if that. I don’t want to ask one of the secretaries because this is personal information. Do you think you could take that on in the meantime?”

“I suppose. What does it entail?”

“Like you, everyone fills out their timesheet with how many hours or portions thereof were spent with a client, drafting a document or researching. It’s a matter of making sure that each person has filled out the timesheet completely. Sometimes people forget to indicate which client or whatever. Not the most interesting job but it has to be done.”

“I have time today. When do you need it done?”

“By end of work tomorrow. We have a bookkeeper to give it one last look after you’re done, so don’t worry too much about it being perfect.”

“Very good.”

“Miss Brunson will give you the stack in a little bit.”

It sounded like a mundane task, but one that would give her insight into who was doing what, although how much they were charging per hour was not on the timesheets. That was a more private matter. When the documents arrived, she delved right into it and, for curiosity’s sake, wanted to see if Emerson was on the payroll. He was not listed by name, but Hugh had written ‘outside investigator’ with a substantial number of hours under ‘other expenses.’ Because Emerson was not an employee, his hourly rate was listed, as well as a request to reimburse for gasoline and miscellaneous. She was shocked at how much he was charging per hour and thought that was a conversation she had to have with her father about increasing her wage. She had been licensed as a private investigator—which didn’t take much except testimonials from reliable individuals. But she didn’t know if Emerson even had those credentials. Attached to Hugh’s timesheet was a breakdown of the time that Emerson had spent with various clients or entities.

Looking back to Hugh’s timesheet she saw that he had listed a client meeting and research between the hours when she had seen him walking on the street just the day before with that distinctive slouch hat, the lapels of his coat pulled high against the wind. Had he made a mistake? Did some of the lawyers pad their timesheets and, if questioned, could blush and admit they made an error? If she hadn’t seen him on the street, no one would ever question his accounting. Was Hugh overcharging his clients? And more troubling, did all of them do that?

Amanda thought back to make sure there was no mistake about the day she had seen him—and she remembered mentioning it to Brendan at the time. Should she ask Hugh about the discrepancy or leave it be for the moment and ask her father how to proceed? Life in the business world could be complicated.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the telephone ringing and the operator putting through Valerie, who sounded in tears.

“What is it?” Amanda asked.

“I think Fred had something to do with my grandmother’s murder.”

“What? Why would you say that? First, where are you?”

“I’m at my parents’ house. Fred’s not here. He’s at the hospital.”

“Pull yourself together and tell me what’s going on.”

Valerie exhaled. “Before the wedding, my grandmother had us all to dinner. Not Fred’s family, but my family and him. She explained the provisions of her will and I could see that he was shocked to know we would be coming into a significant property in the coming years.”

“I imagine he would have been,” Amanda said.

“I think he was shocked because he thought my grandmother didn’t approve of his family or perhaps him. But that wasn’t the case. She even said she was so happy that I hadn’t gotten further entangled with ‘that ginger-haired good-for-nothing, Emerson.’”

That comment knocked the wind out of Amanda. “What an extraordinary thing to say! Not just to mention a former fiancé to the current one shortly before the marriage, but to call him a good-for-nothing and then comment on the color of his hair as if it were a personal shortcoming!”

“That was my grandmother. She didn’t hold back from her opinions. She thought that his red hair indicated that his ancestors might have been Irish.” Valerie stopped short, realizing her comment was inappropriate as Brendan’s family was Irish.

Amanda was well aware of the ongoing prejudice against people of non-English background, even in what she considered modern times. But to have someone say it out loud was another matter. When Amanda had been putting together children’s clinics for Mercy Hospital in the city’s neighborhoods, she had had a hard time getting the other debutantes to volunteer. She assumed they had busy schedules or their parents didn’t want them to become ‘career girls.’ It finally dawned on her that the families didn’t want their daughters mingling with ‘those people.’

“You very well know that Emerson is descended from good Yankee stock,” Amanda said before feeling ashamed that she had uttered those words. As if other people came from bad stock.

Then she added, “It was a hurtful thing for your grandmother to say, but what makes you think that Fred would act out against her?”

“He was very quiet during the rest of the dinner, but then I noticed he was looking around the dining room at the display of silver, the antique chairs, the Persian carpet as if he were doing an inventory of what we would inherit. My grandmother was in good health—she could have lived another twenty years!”

“That doesn’t mean he was thinking of killing her.”

“He took all those classes in medical school. He once told me never to mix bleach with ammonia, for example.”

Amanda held the receiver away from her face for a moment, wondering what brought that on. “Why would you think of doing that in the first place?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Valerie said, sounding more frantic. “I just mean that he knows about chemicals, and doctors need to know about poisons and how to treat them, don’t they?”

“Your point is valid about his education. But that doesn’t mean that he somehow got hold of cyanide and decided that your wedding day was the best occasion to kill your grandmother.”

Amanda could hear Valerie’s rapid breathing slowing down.

“Do you imagine he had it clutched in his fist the whole time waiting to put it into her coffee cup?”

“No,” came the small voice.

“His admiration for your grandmother’s home doesn’t mean anything more than that. I hope you haven’t shared this idea with the police or your parents.”

After they finished their conversation, Amanda thought that it might be more likely that her parents had an interest in the grandmother’s early death. The Latimers already owned a house—they didn’t need hers, too. But coming in control of all the real estate and businesses sooner rather than later was a motive to consider. No sooner had the thought come into her mind than she dismissed it. I’m beginning to sound like a detective.

The detective closest to her heart called her later and revived the notion of Mr. Latimer’s desire to hasten his inheritance when he told her what few things he had seen in the man’s office.

“I’m no accountant, but usually red on a Profit and Loss statement is not a good sign,” Brendan said.

“Do you think their empire was in trouble and he was hesitant to tell his mother?” she asked.

“It’s entirely possible.”

“But why did he hire me to do a separate investigation?”

“To throw me off the scent? To validate his affection for his mother? To feed you false clues?”

“Let me give it some thought. I don’t think he has provided me with any clues at all.”

“What I do know is that his secretary was not happy that I appeared unannounced to look at their office space. It’s not as if I could deduce anything significant by rifling through some file folders. It was more her wary attitude that affected me.”

Amanda had to laugh. “You’re a detective. And a darned good one. Of course, she had reason to be wary.”

Chapter 18

No sooner had Brendan finished his conversation with Amanda than the Chief strolled into his office. Brendan was about to spring to his feet, but his boss patted his hand in the air indicating that he should sit.

“How’s the Latimer thing coming along?”

“Very slowly. And then her attorney falls—or was pushed—down a flight of stairs at his club.”

The Chief raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that.”

Brendan had a moment of pride that he, for once, knew something before the Chief did, but then realized that he should have informed him earlier. To save face, he said, “We only came to that theory after looking more closely at the scene of the accident today.”

The Chief nodded. “There’s something else going on that I wanted to talk to you about. What do you know about this accident of Deegan’s where he knocked a man down? I’m hearing there are two sides to the story.”

“From what I know, the man is in the hospital, broken hip and maybe other injuries and heavily drugged. I’m not sure anyone got a coherent statement from him. But a witness came forward to verify the idea that he was crossing the street at a corner and Deegan came around at a high speed and knocked him down.”

The Chief winced. “That son of a gun,” he muttered. “Bad apple. Stepchildren can be a problem. Especially boys. Any in your family?” he said with a smirk.

