Midsummer Night's Mischief Page 5

“Such a beautiful family,” I said. “The love and warmth really shine through in these photos.”

  “Yes,” the woman agreed, nodding. Then she turned to me again. “I’m Sharon, by the way.”

  I stuck out my hand. “Keli Milanni,” I said. “Eleanor’s lawyer.”

  “So nice of you to come,” Sharon said. She reached over to touch my arm and lowered her voice. “Say, as a lawyer, maybe you can help. I told Darlene she needs to request an autopsy before it’s too late, but she’s not real keen on the idea.”

  “An autopsy? That’s not really necessary, is it?”

  “Look at this,” Sharon said, pointing to one of the more recent photos on the display board. “Look how healthy Eleanor appears, years younger than her real age. This was taken less than a month ago.”

  “But she did have a history of heart issues, didn’t she? And high cholesterol?”

  “Yes, but we don’t know for sure what happened. The coroner said she had probably passed away a few hours before Darlene found her on the kitchen floor. I’d just like to know the exact cause of death.”

  I nodded slowly without saying anything. I knew it was natural for family members to want answers.

  “You know what?” Sharon said. “I’ll ask her doctor tomorrow. I work at the hospital, which is right next to the clinic where Eleanor always went. Her doctor can ask for an autopsy.” She turned back to the photo board and shook her head. “I just have a hard time believing she up and had a heart attack out of nowhere.”

  Clearing my throat, I decided to change the subject. “There seems to be a big turnout today. Was the whole family able to come?”

  “I think so, except for Bill. Poor Darlene. I guess she’s used to being an army wife, but it’s a shame her husband has to be so far away, he can’t even fly home for things like this. Most of the cousins from out of state made it in this afternoon.”

  “Of course, much of the family lives right here,” I said, thinking of Wes again. “Like her grandchildren, I think.”

  “Mm-hmm, some of them. Darlene’s boys are here, and two of Kirk’s kids are in nearby towns. Kirk’s youngest daughter is in L.A., but she got here this morning.”

  “I think I’m actually acquainted with Darlene’s son Wesley,” I said, pressing on. “I’d like to offer him my condolences. Do you know if he’s here?”

  “Well, he was here, but he left.” Sharon’s disapproval couldn’t be more apparent if she’d worn a sign.

  Uh-oh. The guy ditched his own grandmother’s memorial service?

  “He had to work?” I ventured.

  “Work?” said Sharon, fairly scoffing. “No. He had to avoid being in the same building as his own brother, apparently. Two grown men still acting like children. Shameful, if you ask me. Just shameful.”

  * * *

  Maybe it was the memory of our first encounter, cut short just as it was getting interesting. Or maybe it was his second aunt’s insinuations. Either way, I couldn’t get Wes out of my mind. I think I dreamed about him that night after the visitation, but the memory of it vanished with the early morning fog.

  Still, I kept thinking about him as I jogged through Fieldstone Park and over to the old rail trail, lightly populated on this Sunday morning by a few other joggers and cyclists. I guessed most people, or at least most of the college students I often saw on this trail, were sleeping in after a typical Saturday night of partying. Others might be at church. Edindale had something like twenty churches, so that would be a safe bet.

  As for me, I was at church. Nature was my church. The trees formed my cathedral; the birds made up my choir. The fresh scent of the earth was better than any incense. And the sun streaming through the clouds, and the gentle breeze on my face, were like heaven itself.

  I was feeling pretty good, running at a brisk pace and basking in the holy environment, when I thought of Wes again. What would he think if he knew I was a Goddess-worshipping, Earth-loving, tree-hugging nature girl? Would he be cool with that? Or would he run screaming for the proverbial hills?

  My first impression of him was that he seemed to be a laid-back, open-minded kind of guy. He probably wouldn’t be scared off too easily. Yet . . . would it matter to him if I told him a love spell had brought us together?

  Um, perhaps I wouldn’t be telling him that anytime soon. In fact, who knew if I’d even see him again? Those chocolate eyes, that chiseled chin . . .

