A Groom With a View

comes out of the accounts, it's 'invisible' in a way. If the Feds ask what became of the money, the old boy could have said he used it on expensive dinners for friends, or just act vague and say he frittered it away. Or gave it anonymously to charity or handed it out to homeless people. It would be impossible to prove otherwise.'

“Shelley, I didn't know you had such a sneaky streak!' Jane said.

“Of course you did,' Shelley replied. 'I spend a lot of my free time fantasizing about good ways to beat the I.R.S. You know what's wrong with this whole treasure theory?'

“What?' Eden and Jane asked like a chorus. 'Uncle Joe. I get the impression he's been there since the beginning of time.”

Eden nodded. 'As long as I can remember.'

“Well, if there were something valuable in the lodge, wouldn't he have stumbled on it by now? Even if he weren't looking for it?'

“I think you're right,' Eden said. 'If Iva and Marguerite blabbed about it so much that even a florist from the city has heard the story, surely Uncle Joe has heard it.'

“And if he'd found it, would he still be there?' Shelley asked.

Eden shook her head. 'He'd be lounging on the beach somewhere in the Caribbean. At least, I would be, if it were me.”

Jane nodded sadly. 'It's interesting and kind of fun to imagine a treasure, but hard to make it work in practical terms. Especially since the building's being torn down this summer. If Uncle Joe thought there were something valuable there that he hadn't yet found, he'd be tearing the place apart in a panic by now.'

“And the lodge part of the story could be wrong, too,' Eden said. 'If you were trying to keep something valuable hidden away, it would seem logical to keep it where you could check on it pretty frequently. I don't know if O. W. spent a lot of time out here in the later years of his life.”

Shelley sighed as she stood up. 'You're right. And we'd best go back. At least this speculation's kept me from fretting about Mrs. Crossthwait for a while.'

“Me, too,' Jane said. 'And that makes me feel guilty.'

“Why should it?' Eden asked, tossing her coffee cup in the trash and gathering up her purse and scarf. 'She wasn't a relation. Not even a friend. Just a business connection who really wasn't doing her job.'

“True. I guess I feel bad because it happened on my 'watch.' I shouldn't have put an elderly lady upstairs,' Jane said.

“Where else could you have put her?' Shelley asked. 'If she'd gotten the dresses finished on schedule, you wouldn't have had to put her anywhere. And it's too late now for fretting about it.”

Jane acknowledged that both women were right. It really wasn't her fault that Mrs. Crossthwait had died.

But she couldn't help but wonder if it might have been someone else's.

Eight

when they got back to the lodge, Eden said, 'If I can tear the phone away from Mr. Willis and the aunts, I'll give my dad a call and see if he remembers anything more about the supposed treasure. By the way, he can't be here for the wedding after all. My dad, I mean. Some joint venture he and Jack Thatcher own is having trouble and naturally Jack couldn't run off to see to it right now.”

Jane and Shelley remained in the car, reluctant to throw themselves back into the wedding plans. 'Do you think Mrs. Crossthwait's fall was an accident?' Jane asked.

Shelley thought for a long time. 'I hope so,' she finally said. 'I don't think I could bear to think of anybody in the house actually being a killer.'

“If it was murder, it wouldn't necessarily have to be someone in the house. There are already friends and relatives gathering at that motel in town. And the family all knows where the place is,' Jane said. 'The front door was open, remember?”

Shelley frowned. 'Jane, you're right about opportunity. But the important consideration is motive. Mrs. Crossthwait was a mildly irritating old lady. Nothing more. She apparently had no connection to the Thatcher family or friends except that someone recommended her to Livvy, right?'

“Uh-huh. But you heard her last night saying she'd made a wedding dress for Marguerite. So there is at least one connection.'

“If it was true,' Shelley said. 'And even if it was, why would Marguerite have bumped her off for making a dress half a century ago?'

“Good point,' Jane admitted.

“So if someone did topple her down the stairs, it had to be someone from her own circle of relatives, neighbors, friends. None of whom are involved in this wedding.'

“That we know of,' Jane said ominously. 'What on earth do you mean by that?'

“Just that we don't know much about her. What if she was one of old O. W.'s elderly mistresses?' Shelley whipped her head around. 'Oh, my gosh! You couldn't think so!'

“No, I don't, really. But anything's possible. You said it yourself, Shelley, to Officer Smith. She was terribly cautious of the stairs. She went up them like a crab, with both hands on the rail, getting both feet on each step before going on to the next one. This isn't a woman who would dream of skipping down the steps in the dark.'

“Maybe not. But you're ignoring the nosinessfactor. Maybe she heard whoever was down there and shined the flashlight on you, and simply couldn't resist investigating. Or possibly she'd left something really important to her — medication or such — in her car and it was vital enough to her to take the risk. She was too busy shrieking during dinner to eat much. Maybe she just got so hungry that she risked the stairs.'

“Maybe,' Jane said.

“Not maybe. Probably,' Shelley said firmly. 'And you have to quit worrying about it and get your mind back on the wedding.”

Further speculation was cut off by the arrival of more of the wedding party. An enormous, shining black luxury car was first. Livvy herself was in the passenger seat and Jane assumed the distinguished-looking driver was her father, Jack Thatcher. She and Shelley hopped out of the station wagon and went to meet them.

Jack Thatcher was a handsome, silver-haired man with a golf tan, casual but expensive clothing, and an arrogant air of being a 'captain of industry.' Livvy insisted on introducing her father to Jane even though he clearly wasn't interested in meeting the hired help.

“Ah, Mrs. Jeffry. You've been helping Livvy plan the wedding,' he said, appearing to dismiss her with the rest of the necessary riffraff.

Helping? Jane thought. There wouldn't have been a wedding without me.

“Yes, I've 'helped' a bit,' she said. Her tone should have warned him, but it didn't.

“The van following us has the wedding gifts,' he said. 'You can set them out for display.'

“I beg your pardon?' Jane said. 'This is the first I've heard of this. I hadn't planned—'

“You'll find a place for them,' he said.

Jane could think of a perfect place, but it would be vulgar to suggest it.

“Mr. Thatcher, I'm sorry to say that just isn't done anymore,' Jane said, then recklessly added, 'I believe in most circles, it's considered ostentatious and in poor taste.”

He'd leaned into the car to pick up some paperwork and now turned and glared at her. 'You dare tell me —'

“Daddy!' Livvy all but screamed. 'It's my fault. I forgot to tell Jane you wanted the gifts displayed. We'll find somewhere to put them. Maybe on tables in the upstairs hallway.'

“Do whatever you like, Livvy. It's your wedding,' he said, clearly not meaning a word of it.

Now that Jane and Jack Thatcher had pretty well established themselves as enemies, she decided to let him have the bad news as bluntly as possible.

“Mr. Thatcher, there was a death here last night.'

“What?'

“The seamstress fell down the stairs and died. I'm afraid the police may want to discuss it with you.'

“With me? Why? I don't even know this person.”