Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,54
think things through.”
“Maybe.” Edward wasn’t convinced. I could tell because he crossed his arms over his chest.
I managed a smile. “Maybe she needs to re-create the incident. You know, go over the details in her head. When was the last time she saw the money?”
“She says it was at her house. Last Friday. You know, the day you came over for the wine tasting.”
Yes, of course I knew that. I didn’t point it out. “And where was the last place she saw it?”
Edward’s eagle-eyed gaze never wavered. “She thinks it was in the kitchen. There’s a desk in there where she and Michael take care of bills and such. She’s sure that’s where she left the envelope with the money in it. You may have seen it, Annie. You were in the kitchen. Alone.”
OK, call me slow. Call me dense, to boot. It took a while for what he was saying to sink it, and even after it had, I was pretty sure I was imagining things.
I swallowed hard. “You’re not saying—”
His eyes opened wide in feigned surprise, Edward took a step back. “I’d never accuse anyone of something like that. Not until I had some proof, anyway.”
That was a relief. I reminded myself that suspicious looks and veiled accusations weren’t enough proof for anyone and reached around Edward to press the front bell. Pretending I’d just arrived was the perfect excuse for me to get away from him. “Maybe I can help Beth figure out what happened,” I said, a smile on my face. “I’m pretty good when it comes to getting down to the bottom of mysteries.”
I don’t know how he might have responded, because Celia showed up at the oak door, which was twice as tall as me, and led me into a foyer complete with a suit of armor, ancestral pictures on the walls (they didn’t look like the forebears of either Celia or Scott), and a flagstone floor that I had no doubt was a pain to keep clean.
In a lightweight tweedy sweater and neatly tailored pants, Celia fit right in. She looked like the lady of the manor.
In my black pants and one of the spring tops I’d bought back when I worked at the bank, I looked like exactly what I was: a poser.
Fortunately, no one seemed to hold it against me. Glynis and Beth came out of the kitchen to greet me, as friendly as ever in spite of the cookie money drama, and eager to make me feel right at home. I might have relaxed if I didn’t look back into the foyer just in time to see Edward walk back in.
I stopped for a moment and studied him as closely as he was looking at me.
I thought Edward Monroe was a murderer, and that gave me every right to be suspicious, right? But suspicious or not, I wasn’t prepared for what had just happened.
Because I’d just found out that Edward was suspicious, too. There was money missing from Beth’s. And without coming right out and saying it, Edward had delivered a clear message:
He thought I was the one who’d taken it.
FORTUNATELY, MY NEWEST BEST FRIENDS APPARENTLY either hadn’t heard Edward’s take on the missing money or didn’t buy into it. I followed them into the kitchen and, back in my element (No, not that element! Not the kitchen, investigating!), I knew I had the upper hand. Ever since the previous Tuesday, when Norman, Eve, and I did our James Bond thing and found out that there was more to these ladies than I’d imagined, I’d been planning for this meeting. I was as pleased as punch to see that the evening was materializing into exactly the showdown I was hoping for. I stood back, watched, and waited as Celia pulled a heart-shaped red porcelain casserole dish out of the oven.
“Reuben dip.” She beamed. “Scott loves Reubens and this is easier than making sandwiches. And you know, they say the recipe from Sonny’s cooking school is the best ever.” She set the cast-iron casserole on the granite island in the center of the kitchen, where Glynis was arranging her appetizer on a glorious Waterford crystal serving tray.
“Pita wedges,” Glynis said. “They’re topped with pepperoni and slices of provolone, and only Sonny knows the secret of how to keep them crispy, even though there’s olive oil and butter, too, in the recipe.” She giggled. “Sonny only shares his secrets with his students.”
All the while, Beth fiddled with a ceramic platter shaped like