  Whoops! My toe caught on a stone sticking halfway out of the dirt, and suddenly, after a split second of useless flailing, I was on my hands and knees. Guess I really am a Holy Roller, I thought wryly as I dusted myself off. I sat on the edge of the trail for a minute, checking to make sure nothing was twisted, ripped, or broken. Luckily, I was all in one piece, just a little scuffed and bruised. As I pondered how I’d managed to trip on the only loose pebble visible on the whole trail, it hit me.

  Loose Rock.

  This was a sign. If I wanted to see Wes again, I needed to go back to the place where I first met him.

  I walked for a few minutes, then gingerly began to run again, heading back the way I’d come. With a new sense of purpose, I fairly flew through town. Of course, I still had a few hours before the Loose would open up, so I slowed down when I got home. I stretched and sipped water. Then I made myself a refreshing green smoothie consisting of frozen banana, a big spoonful of peanut butter, a couple of handfuls of fresh spinach from my tiny backyard garden, and a healthy splash of soy milk. Delish.

  Then I showered, shimmied into a lime-green sundress and strappy sandals, and applied a touch of bronzer, a swipe of mascara, and a kiss of lip gloss. I was ready to go.

  At 11:00 a.m. Jimi would just be opening up the Loose. I hoped to catch him before he got too busy and grill him about his old college buddy. He ought to be able to share some useful information, such as Wes’s phone number.

  As I suspected, the place was nearly empty. While my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I made my way over to the bar to ask for Jimi. The bartender was leaning down, stocking some bottles, so I took a seat and waited, contemplating what I would order if I were inclined to order a drink before noon on a Sunday. Bloody Mary? Mint julep? Cold beer? I had no idea.

  I started idly drumming my fingertips on the bar as I squinted at the labels along the shelf. The bartender stood up and started apologizing.

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see—” He stopped when he recognized me, and I nearly fell off the stool when I recognized him. It was Wes . . . daylighting as a bartender?

  “Hey!” he said, a smile lighting up his face. “It’s good to see you again, Keli.”

  He remembers my name, I thought with relief. “Wes! Hi. You bartend here?”

  “Oh, well, I’m filling in today. Helping Jimi out. What a nice surprise to see you! What can I get you?”

  “Hmm . . .” I hesitated, furrowing my brow.

  “Oh, are you . . . uh, are you waiting for someone?” Was that disappointment I detected on that dreamy face of his?

  “Actually, I was looking for you. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about the loss of your grandmother.”

  Now Wes looked really surprised and a little perplexed. For a second, I let him wonder. It was fun to be the mystifying woman, but I couldn’t play the part for long. I came clean.

  “I was your grandmother’s lawyer,” I said. “I didn’t know you were related to her until I saw your picture at the memorial yesterday. And then I realized the phone call you got Thursday night was probably about your grandma.”

  Wes absentmindedly grabbed a towel from behind the bar and started wiping the scratched wood. For a minute I was afraid it was too weird that I had come. Maybe he didn’t want to be reminded of his grandmother’s death. Then he shook his head in wonder.

  “That is so wild. What a coincidence.” He stopped wiping the counter and looked at me again. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry about cutting out on you so abruptly the other night.”

  “Oh, gosh, don’t be sorry. I mean, it’s perfect
ly understandable, under the circumstances.”

  Wes regarded me for a minute. “Hey,” he said suddenly. “Why don’t we finish that drink now? You had rum and Coke, right?” He reached under the bar, pulled out a bottle of Bacardi, and placed it in front of me. As he turned to grab a glass, he paused and looked over, waiting for an answer.

  “Okay,” I said agreeably. “But put it in a tall glass, please. And with lots of ice.”

  Wes grinned. “Of course.” I watched as he pulled out two highball glasses, filled them with ice, and deftly mixed the cocktail. He garnished each glass with a wedge of lime—a nice complement to my dress—and pushed a glass in front of me. “Your Cuba libre, senorita.”

  I picked up my glass and swiveled around on my stool, while Wes walked around the bar to join me. He motioned to the waitress to come get him if she needed help with any customers, and we went back to our table from the other night.

  As soon as we were seated, Wes lifted his glass. “To second chances?”

