courses at Bellevue Community College and that kind of thing. I picked up Dorene's when a friend of mine retired due to ill-health. I've worked there part of the time because it's fun and because I enjoy it. But I'm letting Latty manage it for me to give her a little on-the-job training in the world of business.'
'About Don Wolf…' I hinted.
'Oh, yes. I do tend to ramble a bit now and then. According to my will as it is currently written, Latty will be my sole beneficiary. That includes paying those ridiculous amounts Suzanne tells me are so-called generation- skipping taxes. That being the case-Latty being my sole heir, I mean-I was interested in learning more about this Don Wolf character. Latty kept hinting that she thought he was wonderful husband material, and I didn't want her marrying some gigolo.
'As far as I could tell, however, there were several bad signs. I knew he was new to town and quite a bit older than she was, so I did the only sensible thing-'
'And hired a private detective,' I finished.
This time, Grace Highsmith's smile was nothing short of glowing. 'Why, Detective Beaumont, how in the world did you know that?'
'I am a detective, too, remember?'
Grace laughed. 'Why, yes, I suppose you are. Well, Virginia Marks comes from a longtime Eastside family. Her grandparents' place was just down the road from ours-from our summer cabin, that is. Back then, the Marks family was fairly well to do, but then they ran into some bad investments and had to sell out far too early to reap the kind of financial benefit that would have been possible only a few years later. Both Virginia's parents died while she was fairly young, and so she and her brother have pretty much had to shift for themselves. That's not all that bad. Working is good for you, don't you think?'
I nodded and then attempted to steer things back to the question at hand. 'So you hired Virginia Marks to do a background check on Don Wolf. Then what happened? Did she discover anything important?'
Grace Highsmith didn't answer immediately. While she seemed to struggle with indecision, Suzanne Crenshaw reached out and grasped the older woman's forearm. 'Grace, if you've changed your mind…'
'No, thank you, Suzanne,' Grace managed. 'I'll be fine in a minute. It's just terribly difficult, you know. Terribly difficult.'
She took a deep breath and looked at me. 'Don Wolf raped my niece, Detective Beaumont. It happened last Wednesday night, around midnight, in his office in downtown Seattle.'
'How did you find out about it?' I asked.
'Latty told me, but I would have known even if she hadn't. Virginia was following them that night, and she saw them coming out of the building afterward. Latty was crying. Her clothes had been torn to shreds. From the way Latty looked as they came out of the building, Virginia deduced what had happened. She reported the incident to me, and I asked Latty about it the next day. I told you before, my niece is quite incapable of lying. That's another thing Abby never taught her-the art of telling a plausible fib when necessary. So she admitted the whole thing, even though it broke her heart to have to do it.'
'What happened next?'
'What do you suppose? I had my detective find out where that low-down worm would be and when I could catch him unawares. Then I went down to the shop, took the gun out of the drawer where we keep it-for protection, you see. And after that, I took care of him.'
By then, Suzanne was shaking her head in obvious despair. 'Grace, please…' she objected, but Grace ignored her completely.
'Where did you find him?'
'I had told Latty not to see him again, but she made arrangements to meet him down in Myrtle Edwards Park at eleven-thirty on New Year's Eve. I followed Latty there, and when she left him alone, I shot him.'
'Where?'
'In the park. I already told you.'
'Where exactly did you shoot him? In the face? The chest? The back of the neck?'
'Does that matter?' Grace Highsmith asked. For the first time she looked slightly flustered.
'Actually, it does. Especially in a confession.'
Grace frowned. 'I'm afraid I don't remember exactly. I must have been too upset at the time.'
That was the moment when, as far as Grace Highsmith's so-called 'confession' was concerned, the whole thing fell apart. In twenty-plus years of being a cop, I've been compelled to use deadly force on occasion. Each and every time, I've been what Miss Highsmith would have termed 'upset,' but I've never had the good fortune of forgetting even one incident. I remember them all-in vivid, bloody color and in heart-stopping detail.
Instead of mentioning that, I patted the pocket in which I had deposited the Seecamp. 'Where did you get the gun, Miss Highsmith? I happen to know this particular weapon is very popular, and there's a minimum of a year-long wait to purchase one of these new from the factory.'
'That I simply won't tell you,' Grace declared. 'A gentleman friend of mine gave it to me, and I'm not about to involve him in this tawdry business. He's a very nice man and doesn't deserve to have his name dragged through the mud.'
By then, Suzanne had eaten her way through the grilled salmon. The waiter took her empty plate and then stopped by with a fully loaded dessert tray. It contained the usual things one expects to find in a place like that- fresh mandarin orange sorbet, double chocolate cheese cake with a Bailey's Irish Cream mousse, a coconut mousse tart, and a caramel apple cake.
Suzanne took the chocolate mousse. When the waiter looked at me, I started to shake my head. 'Oh, please join us for dessert at least,' Grace insisted. 'You must have something. It'll do you a world of good. Try the cake. It's my absolute favorite. That's what I'm having, along with a cup of decaf.'
I'm a sucker for anything with caramel on it, so I knuckled under. 'All right,' I said.
When the cake came, it was nothing short of delectable. The single layer of rich, moist cake was covered by a caramel sauce and topped by a dollop of whipped cream. Grace Highsmith broke off a tiny forkful and put it in her mouth. As she did so, her eyes misted over for the first time.
'I don't suppose they'll have desserts like this in the King County Jail,' she said wistfully.
'They don't,' I agreed. 'But who said anything about jail?'
'You are going to arrest me, aren't you?' Grace Highsmith asked pointedly.
'No,' I said. 'I don't think so.'
She looked clearly offended. 'Why not?'
'Miss Highsmith, when it comes to murder investigations,' I explained, 'the process of making arrests is far more complicated than most people think.'
'What about the gun?' she asked.
'What about it?'
'Was I or was I not carrying the murder weapon?' she demanded.
'That remains to be seen,' I told her.
Her face fell for a moment, then brightened once more. 'But I was carrying a concealed weapon.'
'Carrying is a misdemeanor,' I said. 'For simple carrying we usually confiscate the weapon and issue a citation, unless the person is actually brandishing and placing people's lives in danger, which you weren't. Furthermore, since we're outside Seattle city limits, I couldn't arrest you anyway. Bellevue isn't part of my jurisdiction.'
For the first time since I met her, Grace Highsmith appeared to be gravely disappointed. 'Shoot,' she said. 'I suppose I should have thought of that. We could just as well have gone there for lunch.'
Moments later, the waiter dropped off the check. Grace may have been upset, but she deftly slipped the bill off the tray before I ever had a chance to touch it. As the waiter went away to take care of the credit-card transaction, Shelley stopped by the table one last time.
'How was it?' she asked.
'Perfect,' Grace answered 'For what I thought was my last meal, it was absolutely wonderful.'
Shelley frowned. 'What do you mean, last meal, Grace? Are you going away?'
'I thought so. I was under the impression Detective Beaumont would be arresting me and I'd be spending the rest of my life in jail. Now it turns out I'm not going to jail after all. I'm disappointed. Very disappointed!'
It turned out that in a lunchtime of bizarre conversational twists and turns, Grace Highsmith had finally