“Boys, yes. No stepchildren or bad apples that I know of.”

“The Mayor’s wife is a saint. Patient, gorgeous, real asset to his career. But that kid of hers…”

“I guess you never know how a child is going to turn out,” Brendan said.

“Now here’s the deal. I get the impression that the guy in the hospital is trying to take the Mayor for all he can get.”

“Why do you think that? Don’t they have car insurance?” Brendan asked.

“Sure. But someone told me that some punk was shooting off his mouth in a bar about how he knew something that the Mayor wouldn’t want to be made public. It sounds like the news is getting out, which could mean blackmail. While you’re investigating the car accident, how about taking a look into the folks who are pushing for a settlement?”

“I’ll ask Dominic to follow up on that.”

The Chief leaned forward. “I want you to look into it. And report back to me.” He gave a smile and left Brendan’s office.

The detective sighed. The Mayor appointed the Police Commissioner, so the Chief obviously wanted to protect his interests. But the last thing Brendan wanted to do was get mixed up in some political mess. He went out to the bullpen and beckoned Dominic into his office and closed the door.

“Things are about to get a bit sticky,” he began.

Dominic sat down. “Oh, great,” he said and scratched his neck. “What does the Chief want us to do now?”

“Not sure entirely except to guarantee that the Mayor gets reelected when the time comes and the Chief retains his position as the Police Commissioner. Easy as pie.”

“Is this about the car accident?” Dominic asked.

“You’re on the ball. What’s going on with it?”

“Deegan first said the man was jaywalking. Then, after a witness turned up, he says he’s sorry but the man just came out of nowhere. He won’t admit to having more than ‘one beer,’ which everyone says and we know, so that his insurance will cover the bills.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The doctor and the attorney for the man are keeping him isolated. That’s okay, but I get the impression that they may be padding the bills.”

“He’s got a broken hip, right?”

“Yes, but they’re looking at keeping him in the hospital for as long as it takes to recover, may six to eight weeks rather than sending him home sooner. And they’re going to sue for lost wages, I heard, and the famous pain and suffering.”

“Wait—who is representing the man?”

“A guy named Hugh Van Eaton.”

“Oh, boy,” Brendan said.

“What?”

“He works in Amanda’s father’s firm. Things have just got more complicated.”

“Look at it this way. If Amanda is on the inside, maybe she can poke around to find out what’s going on with that particular case.”

“Talk about conflict of interest,” Brendan said. He bit his lip. “I’ll have to be careful how I phrase it to her.”

“Take her out to dinner,” Dominic suggested.

“That’s not so special. I take her out all the time.”

“Do you know how to cook?”

Brendan looked at Dominic as if he had lost his mind.

“Invite her to your place and make her a meal.”

Brendan just stared.

“Okay, ask your mother to make something that you can pretend to have made and that will put her in the proper mood.”

“I don’t know…”

Despite his reservations, as soon as Dominic left the room, he called his mother and asked what was for dinner that night.

“Corned beef, cabbage and potatoes. Why? Are you coming over?”

“Do you think you could make a little extra that I could pick up and bring back to my apartment?”

“Why don’t you just join us here?”

“I need to ask Amanda for a special favor.”

His mother was speechless for a moment. “You’ve already asked her to marry you. What are you up to now?”

“Nothing like that. It’s about a case we’re both working on.”

“Sounds fishy to me,” she said.

“It is fishy. That’s why I need to soften the blow. Or at least distract her from what I’m really asking her to do.”

“It had better not be anything illegal or dangerous!”

“No, not at all. I’ll explain it when things have settled down. When can I pick up dinner?”

Amanda was still puzzling over the time discrepancy in Hugh’s timesheet when she started to wonder if it would be wise to ask him about it. After several minutes of deliberation, she went to his office with his timesheet in her hand. His secretary was not at her post, so she knocked on the closed door and, after he called out, she went in and shut the door behind her.

“Hi, this is somewhat unusual. Mr. Burnside asked me to look over the timesheets because the woman who does it is out with the flu.”

Hugh looked at her with wide eyes.

“I know, sort of odd. But this is weird. I saw that you indicated that you were with a client yesterday.”

He put his hand out to look at what she was referring to. She handed him the timesheet.

“Yes, we were talking about his estate. Why?”

“This is going to sound very strange, but I was out of the office, driving at that time, I could swear that I saw you walking along the street.”

Hugh blinked. “I’m not able to be in two places at once. Although it would be very convenient at times.” He gave a laugh.

“The thing is, you—whoever it was—had the same slouch hat that you wear. You were bundled against the cold with the lapel turned up to your neck. I couldn’t see your face. Isn’t that odd?”

Hugh laughed. “I’ll say. I’ve had enough derision from the young men here about my choice of hat and now to find out someone else had copied my style!” He laughed.

“I guess you must be setting a fashion trend,” Amanda said. “Listen, I don’t know if I should be talking to you about this, but do you know anything about the state of the Latimer trust?”

Hugh had a blank look. “You mean the will and its provisions?”

“No, I mean how much the estate might be worth?”

He blew out his cheeks. “I don’t know the actual dollar value. Mrs. Latimer hadn’t had the house appraised for several years. Not until she last renewed the insurance on it. But I think the idea was that the house and contents would be worth less than the real estate, rents, businesses and so forth that her son inherited. She wanted to be fair, but also to be certain that Valerie was securely settled. I got the impression she had some hesitation about the earning power of Doctor Browne.”

“Really? I thought he was doing quite well. He’s in a senior position at the hospital, he’s frugal and he lives with his mother so, to my knowledge, pays no rent.”

“He may be subsidizing his mother and sister,” Hugh suggested.

“That seems unlikely. Caroline’s husband comes from a wealthy family,” Amanda said.

“Then why are they living with her brother and mother? Sometimes these so-called wealthy families once were doing well and they’re living off their reputation rather than hard cash.”

“Maybe so, but José fronted the money for the Oasis nightclub. I have no idea how much that was, but it had to be substantial. I don’t think Rob Worley had enough on his own and, during Prohibition, he wouldn’t have been able to get a bank loan, even if banks had been loaning money, which they weren’t doing much of.”

“Your mind just goes clackety-clack,” Hugh said with a smile.

“What does that mean?” she asked, not taking it as a compliment.

“Going from one fact or theory to another in rapid succession. It’s a sign of a logical mind.”

Amanda blushed a bit. “And if Hextilda Browne was in such bad financial shape, where had she been spending money?”

“Perhaps her deceased husband left her with debts,” he suggested.

“Good point. Nobody ever speaks about him. I don’t think I could recall his name if I tried.”

“Here’s another idea: perhaps her bestselling books are being purchased by her to inflate the ratings and sales.”

“Do authors actually do that?” Amanda asked.

“I have heard of something to that effect. She may also be publishing with what is called a vanity press, where the author pays the company to publish them. I have no idea what the usual arrangement is for distribution or royalty split, but it’s not to the advantage of the author.”

“Gosh,” Amanda said. “Talk about clackety-clack. There are so many possibilities. However, I’d better get back to this mundane task. Thank you for the clarification on this,” she said as she held up the timesheet. She walked to the door. “Open or closed?” she asked.

“Closed, please.”