  I touched his glass with mine and felt an unexpected rush of happiness. I knew there was something special here. It must be fate—helped along with a tiny, little heartfelt love spell.

  “So, how long have you been Gram’s lawyer?” Wes asked.

  “Oh, about two days,” I said regretfully. “But I spent all afternoon with her on Wednesday and a couple hours on Thursday. I really liked her. I wish I could have known her longer.”

  “She was the best,” Wes said softly. “I only wish I had come back from New York sooner.”

  I started to ask him about his years in New York and why he’d come back now. But he beat me to the punch with questions about my law practice. He seemed impressed and kept asking me about myself. Still, I was eager to know more about him. When he paused to sip his drink, I tried again.

  “I really liked looking at your grandma’s pictures at the memorial. Such a cute family. You have one brother, right? Does he live here in town?”

  “Yeah.”

  “His name’s Rob, right? You two must be pretty close. Aren’t you just, like, a year or two apart in age?”

  Was that a shadow that just crossed Wes’s face?

  “Mm-hmm. Do you have siblings? Any family around here?”

  “My family’s mostly back in Nebraska. I’m the youngest of four,” I said. “But it’s not what you think,” I added, seeing he was about to tease me about being the baby. “I wasn’t spoiled or anything.”

  “Sure,” joked Wes. “Whatever you say.”

  “Really,” I insisted, smiling along with him. “Actually, I was pretty much left to my own devices. My two older sisters are eleven and twelve years older than me. They were rivals slash best friends, more interested in sports and friends and themselves than in their baby sister. And my brother, who is four years older than me, was really the baby. I mean, he was a good kid, more or less, but always up to something. After keeping up with those three, my parents allowed me a lot of independence.”

  “So why’d you pick Edindale?” Wes asked, keeping the conversation on me.

  Before I could answer, Jimi came by. He stood at our table with arms crossed, toe tapping the floor. “Sitting down on the job already?” he said in a mock-disapproving tone. At least, I was pretty sure he was joking. “And drinking, no less. Am I going to have to fire you on your very first day?”

  Wes looked up at his friend, grinned devilishly, and took a big gulp of his drink in return.

  Jimi sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess I’ll forgive you this time, considering what pulled you away.” He touched my shoulder and gave me a quick nod, then walked over to the bar to take the position vacated by Wes.

  “If you need to go—” I began, but I was cut off when a phone started buzzing. Wes pulled his cell from his pocket, glanced at it, and hit IGNORE.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “So, you were telling me—” His phone buzzed again.

  “Someone’s persistent,” I remarked.

  “It’s my mom,” said Wes, hitting IGNORE again. “She probably wants to lecture me about not being in church this morning.”

  Um, wait a minute. “You—you didn’t go to your grandma’s funeral?”

  “It’s not like that,” said Wes. “There wasn’t a funeral. Grandma was like me. Neither of us cared much for church. Anyway, the memorial last night was it. Her body was cremated. There was no burial. My mom has the urn. I think the plan is to have a scattering ceremony in the fall, when my dad is back from his job overseas.”

  The phone buzzed again.

  “Please,” I said. “Go ahead and answer it. I don’t mind.”

  Wes shrugged and put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Mom. Sorry I missed you earlier. I was . . . What? No, I . . . of course not. Yeah. I’ll head over now.”

  Wes put the phone in his pocket and stood up. “I’m sorry to do this again, but I have to go.”

  No way. “Is something wrong?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “My mom can’t find the book.”

  “The book?”

  “The Shakespeare book. Apparently, it’s missing.”

  CHAPTER 6

  It didn’t take much prodding for me to get Wes to take me with him. After all, I reminded him, I was Eleanor’s lawyer. And I wanted to help. I could help look for the Folio—Eleanor had probably stashed it in some secret hidey-hole—and I could also talk to Darlene about the will and ask if the family still wished me to assist with the sale of the book. On the drive over to his grandmother’s house, I asked Wes about the family lore surrounding the First Folio, and he told me pretty much the same thing Eleanor had said, that Frank inherited the rare book from his uncle. Sometime later, it was lost.

