“I don’t think any furniture is allowed on the wood deck yet,” she said, “but we can probably put the table on the patio. Let me go put on the kettle.” She bounded up the steps and into the kitchen. As she came outside again, Nan pulled something from the roomy pocket of her sweater and handed it to her. “What’s this?”
“Banana bread,” she said. “I can’t remember who made it for me, but I get so much of this stuff at Rosemoor that I just can’t possibly eat it all.”
“Well, I can’t hardly argue with that,” Doreen said. “I’ll be happy to have a cup of tea with a piece. I still have zucchini bread from Millicent as well if you’d like a piece.”
“Good, keep it,” Nan said. “More than enough is there for tea for us for now.” She continuously walked around, smiling. “This is truly brilliant.”
“Come around here,” Doreen said. And she showed her both sides of the house.
“Now, this is perfect. And, yes, you need the added gravel. With that, you’ll have all this nice and tidy.”
As she walked out to the side where anybody would travel through the garage and around the house, she said, “We’ll put the gates in here. And then look.” She pointed to the pile of gravel in the driveway. “I’ll move all this around and fill in the edges.”
Nan stared at her in surprise. “It’s so perfect,” she said, as she turned around to look. “You’ve really added value to the house.”
“But I don’t have any intention of selling,” she said comfortably. “I’m too happy to have a home.”
“And I love hearing that,” she said. The two women moved inside to make the tea; then Doreen told Nan to wait and give her time to move her little outdoor table and chairs to her new patio. That done, Doreen returned and carried the teapot and the banana bread to the table, while Nan carried a tray with cups and plates. She and Nan set up there to have their treat.
Nan sat with her face up to the morning sun and said, “What a beautiful morning. Too bad Rosie isn’t here to enjoy it.”
“I know,” Doreen said. “And we don’t have anything to go on as to why these women have dropped dead.”
“There’s always something,” she said.
“I know, but none of them had any great wealth that the relatives would want. Yet two of the families were arguing or fighting with Rosie and Delilah.”
Nan nodded. “I did find out a little bit more.”
“About Rosie?”
“Yes,” she said. “Apparently her husband might be still alive.”
“What?” she said. “Did Rosie tell you that?”
“Danny was there again today,” Nan said in a derogatory tone. “He was trying to get back into Rosie’s room. I asked him what he was looking for, and he said a will. I didn’t tell him anything. I wanted him to stew about it all.”
“Right,” Doreen said, thinking about that. “It depends. He thinks he’s getting an estate.”
“And that’s what I can’t understand,” Nan said. “It’s not like she had any money. I mean, we do keep ourselves quite tight at the place, and she had enough money to go out for lunch and her basics, but she never talked about having any money problems. But then, a lot of women wouldn’t talk about having money or not having money,” Nan said. “It’s not ladylike. In her case though, she took it to the extreme.”
“Do you think she was hiding something?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But I do wonder if she doesn’t own something that we didn’t know about.”
“I’m sure she did,” Doreen said. “She was a friend, but that doesn’t mean she’d talk about everything that she owned, would she?”
“No, and she did place reasonable bets. She was never a big gambler, and she was always fairly prudent. She put her winnings off to the side and kept playing with a sealed mouth,” Nan said with approval. “That’s always somebody who understands how money works.”
“Then it’s up to the lawyer to figure out what she has for stocks and bonds,” Doreen said. “For all you know, she owned real estate in town too.”
“It’s quite possible,” Nan said. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Is that the news you wanted to tell me about?”
“Yes,” Nan said. “And the fact that the contest is run by one of the daughters of someone at Rosemoor.”
“What contest?” Doreen asked, struggling to shift conversations. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s organizing the judging at the local fair this August,” she said.
“Is she a new person to run it?”
“No, she’s run it every year for the last ten or so years.”
“Wait a minute.” Doreen got up, walked into the house, grabbed a notepad and pen, came back, and said, “Who is this person?”
“Candace Ethrembel,” Nan said, pronouncing it slowly. “Her mother, Gladys, has been here forever.”
“Okay,” she said. “And she’s looked after the local fair for what, a dozen years?”
“Something like that.”
“And I’m to contact her why?”
“Oh my,” Nan said. “I didn’t say you had to contact her.”
Doreen looked up at her grandmother and then back down at her notes. “Okay,” she said. “And yet you must have a reason for why you brought it up.”
“Sure,” she said. “Just in case you wanted to follow up on that award for the kiwis.”
“I need to do some research on growing kiwis in town anyway,” Doreen said.
“I only know of two who can.”
“Can what?”
“Grow kiwis,” Nan said, frowning at her. “Are you really missing a bunch here?”
“No,” Doreen said. “I’m trying to figure out what it is that you’re trying to tell me without telling me.”
Nan’s frown deepened. She reached across and patted her hand, then said, “Obviously it’s been a very busy weekend. I think you need a break.”
Doreen nodded. “You’re right. It’s been a busy weekend. And it’s now Tuesday, and I’m not even sure what’s on my agenda this week, except that I’ll move that gravel first because I can’t go anywhere until it’s gone from