She stopped a moment after exiting his office and glanced over at the hatrack in the corner where the secretary’s wool coat hung next to Hugh’s long camel hair one. On top of the rack was his slouch hat and Amanda again wondered how many men of his approximate height and size in Boston wore such a thing. She looked carefully and saw something glinting. Turning to see if anyone was looking, she picked up the hat and saw several strands of hair along the inside brim. Taking the timesheet, she folded it into a cone and placed three of the hairs in it and took the package back to her office.

It was quite a logistical juggling act that Brendan had to perform in order to get to his parents’ house to pick up dinner, bring it to his apartment, actually half of a duplex the family owned not too far from their home, and then drive to Beacon Hill to pick up Amanda. He sniffed the air in the car, which smelled distinctly of his mother’s cooking, so he rolled down the windows and suffered driving in the cold until the air was refreshed.

When he got to Amanda’s and brought her to the car, she commented, “Is your heater broken?”

“No, I just forgot to turn it on. I was listening to something on the radio and was lost in thought.”

“I’m very excited that you have made dinner for me. Ham and cheese sandwiches, perhaps?”

“Ha, ha. I bet you think I went to Catalano’s and had them package something up specially. You will be surprised at my culinary skills.”

“I hope so, as you know mine are in their infancy.”

They reached his apartment and after opening the car door for her, he reached into the back seat for a bottle of wine he had purchased.

“This seems festive already,” Amanda said, wondering what the occasion was, except it was the first time she had been to his place. She had taken dinner with his parents, brothers and sisters at the family home, but this was a different step. In fact, her mother would probably be scandalized that she was in a man’s home with him, unchaperoned, even if he was her fiancé.

It was a typical shotgun house where the front door opened to a living room, behind which was a dining room, then a kitchen with the bedroom and bathroom at the end. Amanda blinked at the sparse furnishings before realizing that he probably didn’t spend much time there. There were two chairs in the living room and between them a table with a radio and lamp on it. The long curtains had been drawn against the cold and the gas heater across from the seating area had not been lit.

“Let me get this going and then I’ll take your coat,” he said. He turned a knob and the pilot light ignited two rows of small jets.

Amanda put her hands to the heater. “Cozy.”

“If you’re still too cold, either keep your coat on or I’ll find you a sweater.” He went through the dining room and into the kitchen and put the wine on the counter before returning. “Care for a tour?”

Sweeping his arm dramatically he said, “First we enter the living room, modernized with the latest radio receiver for your listening pleasure. The vintage maroon curtains—left by a former tenant—lend an air of old money elegance. Now, proceeding through the elegant dining room,” he said, which consisted of two chairs and a card table set for dinner. “On to the kitchen! A modern refrigerator, gas stove and oven—and what do I detect? The scent of a wholesome dinner about ready to be consumed. Just beyond there is the bedroom overlooking the garden, now invisible in the dark.”

“Very nicely done. You could be a real estate agent.”

“No thanks.”

“I think I’ll take a sweater, if you have something that goes with my outfit,” she said in a mocking tone.

“I have just the thing. A Boston College wool sweater should keep you toasty.” He went through to the bedroom to the chest and took out two sweaters, helping Amanda into one after taking her coat and putting it on the bed. He removed his overcoat and put the other one on and they laughed at the disparity in the size. Despite her height, the one he gave her hung down past her fingertips while his fit perfectly.

“Aren’t we a pair?” she asked and he embraced her and they kissed.

“Now, I want to make sure that I don’t take advantage of you, so let’s get on to the meal.

“It’s corned beef and cabbage and the beverage should be Guinness stout, but we’ll have to settle for a robust red wine.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said. “Oh, look, you’ve already set the table. I am impressed.”

“I only have two of everything and I nicked them from my parents’ house. I’ll leave the lights on so you can see what you’re eating, but here’s a candle for atmosphere.”

He took an empty bulbous, raffia-wrapped wine bottle in which he had already placed a candle and lit it.

Amanda smiled. “You’ve thought of everything.”

He opened the bottle of wine he had bought earlier and poured two small juice glasses full. “No glassware to speak of yet,” he explained. They toasted, took a sip and he lit the burner with the big pot on top.

Amanda had followed him into the kitchen, leaned over and took the cover off. “It smells wonderful.”

“I have a confession. This is all the work of Mother Halloran. I think I could have got away with it, but she also packed a freshly baked loaf of soda bread and that would be the dead giveaway that I didn’t do any of it.”

“That’s fine. It’s the thought that counts.”

“Let’s sit in the warmer living room until this heats up.”

They returned to the front room, a considerably warmer space, and sat down.

“What’s the occasion?” Amanda asked.

“I learned all sorts of things at work today,” he began. “First, that the Chief would like nothing better than to protect the Mayor’s interests.”

“I thought you knew that already.”

“It turns out those interests extend to his stepson although he would rather not have it be so.”

“Kenny Deegan, isn’t it?”

“Did you know that the man you spoke with in the hospital⁠—”

“I never did speak with him. He was out of it the entire time. I only spoke with his wife, who didn’t give me much information about wages and so forth. I don’t know if she knew what her husband did for a living, just that he worked at a brickyard.”

“What I was going to say is that Deegan is the person who knocked him down.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I had. Does it make a difference?”

Amanda looked over the rim of her little glass. “I’m not sure. It certainly muddles things. It could put my father’s firm in a difficult spot. I wonder if Hugh has considered that?”

“He ought to have. He must have known from the outset about the Mayor’s stepson’s involvement, even though I didn’t until Dominic told me.”

“I wonder if I should tell my father what you’ve shared with me.”

“It’s part of a public record, so you haven’t jeopardized my position in any way. I think he would appreciate it. Wait a minute!” Brendan yelped and jumped out of his chair and ran to the kitchen to find that the corned beef and its juices had been bubbling away in danger of boiling over.

Amanda had followed him in. “It doesn’t smell burnt. That will teach you. Never leave something on the stove, no matter how important the conversation.”

Chapter 19

When Amanda got home, she found her parents in the sitting room listening to symphonic music on the radio with the fire crackling in the background.

“How was your dinner? Where did you go tonight?” her mother asked, always intrigued by the new culinary experiences of her older daughter although not necessarily interested in partaking of them herself.

“Brendan made dinner for me, served at his apartment,” Amanda said as casually as she could. The music continued but the conversation stopped.

“You went to his apartment? Where he lives by himself?” her mother asked.

“Yes. It was all on the up and up,” Amanda said standing in front of the blaze warming her hands. “We talked business.”

Mrs. Burnside’s eyebrows were up, with her eyes on her husband, waiting for him to say something.

“Be careful of that,” her father said. “The confidentiality required of his job is not my concern. But the information you retrieve as part of your work with our firm and your personal clients should be of concern to you.”

Amanda turned. “I haven’t told Brendan anything that he doesn’t already know. It turns out we all don’t know much of what happened. Mr. Latimer hasn’t told me much of anything and other people have suggested motives to me that frankly seem ridiculous.”

Mr. Burnside tilted his head to one side inquisitively.

“I can’t say who or what.”

“Good for you,” her father said.

“But there is something that troubles me. And I don’t mind if Mother hears this. One of the attorneys in the firm, Hugh Van Eaton, is representing a man who was struck by a fast-moving car. He is seriously injured—the man, not Hugh—and is still in the hospital. Two things trouble me and I may be wrong, but it seems they intend to keep him in the hospital as long as possible to exaggerate the extent of his injuries. Although the man did get his pelvis broken.”