  And now it was lost again.

  When we arrived at Eleanor’s house, a yellow Cape Cod with a stone walkway leading to a welcoming red door, we were greeted by a very frazzled Darlene. From the entryway, I could see a room to the left that seemed to be in a state that matched Darlene’s. It was a combination office/library/sitting room with a desk and filing cabinets on one side and comfortable chairs and reading lamps arranged on the other. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the wall facing the doorway. It would have been a lovely, cozy room, but drawers were pulled out, papers and books littered the floor, and cushions were all cast aside. One of the chairs was turned on end.

  “Wes, we’ve turned this place upside down, but maybe with a fresh set of eyes . . .” Darlene trailed off hopelessly. Then she noticed me standing behind Wes. “Oh, Miss Milanni! I’m glad you’re here. We have a bit of a crisis, I’m afraid.”

  She didn’t seem to realize I had arrived with Wes. Since Wes kept his mouth shut, I decided to do the same. Darlene closed the door behind me and began introductions, starting with the person who had driven me there.

  “This is my son Wes. And this is my cousin Sharon.”

  Sharon stood in the living room, to the right of the foyer, wearing a worried expression. From the look of things, she had started pulling cushions off chairs in this room, too.

  Darlene touched my arm. “This is Mom’s lawyer, Keli Milanni.”

  Sharon spoke up. “Oh, sure. We met at the visitation. Keli, maybe you can help us solve a little mystery. The mystery of the missing manuscript.” She tried to keep her voice light to break the tension in the room, but Darlene looked as if she were about to crumble. I was beginning to second-guess my assumption that the Folio was just hidden away. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen and sit down?” Sharon said.

  She guided Darlene down the hall and directly to a kitchen chair. I followed them and, trying my best to instill a calming presence, sat down next to Darlene. Wes went to a cabinet for a glass and poured some water for his mother.

  I glanced around the room, which was tidy and modest, with a comfortable country style, complete with gingham curtains and a hen-shaped cookie jar. Recalling that this was where Eleanor had died, I looked up from the maple-wood flooring and cleared my throat. “When did you last see
the book, Ms. Callahan?” I asked.

  “Call me Darlene,” she said automatically. “It was . . .” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Yesterday. Before the memorial. Around four o’clock, I think. I stopped in to get a dress for Mom to be laid out in.”

  “She changed her mind about the dress she originally gave to the funeral home,” explained Sharon, who leaned against the kitchen counter. “It was black, with pleats. Very formal. We decided a flowery print would be nicer.”

  “What was it like when you arrived today?” I asked. “Was the house locked? Was there any evidence of a break-in? Anything disturbed?” Inwardly, I cringed at the last question, remembering the look of the front rooms, where everything had been disturbed.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Darlene said uncertainly. “Sharon and I got here about an hour ago, after Kirk went back to Indiana.”

  “We were going to do a walk-through,” Sharon offered. “Water the plants, check her messages and mail. It may have been more than an hour ago.”

  “I knew the book was in the den,” Darlene continued. “Like I said, I saw it the day of the memorial service. I had passed by that room on my way upstairs, and I saw it in there, in Mom’s old messenger bag. I even thought to myself that we should get it to the bank. Or, at least, someplace else besides Mom’s den. But at the time . . .”

  “You had a lot on your mind, Mom,” said Wes. “I think everyone else had forgotten about it.”

  “We were in such a rush,” said Darlene. “Rob was waiting in the car. Then you got here, Wes, and we had a big—” She stopped suddenly, looking upset. I noticed Wes look away and stare absently out the window above the sink.

  I turned to his mother and asked gently, “Did you lock the house when you left?”

  “Yes, I’m sure I did. I remember unlocking the front door again when we came by later to get the extra sodas and chips and cookies from the pantry.”

  “When was that?” I asked.

  Darlene looked at Wes and Sharon. “It must have been after eight thirty, right?”

  Sharon nodded and turned toward me. “The visitation ran long. There was a meal over at the church hall, but most of the family didn’t get over there until pretty late. We stopped in here on the way, my husband, Dennis, and I and Darlene.”