Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,53

slam, too.

That left me, and I couldn’t go inside, because Beth would recognize me in an instant. I groaned and reminded myself that even one Holmes couldn’t follow three suspicious characters. I was lucky to have my Watsons, and I’d be luckier still if they didn’t get spotted and blow the operation.

As for me, I snapped my cell phone shut, pulled the clipboard onto my lap, and waited to see when Beth would come out of Preston’s.

I did something else, too.

I wondered why each of these women had gone into a different bar, what were they doing there, and what it all had to do with Vickie’s murder.

Ten

BY THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY, I STILL DIDN’T HAVE THE answers to my questions, but I knew where I had to look to find them. I would, too. As soon as I got over the shock and awe of getting my first up-close-and-personal gander at Celia’s house.

Beth’s home was a modern wonder of sleek lines and serene colors. Celia’s was anything but. No stylish angles or two-story panes of glass here. With its hand-hewn stone walls, its slate roof, and the little half-circle windows that peeked from gables, Celia and Scott’s house looked as if it had been plucked from the English countryside. In fact, the only thing it had in common with Beth and Michael’s palatial home was the too cute Welcome Friends sign near the front door. Yeah, the one with the smiling, waving bear and moose on it.

Bear and moose aside, I tried not to look too impressed when I stepped through a charming swinging gate that led up an equally charming stone walk lined with an array of early blooming (and not incidently, very charming) wildflowers.

I actually might have been caught in the fairy-tale wonder of it all if the door didn’t open even before I rang the bell.

And if Edward Monroe wasn’t standing there.

Before I could make a move, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “I heard you’d be here,” he said. He looked beyond me to Norman’s Jag parked on the other side of the street. “I’m surprised you didn’t walk. It’s such a beautiful evening.”

“I was running late. And with so much to carry . . .” I had a tote bag with me, and I hoisted it in both hands just to demonstrate. “I hope Celia isn’t waiting for me before she puts the food out. I wouldn’t want to hold up the festivities.”

Edward’s expression never changed. “Oh, the girls are a little busy,” he said. “Beth’s in a real tizzy. You know how she can get.”

I didn’t, since I didn’t know Beth well enough to know if she was tizzy-prone. I nodded like I did, anyway. “She’s upset? About . . . ?”

Edward didn’t answer. In fact, all he did was stare. So hard and so long, it made me uncomfortable. I shifted my tote bag from my right hand to my left, then back to my right. “If there’s anything I can do to help . . .” I finally said, making a move toward the door.

Edward blocked my path. “I suppose the only thing anybody can do to help is to find that money for her.”

I was pretty sure my blank expression was all the response Edward would need. But he apparently was not so convinced. He cocked his head and raised his voice just enough to make it clear that perhaps I hadn’t heard him right the first time, and if only I’d listen a little closer, maybe I’d get things straight. “The Girl Scout cookie money,” he said, slowly, each word pronounced distinctly. “There’s five hundred dollars of Girl Scout cookie money missing and Beth’s worried sick about it. She doesn’t want Michael to find out, so don’t say a thing once you’re inside. She probably wouldn’t have mentioned it to me except . . . well . . .” He twitched his shoulders as if the thought made him uncomfortable. “She apparently thought I could help her out, though how I can, I’m not sure. But then, maybe she’s not thinking straight. She’s terribly upset.”

“I can certainly understand that.” My own stomach did flip-flops at the very thought, and it wasn’t even my cookie money. “Maybe she’s just misplaced it. That kind of thing happens a lot. We put something down in one place, and we’re convinced we put it someplace else. We make ourselves sick with worry when all we have to do is stop and