Mrs. Burnside winced at that revelation.

“And the person who ran him down is the Mayor’s stepson.”

“Oh,” her father groaned. “That could be a proper mess.”

“Exactly,” Amanda agreed, sitting down.

“How so?” her mother asked.

“The last thing one of the most prominent legal firms in Boston wants is to be at odds with the Mayor. Even if it wasn’t he who was responsible for the accident. It’s totally appropriate that the injured man have representation, but I have to make sure that it’s being done properly. Meaning, that they are not inflating the extent of the injuries or amount of compensation requested.”

“I would think it is the Mayor who should be concerned, not you or the partners,” Mrs. Burnside said.

“That’s how it should be. He should step forward and make amends with the injured man and his family. But that’s not how this man seems to work. He can turn it around and make it seem as if the person representing him is at fault.”

“How is that possible?” she asked.

“It’s politics. I think, to keep everything clean as possible, we need to look into what Hugh is requesting for the injured party and make sure it doesn’t seem like extortion,” Mr. Burnside said.

Amanda wasn’t sure when her father said ‘we’ if he meant himself and her or the firm. But she knew she had better access to Hugh’s files because she had been in and out of his office several times and he seemed comfortable with her.

As she contemplated how best to approach looking more closely in his files the next day when she was at work, Mr. Latimer called her.

“Oh, Mr. Latimer. I didn’t have time to put together a report of my investigations to date,” she began. Their agreement was she would submit a written and oral report after a week.

“There will be no need for that,” he said.

“Oh, may I ask why?”

“A certain Detective Brendan Halloran came to speak with me and then, without my authorization, he went to our offices and began to interrogate my secretary.”

Amanda was too surprised to speak.

“Then Valerie reminded me he is your fiancé. I’m afraid I can’t work with you under these circumstances. Consider our contract concluded. You may send me your bill by post.” He hung up.

Amanda went cold. She still held the receiver in her hand, listening to the dial tone, feeling humiliated. She had been fired! Unjustly, as well. And it wasn’t her fault. Why didn’t Brendan tell her about his visit to the Latimer Company offices?

She allowed herself a few minutes to calm down and suppress the urge to cry with shame.

“This is not the time for emotions,” she chided herself aloud. No one would know the contract had been terminated except for herself and Mr. Latimer. It would have no effect on the firm’s finances, but she wondered if he would put it about with his business colleagues that she wasn’t to be trusted. Is that what she would do in a similar situation?

She picked up the phone and called Brendan.

“How are you today?” he began.

“Fired.”

“What? Your father fired you?”

“No, Mr. Latimer did.”

“Why? You haven’t had much time to get anywhere with the case.”

“He was specific that he didn’t like you snooping at his place of business without his permission.”

“He should have lodged that complaint with me directly.”

“You’re probably right, but he didn’t put it together that we are engaged and thought he should have been informed. He probably thought there was a breach of trust. Speaking of which, why didn’t you tell me that you had gone to his office?”

“I did, didn’t I?” Brendan said.

Amanda said nothing.

“I thought I did. Maybe I told Dominic.”

Amanda still said nothing.

“I’m sorry if I forgot to tell you, but I think we need to sit down and discuss about how much we can or should share when we are working on the aspects of the same case.”

“Agreed.” Amanda hung up the receiver. She had to be mad at somebody.

She went to Hugh’s office with a legal pad tucked under her arm and saw his door was closed but his secretary was outside typing. The young woman turned as Amanda approached.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully.

“Is Mr. Van Eaton in?”

“No, he went out.”

Amanda glanced over at the coatrack and saw that both Hugh and Emerson had left.

“Both gone?”

The secretary said, “The Katzenjammer Kids?” She laughed and blushed at her boldness. Then she added, “Can I help you with something?”

“I just needed to look at some notes of his.”

“Sure thing. Go ahead.” She turned back to her rapid typing and Amanda went in and closed the door.

She could have kicked herself for not asking when they were expected back but, if surprised by their return, she could say with some honesty that she was checking the Latimer files. Luckily, the accordion folder was on the desk and she pulled a file out as a cover. Then she searched for the Savich accident case folder. It was not in the desk drawer but in one of the wire folder dividers on the side table. She opened it up and scanned the pages quickly. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Wait, there was an invoice from Doctor Jensen for initial examination, X-rays, medication, and something she couldn’t read in his scrawl. The total amount was staggering. She wondered if that was a reasonable amount for the injuries suffered or whether the insurance company was going to pay or object. And if they wouldn’t pay, did that mean that the Mayor was stuck with the bill? She’d have to ask her father how all that worked. Probably lengthy negotiations conducted by the company and the attorney representing the injured man. That could be quite a windfall. She looked at the bill from Doctor Jensen and wondered if he had already been paid or if this was a running tab.

The file contained copies of the X-ray reports, lots of sheets of paper dealing with the original agreement between Van Eaton and Savich that had the poor man’s scrawled signature. He was probably in a lot of pain or drugged, and who knew if he even understood what he was signing? Flipping to the last page she saw that he had also signed the last page, which detailed that the lawyer’s fee would be thirty-three percent of the award.

Amanda’s mouth dropped open. The small print said, ‘after costs.’ So, once they subtracted the doctor’s fees and the hospital charges, Hugh would get thirty-three percent of what was left. But part of the award was about lost wages. It could be a colossal amount of money for just this one case. No wonder he had been anxious to pursue that line of work.

Putting the file back, she looked in the waste basket, often a source of clues, and was not surprised to find several crumpled scrap papers with calculations on them. Was he projecting his possible windfall already? Having found just enough to raise her suspicions of Hugh’s integrity, she gathered her legal pad and opened the door. The secretary was still going at a swift pace and didn’t hear Amanda slip away.

Back in her own office, she pondered on her sharp manner with Brendan earlier. As she thought, she looked down and saw she was twirling the engagement ring on her left hand and stopped abruptly. Didn’t that mean that there would be trouble ahead in the relationship? Could they continue to pursue a tandem path of investigations—his publicly funded and hers private—and maintain confidentiality with whom they reported?

“Back to work,” she commanded herself as she looked at her diary and calculated how many hours she had put into the Latimer case. Not as many as she had wished, but there was also the daily fee he had promised on top of the hours. She began a rough draft of a letter to Mr. Latimer by hand, intending to type it up herself on the battered upright that the previous occupant of the office had left behind. That was going to take her a long time as she had never learned to type properly; her sort of higher education specifically avoided such subjects as dictation, shorthand and touch typing. It was expected that after they graduated from high school they might go to college or get married after their coming out, but certainly not go to work in an office. Somehow, she might have to learn how to do the typing since she couldn’t ask the firm’s staff to do her personal private investigator’s correspondence.

A tap on the side of her open door distracted her from her secretarial shortcomings as she faced Mr. Wheeler’s secretary.

“Hello, Miss Burnside, I was wondering if I could speak to you about something. It’s about my future position with the firm.”

“Isn’t Miss Stevens in charge of that sort of thing?”

“Yes, but. May I sit down?”

“Of course.”

The other woman closed the door before slipping into the chair across from Amanda.

