“What about Alison?” asked Lucy. “What was it like when she came to live with you?”
“It was great,” said Mireille, looking Lucy right in the eye. “I know what people think, that she must have hated me and the baby, but it wasn’t that way at all. We got on great together. We were like sisters. She was so much fun and so excited about having a baby in the house.” Mireille paused and plucked a tissue from the box on the coffee table, blew her nose, and dabbed at her eyes. “I really miss her and I hate the way she died in that cold, icy water.
“You know what she loved more than anything? Sitting by that fireplace,” Mireille said, pointing at the flickering flames. “I think of her every time I turn it on. She loved to curl up by a nice cozy fire, reading or watching movies with me.”
“It’s a bit unusual, isn’t it, that she moved in with you and her father? Wouldn’t she naturally want to be with her mother?”
“I guess not. She moved in with us right after the wedding. That was about a year ago. She was just out of rehab.”
“What about that?” asked Lucy, recalling the accusation that Mireille had gotten Alison back on drugs. “There are rumors that she was back on drugs and died of an overdose.”
“No way!” exclaimed Mireille. “She got hooked after an accident. . . when she broke her ankle and they gave her painkillers. She hated drugs and was determined to stay off them. She was happy. She had friends and was doing well at college.”
Lucy looked around at the comfortable, cozy room and thought of the huge, empty house beyond the closed door. It struck her that Mireille had carved out a little space for herself, almost as if she was holed up in a bunker with a guard at the door. “What about you? Are you going to stay on in Tinker’s Cove?”
“I don’t think so,” she replied, stroking her tummy. “I’m just waiting for the baby and then I’ll decide what to do. I’m not really a small town girl. I grew up in New York and I really miss it. It wasn’t so bad here when Ed and Allie were, well—” She stopped and grabbed another tissue, quickly wiping her eyes. “I really miss them. I’m still in shock. I don’t understand why anybody would want to kill Ed. I mean, I know he made enemies. He was so outspoken, but he didn’t deserve to get shot like that.” She chewed her lip. “And I don’t like living like this, with bodyguards and all. It’s scary and not just for me. I have to think about the baby.”
“What about the guards? Do you think whoever killed Ed might try to kill you, too?”
“I don’t know what to think, but it’s a definite possibility. At least that’s what they tell me. And they haven’t ruled out murder in Alison’s death, either.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” asked Lucy.
“Ed’s people,” Mireille said with a shrug. “You know, people who worked for him, like Howard Munn. And my mom. She’s with me here. She says I can’t be too careful.”
“Will you be at the funeral?” asked Lucy.
“I really can’t think about that now,” Mireille answered, looking down at her tummy and giving it a pat. “I think a memorial service would be best after the baby’s arrived and everyone’s emotions have kind of settled down.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Lucy was so surprised that the words just tumbled out.
“What do you mean?”
“Howard Munn told me the funeral is this Saturday, eleven o’clock at Trinity Church.”
“Which is Trinity?” asked Mireille. “The one with the big white steeple?”
“It’s in Boston, at Copley Square,” explained Lucy. “And there’s a reception afterwards at the Copley Plaza Hotel.”
“He must have called,” Mireille said quickly, attempting a cover-up. “I haven’t been checking my messages.”
Lucy had a sudden realization Mireille was completely extraneous to the ongoing business empire that was Ed Franklin Enterprises, a situation that would certainly change once her infant child became the sole owner.
“I’m sorry,” said Mireille, rising awkwardly from the sofa by pushing against the padded armrest. “I hope you don’t mind, but I really need to rest now.”
“Of course,” said Lucy, jumping up and spilling the contents of her bag onto the floor. Embarrassed, she fell clumsily to her knees and started stuffing everything back inside, including her notebook. Struggling to her feet, she apologized. “Sorry about that . . .”
“No problem,” said Mireille. Sunshine was streaming through the window, backlighting her fair hair and making her look angelic.
“And thank you for your time,” said Lucy.
“Thank you,” said Mireille, suddenly dropping back down on the couch. “If you don’t mind, I’m a bit . . . can you let yourself out?”
“Are you all right?” asked Lucy. “Can I get someone?”
“I’m ringing now,” Mireille said, picking up a gadget like a TV remote.
A moment later, the door opened and a woman in nurse’s scrubs hurried in and rushed to Mireille’s side. Lucy was somewhat relieved to know she was leaving Mireille in good hands and stepped out into the hallway where she encountered a middle-aged woman also hurrying toward the library.
Seeing Lucy, the woman quickly changed direction, veering toward the front door where the
