Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes by Maria Swan (top books of all time txt) 📗

in the main room of the convalescent home. Even from the back, she was hard to miss. For one thing, she sat up straight which added to her stature, and she had on her office clothes, no bathrobe and slippers like most of the other residents. She sat alone, her back to the large door, flipping—what else? Tarot cards.

“Perfect timing.” I spoke a bit louder than I meant to and surprised her since I had sneaked up. “Wanna read my cards? I could use some good news.” I smiled.

“Hey, girlfriend, you know I’m not the one who decides what cards you get. Sit down, sit down. Tell me all about Kay’s party. By the way, is her condo in the same building where that woman drowned last night, or am I confused?”

“No, you’re not the one who is confused. As a matter of fact, I just spoke to Kay at the office. She said the cops are going door-to-door in her building, showing my picture to the residents, asking if they recognize me.” What can I say? I have a weakness for drama. And by the look on Kassandra’s face, it worked.

“Get out of here.” She slapped my left shoulder. To Kassandra it was a love tap,—to my shoulder it was a direct punch. Ouch. I sat, rubbing the sore spot with my right hand. “When are you coming back? The office isn’t the same without you.” I meant every word.

“Oh, aren’t you sweet. Did you bring me anything to munch on? I’m so done with what they feed us. Most of the people are here because of serious stuff, and they eat small, bland meals.” She waited. I said nothing. “No, no food, huh? Fortunately I’m going home late this afternoon. Scott is driving me and helping me up the stairs.”

I jumped off my chair and hugged her. “Best news ever. If you need a ride to work, I don’t mind the extra miles, honestly.”

“Thanks, but I won’t be back until after Christmas. Sunny’s idea. If I remember correctly there isn’t much going on from now until the end of December anyhow. Come on, tell me about Kay’s party. Where you able to get a peek?”

That was when I told her about Double Wide and my well-meaning detour. “Of course, I don’t have any real proof,” I sighed, “Not yet. But, I mean...what was he doing there, same evening, same time?”

“You said the doorman opened the door of his car?”

“Yes, that creep, can you believe it?”

She paused, her fingers tapping on top of the stacked Tarot cards deck. “How come the doorman didn’t rush to open your car door?”

“Seriously? Double Wide drives a Maserati Quattro Porte. My car is a Fiat 500 and while both are Italian imports, it’s like comparing—I don’t know—Sophia Loren in her glory days to an Italian grandma who overstayed her visa to help with the newborn American grandchild.”

Kassandra wasn’t buying it, probably because I conveniently left out the part about driving over the curb and taking off without ever coming to a full stop. “That’s not the way doormen are trained. Unless of course Double Wide is a regular and heavy tipper or...he lives there.”

My mouth was so open wide I could have played fetch with a tennis ball. “Oh my God,” was all I managed to blurt out.

“Okay, girlfriend, let’s ask the spirits to demystify your quandary. Here, shuffle the cards and start thinking about what you really want to know. But choose your wishes wisely.” Her tone of voice gave me goosebumps the whole length of my spine.

FOUR

I DIDN’T WANT to go home or back to the office either. Plopped on an outdoor chair, I sipped coffee and munched on a bear claw outside A.J.’s Fine Foods on 44th Street at Camelback. Mercy. I hadn’t had a bear claw in maybe two years, and the last time I stopped by this particular location of A.J.’s was back when I was still married to Tommy and his dad was still alive. Why now? Why here?

The mid-day sun warmed my face, and the place wasn’t that busy. Perhaps shoppers preferred the Scottsdale Fashion Mall a few miles east.

There, one could spend a mere ten minutes in each store and still not have seen them all by closing time. Of course, shopping occupied my mind since I still had to find a present for Tristan. My Google search with the gorgeous horses pictures dating back to the early Western days had me all warmed up to the idea of a saddle. A five-minute phone chat with an acquaintance who made a nice living boarding horses not too far from the 40th Street trails convinced me to forget about a saddle since I wasn’t that familiar with either horse or rider. And I had to say when she rolled out a few hypothetical $$$$ prices, I quickly agreed with her. Ouch... talk about pricey! A nice saddle would have cost more than my couch. Just before disconnecting, my equine expert made the cool suggestion of a very old book about the history of saddles. Worth a try. At this point so close to Christmas and with the commission already in the bank, I had to make a decision. Nothing too personal, this was a business connection—well—to the outside world it was. Nothing too extravagant, Tristan Dumont grew up with the best of the best, money would not impress him.

After leaving Kassandra, on impulse I had taken a long detour and found myself trolling on Camelback Road, way too close to the cursed The Nest. My heart echoed like the hammering of a farrier on a horseshoe as I drove by. What was it about this place? A place I had never set foot in and yet gave me the jitters? I wanted to learn more about the dead girl. I felt I had to learn more. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I wanted to know her name.

I guessed that was how I ended up eating a