“I’m so sorry about Mr. Wheeler,” Amanda said.

“Yes. What a shock. He was a lovely gentleman to work for. Precise but not demanding. I worked for him for several years. Protocol would suggest that I speak to Miss Stevens about this, but she has never taken a liking to me and I don’t trust that things will work out well.”

“What do you mean?”

“With Mr. Wheeler gone, I’ll be assigned to somebody else. Unfortunately, that means that I bump their position.”

Amanda hadn’t heard that term before and the other woman explained. “I replace them and they in turn replace somebody else. It’s all done on the basis of seniority.”

“I didn’t know. That’s interesting.”

“Last in, first out is the concept. Anyway, the person I would bump is Hugh Van Eaton’s girl. She’d only just come out of the typing pool.”

“I’m not familiar with who those women are or how it works.”

“I’m not surprised. They work on the floor below where the incredible din of the roomful of girls pounding away at the keys all day would disturb the quiet of this floor.” She gave a bit of a smile. “While private secretaries for the attorneys deal with correspondence, the typing pool is tasked with putting together those pounds of pages of texts for wills, contracts, et cetera. It is a mark of accuracy and speed that gets you out of the typing pool and up here.”

“So, you’ve succeeded in that.”

“Yes, but there are two matters troubling me. First, I know Minnie, Mr. Van Eaton’s girl, and I would feel terrible bumping her back to the pool. Second, I really don’t want to work for Mr. Van Eaton.” This last comment was made in a half-whisper.

“Why is that?” Amanda was wondering if Hugh was what they commonly referred to as a skirt chaser.

“I don’t entirely trust him.”

Amanda was quiet and let her take her time in explaining herself.

She had large hazel eyes that were striking and intense and her gaze rested on Amanda’s. “I heard things and I saw things. Mr. Van Eaton was very solicitous of Mr. Wheeler. He hoped to be his protégé in the estate business that was conducted for the firm. It involved a lot of old families who had worked with Mr. Wheeler for years and trusted him completely. Trust is the foundation of the firm, is it not?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

“There were at least two things troubling Mr. Wheeler. I’m not ashamed to say I overheard conversations he had with Mr. Van Eaton where he reminded the younger man of his duty of care to clients. I got the impression that Mr. Van Eaton was looking to streamline the processes—I can’t tell you how, but I know Mr. Wheeler preferred the old-fashioned personal relationships and going slowly. Then, one time Mr. Van Eaton did some research or created a letter that was to go to multiple clients and he billed each one of them for what was essentially the same work. It was very clever, but Mr. Wheeler was furious about it.”

“You may not know that Mr. Wheeler took lunch at his club each day and in recent years put his feet up, as he said, afterwards, before returning to work. It was at a few of these times that I saw Mr. Van Eaton exiting Mr. Wheeler’s office. ‘Just picking up a file,’ he would say. I didn’t think he was telling the truth.”

“What do you think he was doing?”

“Researching his hoped-for position.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Amanda asked.

“I would like to protect Minnie’s situation—although I can tell you, she has her reservations working with him and that rather dodgy Emerson Webster. If you could pass on to your father, without naming me, the suspicions that Mr. Wheeler and I have about Mr. Van Eaton?”

“That’s a lot. My father, who is head of the personnel slot this year for the partners, might want to talk to you. Are you willing to do that?”

“I would like to in Mr. Wheeler’s memory, but I have my future to think of.”

The conversation had given Amanda plenty to think about. She had naively thought that having a separate function at her father’s firm would somehow make her immune from office politics. Instead, she seemed to be in the middle of everything—Mr. Wheeler’s death, whatever Hugh Van Eaton was up to and now the secretarial staff was coming to her with their problems. She knew that the woman should have gone directly to her father about her future placement but had been canny in going to Amanda first. Another young woman would present a sympathetic ear to the situation whereas the office manager, Miss Stevens, who had likely come up the ranks long ago, might not look at it that way.

Why had Wheeler’s secretary referred to Emerson as dodgy? That was a harsh statement for someone who, according to Hugh, was a contractor on very specific cases. And what was Hugh doing in Mr. Wheeler’s office when the older man wasn’t there? Snooping, likely, just as she had been doing earlier. She had to discuss her suspicions with Brendan. If he was still talking to her, that is. Rather than call and let him know she was dropping in, she grabbed her hat and coat and drove to the station.

Amanda peeked around the corner of Brendan’s open door and saw he had his hand in his hair as he wrote. She knocked softly. He got to his feet quickly.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at once and laughed.

“Well, sit down,” he suggested and she shrugged her coat off but kept her hat on.

“Is this the negotiation discussion that we should have had some time ago?” she asked.

“I suppose you could call it that.”

“All the cards on the table?”

“Perhaps all except for those contractually prohibited.”

“Strictly speaking, Mr. Latimer didn’t prohibit me from discussing the case with anybody else. I believe he thought it was some gentleman’s agreement that I should not.”

“And I don’t have specific rules to obey when conducting a case, discussing clues, motives or suspects. I must use my good judgement in not revealing something that could impede the investigation or endanger someone’s life.”

“Your and my guidelines don’t really help us define where the boundary is,” Amanda said.

“No, that’s true. I don’t know why I didn’t mention the Latimer office visit. I wasn’t concealing anything and I also didn’t think it was important. You could have told him that you didn’t know anything about it and that the police aren’t in the habit of sharing their methods.”

“I suppose I should have,” Amanda said. “He caught me off guard and I was so hurt by his insinuation that we are in cahoots and concealing information from him.”

“I bet it was a blow to your confidence,” Brendan said gently.

“It was!” Amanda rallied, now angered that she had let Mr. Latimer get the best of her.

“Well, it’s over. For now. I’ve had a friend in the financial district asking around about the various Latimer businesses. He may not be able to get me any solid information, but gossip in business is almost more powerful. If people think you’re not doing well, you probably aren’t. That’s why so many of those folks puff themselves and their deeds out of proportion.”

“I’ll tell you the saga of the secretaries later, but I would like Clyde to take a look at these samples I found.” Amanda reached into her handbag and took out the piece of paper with the hairs.

“Where did you get those?”

“Out of a certain slouch hat on a particular coatrack.”

They went to the lab and Clyde was more than happy that his boss had taken such an interest in his work, smiling as he showed him a variety of soil samples.

“We can tell where someone has been from the residue on their shoes.”

“Very clever. But back to some basics, when you showed us hair strands under the microscope. Could you take a look at these?”

“Sure.”

Clyde put his glasses up on his forehead and placed the three strands next to each other under the lens.

“I hope you’re not thinking of dying your hair,” he said, and Amanda didn’t know if that was a serious question or his idea of a joke.

“Not any time soon,” she answered, giving Brendan a puzzled look.

“What will it be? Blonde or red? I can’t tell much about this one blonde hair, but the red is very distinctive. It might be a little too much, not that I’m a judge of what women should do with their looks.”

Brendan glanced at Amanda.

“Clackety-clack,” she said.

“What?”

“Let’s go back to your office. I have an interesting theory to present to you.”

Their conversation lasted over two hours as they each put forward a fact, countered with another fact and then moved on to the next person closest to Mrs. Latimer. It was a lively debate and done in good faith with Dominic called in at one point to listen to the discussion.

“What do you think?” Brendan asked.

