“Why do you want to talk to her?” Josie asked.
“There’s the door now,” Uncle Amos said, and Aunt Ellen excused herself.
I sipped my tea, delicious and sweet without being cloying, in the true Southern manner, and gazed over the baloney railing to the beach below and the sea beyond. It was still daylight but the shadows thrown by the houses lining the dunes were long. No one was swimming, but people strolled through the surf, sending sandpipers scurrying on their long, thin legs. Gulls swooped overhead, and out to sea the fishing charters returned to harbor after a day on the water.
I sighed happily.
I turned to see Josie grinning at me. “What?” I said.
“You were in your happy place. I could see it on your face.”
“Guilty as charged,” I said. “How’s things at work?”
“Good. All good.” If the bakery were falling down around her, my cousin would say everything was falling perfectly.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in for a while. We’ve been busy at the library. It’s that time of year.”
“That time of year for us all,” Uncle Amos said. “Even for me, although Steph’s taking on more of the workload these days.” Stephanie Stanton was one of my closest friends, girlfriend of Butch Greenblatt, and Uncle Amos’s law partner. As my uncle edged slowly, perhaps more slowly than Aunt Ellen would like, toward retirement, Steph began shouldering more of their cases.
Uncle Amos rose to his feet as Aunt Ellen and Rachel Blackstone came onto the deck. My aunt carried an enormous bouquet of fresh, short-stemmed red roses, accented by white daisies and leaves of green Hosta. “Look what Rachel brought me,” she said with delight. “And at such short notice too.”
“They’re gorgeous,” Josie said, giving Rachel a hug.
“Grown by my own hand,” Rachel said.
“You know Lucy, don’t you?” Aunt Ellen said. “From the library?”
“Of course,” Rachel said with a light laugh. “Everyone knows Lucy.”
“Everyone loves Lucy,” Josie said. “Hmm, that might make a good name for a TV show.”
“Never heard that one before,” I said, and we all laughed. Oh yes, I’d been reminded of the old Lucille Ball TV show I Love Lucy many times, particularly when I’d been dating a man named Ricky. Thank heavens, I always thought, I don’t have red hair.
Uncle Amos offered drinks, Rachel accepted, and she and I sat down. Aunt Ellen took her flowers into the kitchen, and Josie went to give her a hand. Rachel accepted a glass of wine and complimented Uncle Amos on the view. She was a striking-looking woman, but without the veneer of being over-pampered (my own mom came to mind) some wealthy women have. She was probably in her mid-fifties, taller than even Josie, and whippet thin, with sleek black-and-gray hair that curled under her chin, and wide hazel eyes brimming with good humor. She’d dressed for a casual dinner with friends, in white jeans, a navy-blue T-shirt, and a white linen jacket. Her only jewelry was discreet gold hoop earrings.
Josie and Aunt Ellen were soon back, carrying platters of cheese, a sliced baguette, and a bowl of mixed nuts. Uncle Amos fired up the grill.
“I haven’t seen you since your wedding, Josie,” Rachel said. “My congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d ask how married life is working out, but I don’t have to. You still have that glow. Happiness simply pours from you.”
Josie smiled and blushed. She’d been married over the winter to Jake Greenblatt, Butch’s brother. Jake owned Jake’s Seafood Bar, one of the most popular restaurants in Nags Head, where he was also the head chef. With his work hours, he didn’t often get to family dinners.
Aunt Ellen sat down and accepted a glass of wine from Uncle Amos. My uncle went into the kitchen and was soon back carrying a tray on which lay an enormous red snapper, which he’d earlier prepped and stuffed.
I picked up my glass of tea and twisted it in my hands. I spoke hesitantly, unsure of the reception my question would get. “I hope you don’t mind, Rachel. I have something I’d like to ask you. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”
“That sounds serious,” she said. “Go ahead.”
“Did you hear about the woman who died outside the library on Friday night?”
“I did. It was on the news.”
“Her name was Helena Sanchez. She was the library director until about ten years ago. Did you know her?”
“I don’t believe I did. She would have been there before my time. It’s only since Bertie took over that I got involved in the library. I knew of her, when she lived in Nags Head, but I don’t recall having any contact. I knew her sister, though. Tina.”
“You did?”
“Tina and I were friends at one time. In our wild youth. Tina Sanchez she was then. She has since married and divorced, I’ve heard. I haven’t seen Tina in ages; I don’t know if she’s still living in this area.”
“She is.”
Rachel put down her glass. She studied my face intently. Perhaps she saw something there she could trust, because she gave the slightest of nods and began to speak. “When I say ‘wild youth,’ Lucy, I mean it. That was not a good time in my life. Why are you asking about Helena?”
“The police are calling her death a murder.”
Rachel nodded. “So I’ve heard.”
“Something strange happened a short while before she died, and your name came up.”
She looked surprised. “It did? How odd. In what context, may I ask?”
I glanced at Aunt Ellen. She gave me a slight nod, telling me to continue. Uncle Amos stood next to the gas grill, beer in one hand, metal tongs in the other, supervising the cooking of his fish but still listening closely to our conversation.
“Jeffrey Applewhite.”
“Goodness. That is a blast from the past.” Rachel glanced at my uncle. “Is there news about the necklace?”
“Not that I know of,” he said.
She picked up her glass, took a sip, and said, “Go on, Lucy.” I couldn’t help but notice that
