Page 84 of Murder By the Millions
Vanna eyed me. “That doesn’t mean I can’t help you do all the things you need me to do for theGatsbyevent, Allie. The mayor’s party isn’t for another month, and the alderman’s is in two months.” She inspected the heel of her left shoe. “Ooh,mud. Why does Mother water so much?” She slipped off the shoe and, balancing with her barefoot toes on the wet ground, wiped off the mess using a tissue from her purse. “Hopeless.” She inserted her foot into the shoe and balled up the tissue. “Following those meetings, I delivered an early dinner to Katherine Fineworthy, Finette’s great-aunt.”
“You did?” I asked.
“Yes. I go every Wednesday. Finette hired me to do so.”
Aha.That made sense. Vanna had been paid. She wasn’t entirely altruistic.
“She likes macaroni and cheese. I made it extra special with a three-cheese blend.”
I grinned. “I make it the same way.”
“Aunt Marigold and Katherine were such good friends,” Vanna went on. “She is … was an avid reader. She lives in the darling blue house with the yellow shutters on the corner of Oak Knoll, not far from Auntie’s … I meanyourhouse, Tegan.”
“I know the one.”
“Finette mentioned her great-aunt was ailing.” Actually, she’d intimated that her great-aunt was slipping mentally. I took a sip of my wine. “She’s deliberating about applying for a conservatorship.”
“Yes.” Vanna bobbed her head. “She wants to coerce her great-aunt into moving into a retirement facility. To be truthful, sometimes the poor dear can’t even walk to her mailbox without forgetting why she went outside. I bring it to her whenever I visit and sort through it with her. She gets quite a lot of junk.”
“Don’t we all?” I joked.
“She enjoys flipping through advertising mailers,” Vanna said. “As if she’ll ever buy another item in her life. Now is the time to sell what she’s got, Finette tells her. I don’t think Katherine agrees. Finette doesn’t press. She doesn’t want to upset her.” She leaned forward. “Speaking of upsetting someone you love, did you tick off our mother, Tegan?”
“What do you mean?”
“She was muttering, ‘Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn,’ to herself when I arrived. I asked if she meant me, and she said no. You were the bullheaded one.”
“Me! Ha! She’s the—”
“Dinner!” Helga called from the back porch.
Tegan, Vanna, and I rose and convened at a table in the dining room with Noeline. Inn guests occupied the other tables.
To my surprise, Helga served something akin to a Waldorf salad to start. She’d used pistachios instead of walnuts, and chunks of green apples instead of red. The dressing was slightly different, too. Although she had used mayonnaise and lemon juice, which was typical, she’d added maple syrup rather than honey.
“Wow,” I mumbled around a mouthful. “Helga, this is so tasty.”
“Thank you.” She was filling glasses with tap water. “Vanna gave me the recipe.”
Vanna beamed with pride, leaving me to wonder what other secret delights she might be harboring. I supposed I should rope her in to help with the rest of theGatsbyparty taste testing.
“Mother”—Tegan sliced a flaky biscuit in half and buttered each side—“I really do want to discuss your plans.”
Give it a rest,I tried to telegraph mentally, but my ESP suggestions never worked on my headstrong pal.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Noeline said.
“But—”
“No.”
Helga bussed the salad plates, replaced them with dinner plates, and returned with platters of entrée choices.
I whispered to Tegan, “I’ve got to leave soon.”
“I’ll ask Helga to make us dessert to-go plates. You can’t pass up her apple crumb cake.” She polished off her biscuit, brushed off her hands, and leaned forward on both elbows, hands folded. “Mother, how much is the new place going for?”
“Tegan, drop it,” Vanna ordered. “Honestly, you’re like a dog with a bone. Now is not the time.”