“I think it’s time to get all the principals in to review the case.”

“Put it in motion,” he directed Dominic, who left quickly to inform the other detectives to call everyone involved in the Latimer case for a meeting the next day.

“That’s going to be a lot of people,” Amanda said. “Do you have a large enough space for it?”

“The only other option is rent a place. Like the club ballroom. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Amanda winced. “No, indeed.”

Chapter 20

Trying to corral that many people on short notice soon became an impossibility so they moved it out one more day. That had the benefit of allowing them to prepare what evidence they had to date and how it might tie together. It also made several people whom they contacted nervous enough to inquire why they had to be in attendance, which in turn resulted in telephone calls to Brendan directly.

Amanda was a bundle of nerves although she imagined she would be sitting in the back of the room with the detectives. But Brendan insisted she take a front seat since she had such intimate knowledge of the people and details involved. The night before she calmed her mind with wondering what outfit seemed serious enough for the occasion.

Louisa, passing her sister’s room and seeing her deep in thought, asked what the dilemma was about and, finding it was a fashion decision, jumped in to help.

“Since you don’t have a black grain de poudre wool suit, I think the navy blue one would work well.”

Amanda looked at her sister. “Sometimes I think you speak an entirely different language from the rest of us.”

“True,” Louisa said. “The cream-colored silk blouse and perhaps a small pin on the lapel.”

Dressed exactly as her sister had suggested, Amanda faced the breakfast table with her parents the next morning, dreading having to eat anything.

“Don’t you look smart,” Mrs. Burnside said.

“Thank you, Mother. I’d better just have coffee this morning.”

“Not feeling well?” her mother asked.

“Just a tad anxious.”

Her father lowered the newspaper he held in front of his face. “I used to get butterflies before court trials. They’ll go away.”

“They feel larger than butterflies, and, yes, I know they’ll calm down once I get to work.”

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Burnside asked. “Sometimes I think you two don’t let me in on anything.”

“It’s just a meeting of people involved in Mrs. Latimer’s affairs. I’m afraid that emotions will run high.”

Emotions may not have been evident as people began to assemble, but there were certain looks from the Latimer contingent aimed in her direction that she would have preferred not to have seen.

Amanda stood outside the room next to Dominic as people made their way to what would be a cramped meeting room. Fred Browne came in shortly after Valerie and her family and didn’t make eye contact with Amanda. Hextilda followed, looking around curiously as if she were attending a play, while Caroline and José affected boredom at their morning being ruined. Lastly, Hugh Van Eaton, his face in a serious pose walked in ahead of Emerson, cheerful and confident as ever.

Once all the principals were in the room, Amanda took a seat near the front but not next to Brendan, who faced the people in the room, to indicate that she was not as official as the two deputies who sat in the front row or the others who lined the back. As the doors were being closed, Delaney, the club’s dining room manager, came in and Mr. Latimer looked back with a puzzled face, not placing him.

“I think we’re all here. Thank you for coming today. I had some revelations to share with you that I hope may clear things up. I know I have already expressed my condolences to the Latimer family, but be assured the sentiment is shared by all of us who have worked on this case.”

“It’s been very difficult to work through who was where when but, in the end, something like this always comes down to motive. Mr. Van Eaton here had been working closely with Mr. Wheeler and was familiar with the late Mrs. Latimer’s estate and the directives of her will.”

Hugh nodded solemnly at that statement.

“Usually, we look for motive within the family itself.” At this Mr. Latimer was about to stand, but his wife held him back. “In this case, the family was aware of the provisions of the will and it favored them equally, so there seems to be no motive for violence.” He paused. “Of course, there is the possibility that any one of those people could have wished to hasten the event.”

“See here!” Mr. Latimer said, standing up.

“Please sit down. I am just reviewing the facts as we know them in a logical manner. It is entirely plausible that you might want to come into your inheritance sooner rather than later. There may have been business losses that you didn’t want your mother to know about, as well. As for your wife, there had been friction in their relationship for years. Was the pressure of the wedding and the grandmother taking over the event the last straw?”

Mr. Latimer grimaced at the suggestion but sat down.

“What about Valerie and her husband, Doctor Browne, seeking to have a home of their own sooner rather than later?”

Valerie was visibly upset by the suggestion, even though it was a motive she had already discussed with Amanda, but Fred maintained his composure.

“Although the two families were at the head table, it seems there was a constant stream of well-wishers who approached. I was there and noticed that the line got backed up to the point where people were standing and talking to not just the bride and groom, but the others at the head table. There was every opportunity for someone to slip something into Mrs. Latimer’s empty coffee cup and wait for it to be filled.”

“One of the waiters could have done it for that matter,” Mr. Latimer said.

“Yes, it’s a possibility, but did any of them have a connection to your mother? Our detectives questioned all who were working and no connection could be made.”

“What about the other family at the head table, Mrs. Browne and the Guzmáns?” Mr. Latimer asked.

Hextilda lost her curious face and seemed to realize for the first time that she could be considered a suspect. She blinked and looked at her daughter, who was cool as a cucumber.

“What possible motivation could any of them have? We know the late Mrs. Latimer had expressed some reservations about her granddaughter marrying into their family,” Brendan said.

At this point, both Mrs. Latimer and Valerie put their heads down slightly in embarrassment.

“Word may have got back to them about her sentiments. Emotions can be strong when there is a significant life event. For all I know, the feelings may have been mutual on the side of the Brownes.” He noticed that Caroline and José maintained their poise, but Hextilda blinked and looked around the room as if wondering who could have been so stupid as to believe that she had any ill will towards the Latimers.

“Out on a limb here: Could the Guzmáns have wanted to make sure that Doctor Browne and his wife would get their promised home sooner rather than later? It was a crowded household already.”

José shook his head ever so slightly at the absurdity of the statement.

“What about the bride and the groom? Were they anxious to get into their new home?”

Fred scowled at the suggestion.

“But we’re leaving one person out. Delaney, the restaurant manager, used to work at the Parker House hotel until Mrs. Latimer took it over and cut the staff considerably. That lowered his salary, something he has not forgotten.”

Heads turned to the back of the room to look at the man.

“He had every possible opportunity to doctor the cup in front of Mrs. Latimer as he knew the seating ahead of time.”

“But what if Mrs. Latimer wasn’t the intended victim and someone made a mistake? There weren’t place cards at the head table as both families knew where they were going to sit already. Perhaps the killer thought someone else would sit at that end of the table? The only other person would have been Mrs. Browne as the intended victim.”

“What?” she gasped as she put her hand to her necklace in horror. “Why would anyone want to kill me?”

“I don’t know. Can you think of anyone who would want to?”

She looked frantically around the room. “Nobody here that I know of. Certainly not my family.”

“What about the bride and groom? Was there hesitation on either one’s part to go through with the marriage?”

Fred’s face was dark with anger and Valerie turned white.

“Were either of them too flustered to put the poison in the correct cup? Or had one of them put it in the correct cup during all the commotion of people coming into the room and somehow a waiter unknowingly made a mistake and moved them around? So many possibilities.”

Amanda was shocked that he had brought up every possible scenario, no matter how remote, and managed to upset almost everyone in the room. But he plowed on.

