“He wasn’t really blaming you. He was excusing his own contemptible behavior.”
“I guess you’re right. Anyway, that money will be put to good use. Dribs and drabs of the money Norman swindled from Willis are already coming back to me. As the money comes in, I’ll use it to pay down the Blomquists’ Available Options debt.”
That took me by suprise. “To help them hold on to Jessamine House you’re whittling down a loan they actually owe to you. Now that is a mark of a true friend.”
Dolores sighed. “I hate to admit it, but Willis toyed with the Blomquists as if their livelihood, their very survival, was a game. I’m determined to straighten things out.”
“And what about Marjory Ribault?” I brought up what I considered to be a thorny issue. “The papers we found in Willis’s files indicate you are the alternate trustee for the revocable trust that includes her cottage and her income. How do you plan to handle that?”
“That’s an easy one. While I can’t give her Manning Hall, I do intend to tell her that for our purposes the word ‘revocable’ is meaningless. She can remain in the cottage forever and have complete access to the grounds and gardens, including the kitchen garden.”
“Ah, so Lucinda told you about the vegetables.”
“She told me, yes.” Dolores laughed. “And she was surprised when I said I already knew.”
“How did you learn the big secret? I know you didn’t come across Marjory pilfering carrots while you were out for a run,” I teased.
“Not likely. But my bedroom window frequently offers a bird’s-eye view of Marjory roaming through the pines from the cottage to the kitchen garden and back again.”
I laughed along with her. “Aren’t you the sly one?”
Dolores expertly maneuvered through the downtown Columbia traffic and made one final left turn, into the train station parking lot. Dolores and I hugged good-bye and a courtly porter escorted me to my roomette.
I waved out the window to Dolores and watched her walk back toward the parking lot. I knew from experience that it would take time, but I was sure she’d be able to manage forging a new life for herself.
My cell phone rang. Seth Hazlitt.
“Yes, Seth, I am on the train, and after a brief stop in New York City to see Grady and his family, I’ll be on my way home. You can tell Doris Ann that if she sets the library furniture committee meeting for any day next week, I will be there to save the budget.”
“Don’t forget to make certain the chairs the committee buys are well padded,” Seth said, continuing his unending lobbying for extra-comfortable chairs.
“I’m sure you’ll remind me a dozen times before the meeting. I’ve heard quite enough about library furniture. Now, please tell me the latest news from Cabot Cove.”
And as the train began to make its way north, Seth said, “Ayuh, I’m not as up on things as the girls at Loretta’s Beauty Parlor, but I did hear . . .”
About the Authors
Jessica Fletcher is a bestselling mystery writer who has a knack for stumbling upon real-life mysteries in her various travels. Award-winning writer Terrie Farley Moran coauthors this bestselling series.
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