“Hmm.” Dani tucked that info into the mental folder labeled Further investigation needed. “How about the guys in Regina’s inner circle?”
“Her fiancé, Lazarus Hunter, comes from old money but seems nice enough.” Starr began transferring the completed lunches to the refrigerator. “He strikes me as a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.”
“He sure was a drunken kind of guy at the party.” Dani took an armful of dirty dishes to the sink.
“I’ve only met him a few times, but I never saw him drink before.”
“What about Bliss’s boyfriend?” Dani rinsed off dirty bowls and utensils. “Vance King? He sure seemed intent on talking to Regina during the party, and she kept brushing him off.”
“Vance is sort of creepy. Super callous and self-indulgent, you know?” Starr loaded the dishwasher. “Regina dated him before dumping him for Laz.”
“Why did she break up with him?” Dani shut off the faucet and winced as the water gurgled down the drain. She sure hoped there wasn’t anything wrong with the plumbing. Pipes in an old house like the mansion could be a time bomb waiting to go off. “I would think a star football player with NFL hopes would be a prize she’d consider worth keeping.”
“He seemed kind of bossy for a girl like Regina, but I have no idea.” Starr wiped her hands on a paper towel. “You should ask Ivy.”
“Now you’ve got me curious.” Dani winked at Starr. “Guess I’ll have to see what Ivy says.”
Starr headed upstairs to study and Dani checked the microwave clock. She had fifteen or twenty minutes until customers started to show up. Time enough to wash and to put on clean clothes.
A quarter of an hour later, Dani smiled at herself in the mirror. The shower had felt heavenly and her headache was almost completely gone. She’d already combed her wet hair and wound it into a bun. Now she pulled on a pair of jeans and a peach button-down blouse, then brushed on some blush and mascara. Sliding her feet into a pair of loafers, she hurried downstairs.
As she stepped into the kitchen, the front doorbell rang. Her pulse raced and she froze.
Shit! That better not be Kipp wanting his darn book, or worse, Mikeloff back to arrest me. Her lunch customers would be arriving any second, and she couldn’t afford to send them away empty-handed.
Dani shot a glance at the sliding window to assure herself that no one was waiting, then turned on her heel and headed down the hallway. Dread slowed her steps, and as she approached the vestibule, she stopped completely. Finally, she reluctantly crept toward the window, careful to keep out of sight.
Squinting, Dani saw a young woman who was a little taller than average and a lot curvier than was fashionable. One thing about living in a college town was the plethora of young, beautiful, thin females. The abundance of size-four young women often made anyone who wore a pair of jeans with a double-digit tag feel huge.
However, the woman tapping her toe impatiently on the front porch radiated a confidence that Dani envied. Between spending much of the last year with Kipp sniping at her figure, and all of her life having her father tell her she wasn’t thin enough, her body image was at an all-time low.
Curious, since there was a sign directing Chef-to-Go customers to the rear entrance, Dani opened the door and said, “Can I help you?”
“Are you Danielle Sloan?” The young woman slid her foot over the threshold.
“Yes.” Dani frowned. Was her visitor selling something? “And you are?”
Nearby a car door slammed and a motor whined to life. Dani glanced past her visitor’s shoulder but didn’t see the vehicle.
“Frannie Ryan.” The woman stuck out her hand. “I work for the Normalton News.”
“You’re a reporter?” Dani had sent a press release when she’d started her business. It would be great if the newspaper did a feature article.
“Not exactly.” The woman’s long, brown hair swirled in the warm breeze, emphasizing her suddenly red cheeks. “But I am a journalist. I cover the obituaries and write the Miss Fortune column.”
“Well, no one at this address has passed on or has submitted a request for advice.” At least Dani didn’t think so. She was distracted by the sound of chimes indicating someone was at the to-go window. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Sorry, I need to get that.”
“No problem.” Frannie slipped inside. “I can wait until you’re free.”
The chimes sounded again and Dani gave up on the idea of pushing her back outside. Grudgingly, she allowed the woman to follow her down the hallway.
As soon as they entered the kitchen, Frannie’s eyes widened. “Wow! Your kitchen is bigger than my whole apartment.” She trailed her fingers on the counter and added, “Nicer too.”
“Thanks.” Dani waved her visitor out of her way. “Take a seat.”
Turning her attention to the waiting customers, Dani sold lunches nonstop for nearly an hour. She was so relieved that Regina’s death didn’t seem to be hurting her business, she almost forgot the reporter sitting at the table.
However, as she handed over the last of the red-and-white sacks, Frannie said, “Holy cow! Those things are really popular. What a fabulous idea.”
“Thanks.” Dani smiled. “Would you like to taste some of the leftovers?”
“Sure.” Frannie twisted a glossy, brown lock of hair around her finger.
“You never did tell me why you’re here.” Dani put a less than perfectly wrapped chicken sandwich and the last small scoop of sweet potato salad on a dish and slid it in front of her guest, along with a cold bottle of water.
“Regina Bourne.” Frannie mumbled around a mouthful of the salad. “I heard one of the reporters say that she died after her annual SummerPalooza bash. So I asked around and found out you catered it.”
“I see.” Dani twisted her fingers in her apron. This wasn’t good. “I did provide the food, but Ms. Bourne was alive