“Mr. Wheeler, the late Mrs. Latimer’s attorney, died the very next day. Initially, we thought he had a seizure or slipped, but upon further investigation, it appears that somebody pushed him down the stairs with great force.”

The Latimers looked at one another in alarm.

“But why? Because he had changed the will to Mrs. Latimer’s instructions? Probably not. She had done that some weeks before and the family all knew about it. What we do know is that there is a staff person at the club who heard arguing and might possibly be able to identify the person who pushed him.”

This got everyone in the room agitated as they whispered amongst themselves and darted looks at others. Brendan waited for them to quiet down before he went on.

“What if there is another explanation? Not everyone has an alibi for the time of death of Mrs. Latimer with there being so many people in the reception room. Strangely, there are airtight alibis for when Mr. Wheeler was killed. Why kill Mr. Wheeler? Was it because he was Mrs. Latimer’s attorney? Not exactly, although that played into the scheme that had been carefully crafted. Mr. Wheeler had taken Hugh Van Eaton under his wing and was flattered by the young man’s interest in the significant caseload that the partner maintained. The young man was an attentive student and an ambitious man. In fact, he created a legal specialty that he called personal injury, although we always called it accident/injury law. He hired a long-time friend, Emerson Webster,” here he paused to point the man out to everyone who may have wondered what he was doing there, “to assist in investigations and background on the victims. They both realized that even though car insurance is required in Massachusetts, some people choose not to pay for it. And if they should get in an accident, they suffer a minor fine and have to pay for the damages to the other vehicle. But these two realized that there was a more lucrative market that was untouched. What if the injury was to a person who was incapacitated to the extent that they couldn’t work anymore? That presented the opportunity to take the party to court and ask for significant damages—lost wages, pain and suffering and so forth. Admirable, if the victim didn’t have the wherewithal to pursue it themselves.”

“And so, we come to the case of Mr. Savich, unfortunately knocked down by the Mayor’s stepson. Here was a goldmine opportunity. A family of prominence who could be embarrassed by the actions of a reckless young man. The victim, someone who worked in a brickyard, living paycheck to paycheck and suddenly in the hospital with no income to support his family. In come Emerson Webster and Hugh Van Eaton to solve his problems. Although the victim is too drugged up to participate in the action, they persuade his wife to proceed. They get a willing doctor to keep the man in the hospital for as long as it takes to run up a bill. They contact the employer and have him falsify how much the man was making. And if it goes to court, they will have a hefty bill to be paid by the driver. But if it doesn’t go to court—because who wants their family’s good name splashed in the newspapers—the driver’s family may be willing to settle out of court for quite a bit more.”

“What has this got to do with my mother?” Mr. Latimer said.

“Everything and nothing,” Brendan said.

Chapter 21

There was a sense of frustration and unease among the attendees at having listened to a series of motives pointing at almost everyone in the room and then that strange comment.

Brendan paced in front of the group. “Old friends do things for each other, don’t they?

I believe that our ambitious Hugh Van Eaton and Emerson Webster concocted an elaborate plan that would satisfy each of their needs. Some of you may know that Emerson had been engaged to Valerie Latimer and then it was broken off. Why? Emerson was and is a charming young man but has had a hard time finding his feet in the world. Plainly said, he’s tried one thing and another and nothing seemed to stick. Grandmother Latimer was not impressed. She berated Valerie’s choice and called him a ne’er-do-well. She hammered away at her granddaughter’s choice as she did with all her family’s decisions to the point that Valerie conceded. In his usual cheerful way, Emerson made light of that decision, but in reality, he was furious and blamed the grandmother who had made some unfortunate remarks about him.”

“Emerson expressed his fury to his friend, who was similarly thwarted in his career’s ambition by the stuffy, cautious Wheeler, who had a huge clientele of wealthy old Bostonians that he wasn’t quite ready to share with his protégé. Then, Wheeler got wind of the scheme that Hugh and Emerson had perpetrated of inflating accident victims’ costs, in collusion with a doctor, and stopping short of blackmailing the person who caused the accident. I’m sure Wheeler was appalled and let Van Eaton know that it was not how attorneys at his firm worked.”

“I imagine the two young men met over drinks and discussed how the old guard stood in their way and what could be done about it. The solution: dispose of those who stood in their way. But of course, Emerson didn’t have access or opportunity to do away with the imperious Mrs. Latimer, but Hugh had both access and opportunity in regard to Mr. Wheeler and that was dangerous for him. And there was the rub. As they talked further, the obvious solution was for Hugh to kill Mrs. Latimer and Emerson to kill Mr. Wheeler.”

The room erupted.

Both Hugh and Emerson stood up and protested loudly while the Latimers turned around in shock to face them. It took some minutes to get everyone back into a state of relative quiet and seated.

There were still grumblings from Hugh and Emerson, but they were prepared to defend themselves against such slander.

Hugh stood and in true legal fashion declared, “I object!”

“We’re not in a court of law here. I am putting forth my conclusions based on facts and I will present them in order. First, let’s eliminate the more obvious suspects. Mr. Latimer had not been doing as well as his mother would have liked with the family’s investments.”

Mr. Latimer shook his head vehemently at that statement.

“Discreet inquires on my part with some financial folks in this city confirmed that there were losses, and I can’t imagine that Mrs. Latimer would have been satisfied with that. However, he held her in such esteem that killing her would have been unthinkable.”

That positive conclusion startled the man speechless.

“His wife, from what I gather, was not attached to the mother-in-law, who not only controlled the family finances, but constantly interfered in their relationship and wished to control Valerie’s life as well by dictating suitable marriage partners. But I think her compassionate nature rules her out, too.”

“As to Valerie: can you imagine the bride trying to kill her grandmother at her own wedding? It’s ridiculous no matter how overbearing the woman had been. And Doctor Browne had taken the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm, and I believe he fulfilled this with the same resolve as everything he has done in his adult life.”

“We come to the Browne and Guzmán family group who had been snubbed by Mrs. Latimer. While Mrs. Browne may have been hurt or vengeful, her means of attack was the pen. She would do a far better job skewering Mrs. Latimer by making her the villainess in her next book. Am I right?”

Hextilda didn’t acknowledge the question, but a small smile came on her face as she realized what her revenge could be.

“My impression of the Guzmáns is that they would sooner swat a fly away than involve themselves in the messy work of revenge for someone who they didn’t believe was a threat. Which leaves us with the dining room manager, who had full access to the entire room well before any of the guests had arrived. Was he angry with Mrs. Latimer’s actions in the past, causing him to lose a job, years of service and a high salary? My guess is he probably ground his teeth every time he met with her about the details of the wedding. And I’m sure, like everything else the woman did, she was thorough, persistent and not very kind. Delaney is one of the last persons who would want a mishap at an event of which he was in charge. His reputation would be in tatters. No, I think we can rule him out as well.”

“We have considered the motive of greed in relation to the deceased woman’s death, which is a strong one but in this case moot. However, the motive of revenge for someone standing in the way of one’s success is a very strong one, and we have two people here who were thwarted by two different people and saw a solution in combining their forces and providing alibis for each other.”

“Emerson had a serious bone to pick with Mrs. Latimer. After all, she was the person who convinced the Latimers and Valerie that he was a ne’er-do-well, never settling for any profession for long. I wouldn’t put it past her that she spread her opinion far and wide, which limited his opportunities even more. She even went so far as to insult his ginger hair as a mark of inferior breeding.”

