“Three.”
“Who is the lover?” I asked.
Georgia shrugged. “I don’t know. Kaitlyn could be very discreet.”
Visions of Chip in bed with Kaitlyn Clydesdale sprang to mind, except he was twenty years her junior. On the other hand, she had offered him a big role in her enterprise. Would he have offered himself up as a boy-toy for the chance to own his own restaurant?
“And then there’s Ipo Ho.” Georgia raised one lip in an Elvis sneer. “He’s very cute. Kaitlyn liked them cute.”
“He’s innocent!” Rebecca cried.
“Is he?” Without purchasing a thing, Georgia pivoted and strutted out of the shop, and I had to wonder whether the whole intent for her appearance at my store had been to upset my sweet assistant.
Breathing high in her chest, Rebecca scurried to the office and I followed. She braced her palms on the desk, shoulders heaving. Rags weaved figure eights around her ankles and mewed loudly. I nudged him away with my toe and petted Rebecca’s arm.
“No matter what,” I said, “the way Kaitlyn died will be considered involuntary manslaughter.” I hoped I sounded reassuring. “Remember, the coroner said it was the bump on her head from the coffee table that killed her. It could have been an accident, which would mean no malice aforethought.”
“The killer didn’t report it, didn’t stick around. That can’t be argued as no malice aforethought, and you know it.” Rebecca broke away from the counter and jabbed her index finger at me. “You think Ipo did it, don’t you?”
Truth be told, Ipo was as passive a man as I had ever met. I couldn’t see him hitting Kaitlyn. And if he had, wouldn’t Rebecca have witnessed the event? She didn’t go outside to smooch by herself. She wasn’t twelve, for heaven’s sake.
“You do,” she cried before I could answer. “You’re trying to console me by making me think Ipo will get a shorter prison sentence. Well, he shouldn’t get any prison sentence, do you hear me? He didn’t do it. I was with him. Every minute.” She thumped her chest. “Besides, I couldn’t love a man who committed this crime or any horrible act. Could you?”
Her words coldcocked me. Had Jordan ever committed a horrible act? Could I love him if he had?
“You’ve got to beg Octavia Tibble for details about the sale of the Burrell farm,” Rebecca said. “There’s a story there. I can feel it in my bones.”
CHAPTER
I was pretty sure what Rebecca felt
For three hours, while Tyanne and I decorated and moved stock, I couldn’t help thinking about Ipo. How could I bail the love of Rebecca’s life out of a jam? Ipo was innocent until proven guilty, right? Except Urso didn’t seem to be focused on anyone else as a suspect—at least, not to my untrained ears.
By the time Tyanne and I had finished our tasks, I decided the best course of action was to follow through on my promise to Rebecca. I would discuss the sale of the Burrell farm with Octavia Tibble and find out if something had gone awry with the contract.
* * *
Octavia wore two professional hats. She spent half of her time as the owner and sole operator of Tibble Realty and the other half as our town librarian. Bracing against the wind, I headed to our quaint library to track her down. The moment I entered the Victorian building, which was built the same year as the town and painted the color of ripe lemons, I felt an instant sense of peace and harmony.
I followed the sound of young laughter and found Octavia in the children’s section, decked out in a plumed feather turban, purple brocade robes, and brocade slippers, prancing in front of a dozen three- and four-year-olds. She was reading from a glittery book, and as she turned a page, the plumed feather fell forward—intentionally, I was pretty sure. She blew it off her face, and the children roared again with laughter.
I smiled to myself. As a child, how many hours had I spent entertained by the clever librarian who read stories of adventure in far-off lands? Oh, to be that child again, at a time when cruelty and death were no part of my daily life.
When the reading ended and the children started to toddle out, I said to Octavia, “Purple looks good with your coloring.” She had the richest, creamiest cafe au lait skin I’d ever seen.
“Why, thank you.” She removed her turban and swooped her beaded black braids over her shoulder.
“I see you had the kids in stitches, yet again.”
She chuckled. “You know me. Always in for the fun of it.” She brandished
“It’s about the Clydesdale murder.”
Octavia fanned her chest. “Lord, isn’t it horrible? Wooden batons to the throat.”
“That’s not proven yet. It’s just a theory.”
“Ipo couldn’t find them, I hear.”
“It’s a rumor.” I sounded like one of Rebecca’s TV lawyers. Next thing I knew, I would be attending an online law school.
Octavia said, “You know, I was thinking—”
“Bye-bye, Mrs. Tibble.” A little girl with golden locks danced on tiptoe and wiggled her fingers. “Want to see me twirl before we leave?”
The man holding the girl’s hand spun her like a jewel-box ballerina. Around and around and around.
Octavia regarded him. “Is she your grandchild, Luigi?”
Luigi nodded. “She’s my youngest daughter’s child.”
If Octavia hadn’t said Luigi’s name, I almost wouldn’t have recognized him. Luigi Bozzuto, the restaurateur who owned La Bella Ristorante and was dating Delilah, was usually devilishly handsome, but he looked worse for wear, as if he had run a hundred miles without drinking a sip of water. Bags folded beneath his aging eyes. His skin sagged with fatigue.
“What a pistol,” Octavia said. “Why haven’t I seen her in here before?”
“They’re visiting from Wellington.”
“One of my favorite libraries is in Wellington.” Octavia bent at the waist to speak directly to the little girl. “Do you go to the library near your home? Do you love to read?”
“Yep. Watch me pirouette by myself.” The girl released Luigi’s hand and did another spin, arms wide, chin upturned.
“Oh, yeah, she’s a pistol.” Octavia rose to her full height and squeezed Luigi’s arm. “Hope you can keep up.”
“I can as long as I don’t drink shots. I feel like somebody slipped me a Mickey Finn.” He chuckled. “I’m getting old.”
That explained his dreary look. I had rarely known Luigi to have more than one glass of wine. His daughter was a flibbertigibbet who could bend an ear. Perhaps entertaining her and her family had driven him to over- imbibe.
As Luigi ushered his granddaughter out, I couldn’t help but wonder what Delilah was thinking by dating him. He was old enough to be her father. Actually, he was older than her father, Pops, who was a prime force at the Country Kitchen. Sure, Luigi was charming and a talented restaurateur, but he was too old for someone as vibrant as Delilah. On the other hand, could I wish her spinsterhood? Since returning to town, defeated by the fickleness of Broadway, Delilah hadn’t found anyone to date in Providence. Urso, the first love of her life, was captivated by