“Hugh thought he was doing quite well as understudy to Mr. Wheeler until the older gentleman caught wind of the personal injury scam that his protégé was engaged in.”

Hugh sputtered at that comment, but Brendan waved him down to be quiet.

“Working with a doctor—not Doctor Browne, by the way—Hugh was able to persuade him to extend the convalescent period as long as possible to increase the hospital and medication costs. Although they were beginning with one gentleman, he could see big dollar signs in his future. Then he found out that the man who knocked the victim down was the Mayor’s stepson, whose reputation as a wild youth was well known, and that promised that some hush money might be coming his way as well. This was not the way that Mr. Wheeler had been taught to practice law and he advised Hugh to put a stop to it.”

“We have two disgruntled young men, their lucrative futures impeded by the stuffy older generation. While they grumbled about there being no solution, one was quickly found. What if Mrs. Latimer were out of the way and Emerson could not possibly have done it, and the same for Mr. Wheeler where Hugh had a watertight alibi? It was clever. Hugh managed to go to the wedding in Mr. Wheeler’s place where he was well known to the family as part of the law firm. How easy it was to have the cyanide in some container in his hand as he stood in line at the end of the head table and, leaning over, to slip it into the coffee cup while chatting with the old lady. As you might imagine, Emerson had not been invited to the reception so his alibi is solid.”

“Then we have Mr. Wheeler’s demise. While Hugh was busy with a client—documented by his timesheet and his secretary—Emerson was on his way to Wheeler’s club. Easy enough to slip in the door that opened from the alley to the kitchen and up the back stairs. He just had to wait there until Wheeler’s nap was done and confront him near the stairway and push with such force that Wheeler’s cufflink was ripped out. Then Emerson went down the back stairs again and out and back to the law office.”

“That’s nonsense,” Emerson shouted.

“We have an eyewitness.”

The room became quiet.

Amanda stood up and turned to face the group. “Detective Halloran and I were driving on that very day and I noticed Hugh on the sidewalk, walking quickly. I should say that I thought it was Hugh, dressed in his usual camel hair coat and slouch hat, hunched against the cold. Later, I realized it couldn’t have been Hugh because he was in the office. So, who was dressed in his overcoat and hat?”

“Emerson Webster,” Brendan said. “We later recovered hair—ginger hair—from the hat that could only belong to one person. The plan hadn’t been to impersonate Hugh, but Emerson had been bucking for a raise because of the risks he had been taking and was not successful with Hugh. Just to tweak his employer’s nose and make him nervous, he decided to go to Wheeler’s club disguised as Hugh. The worst that could happen is that Hugh would be accused and at that point Emerson could have cared less.”

“So, both men got their revenge by taking on the other’s enemy. It might have worked in the end, but the animosity that was building up between the two would have made for a bad outcome for one of them in the future.”

“You can’t prove any of this!” Emerson said.

“We’re on the track of several places where the cyanide could have been purchased. I’m guessing that Emerson was sent to do that task. He’s an easily recognizable person, what with his ginger hair.”

Emerson’s eyes went wide and he stood and pointed at Hugh. “You’ve got it wrong. He knew something about me and blackmailed me into his scheme.”

Hugh stood and stuck his face in his compatriot’s. “It was your idea from the beginning. We sat there in that bar on Commonwealth and you outlined the whole thing.”

Hugh stopped suddenly. “I want an attorney!” he demanded.

Chapter 22

Emerson landed a roundhouse punch on Hugh’s face that resulted in a spurt of blood and loud insults. Herb and Bob bounded forward to intercept any further physical damage as the two of them claimed the other was responsible, lacing their accusations with expletives. The women in the room covered their mouths in horror at the melee and for a moment it looked as if Mr. Latimer would join in. Applying handcuffs to the miscreants shut down the violence and invectives quickly, and the two detectives walked the men out of the room.

Valerie slumped down into her chair looking dazed.

“To think…” she began.

Amanda silently filled in the rest of the sentence, “You almost married him.”

At last, Fred showed concern for his new wife by sitting next to her and putting his arm around her shoulders. “It’s over. This terrible ordeal is over,” he said.

The Latimers embraced in a rare public display but Mr. Latimer still managed to glare at Brendan.

“You know I had to go through all the logical steps to get to where we ended up. I hope there are no hard feelings, sir,” Brendan said.

Mr. Latimer disentangled his wife and, holding back tears, he put out his hand. “Thank you for finding the people who did this. My mother would have been impressed with your aptitude.” He added, “Perhaps not all of your methods, however.”

The two men shook hands heartily.

The restaurant manager lingered in the back of the room, expecting an apology, but seeing none was forthcoming, he stalked out, back to the club where the whole thing began.

Hextilda walked over to congratulate Brendan.

“I’m so glad you put all the pieces together. My poor daughter-in-law has been through so much. We’ll have to feed you up when you come back to our place,” she said to Valerie.

“We’re planning on staying with the Latimers for now, Mother,” Fred said. “There’s the funeral to get through and then we have to inventory the house.”

Hextilda looked disappointed before realizing that her home would be relatively quiet, what with Caroline and José sleeping late as usual and then gadding about in the evening mostly to the club. And the business of Mrs. Latimer’s demise gave her a spark of an idea for her next book that she was now in a hurry to flesh out in longhand.

Brendan knew that Dominic and the other detectives would be busy taking statements and formally booking the two men, and the meeting room was empty except for himself and Amanda.

“Let’s go to my office and close the door,” he said.

In the privacy of his space, he pulled out a bottle of Scotch that he reserved for such occasions and poured each of them a tot.

“Here’s to working together,” he said.

“Is this that discussion we should have had from the beginning?” Amanda asked, feeling the alcohol warming its way to her stomach.

“I’m sorry that everyone seems to think that I solved this single-handedly. I know how much leg work and effort you put into it as well as some of the final pieces. I just thought by not mentioning it that I would save whatever was left of your relationship with Valerie.”

“That’s fine. In fact, give her a week and she’ll forget that I had a hand in it, once she is faced with tackling the job of sorting out her grandmother’s house and planning its redecoration.”

“The other issue is that I was trying to protect your reputation.”

“What?”

“If you want people to hire you, they have to trust you. And to trust you, they have to know you’re not in the police department’s pocket.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. So, I should maintain my distance? Or appear to?”

“It will be a fine line.

Then after a moment’s silence, she asked, “Do you really think the bellboy could have identified Emerson’s voice?”

“It was a slim threat, I admit.”

“Especially from one floor away. But if he had seen him, that would have been a different story. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think there was additional malice on Emerson’s part in this. I think he dreamed up that extra twist of wearing Hugh’s clothes—especially the hat—knowing that it was so recognizable that if there had been a witness to someone sneaking around Wheeler’s club, Hugh would have been the one identified.”

“Just a little more built-in insurance to save his hide.”

“That’s because he didn’t know Hugh had a client scheduled for the same time. It actually cleared Hugh definitively.”

“As they say, no honor among thieves,” Brendan said.

“Or murderers,” Amanda added.

“Here’s to no more of either,” he said and they clinked glasses and took one last sip.

And next: Amanda and Brendan tackle their own upcoming wedding while Rob Worley comes under investigation for a

MURDER AT THE OASIS CLUB

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