She didn’t wait for an answer and broke into a stream of questions. “Can I get you something to eat? We’ve got bagels, English muffins, and toast. How’d you sleep? Would you prefer a fruit salad? What’s your pleasure? You take your coffee with cream and sugar right?”
“Uhh … good morning?” I said slowly. I knew something was up but, unfortunately, I did need my coffee before I could figure it out. “Don’t worry about me, I can get my breakfast,” I said, making my way to the breadbox. I picked out a poppy seed bagel and plopped it in the toaster. Ann hovered anxiously nearby. I wondered if she had mistakenly taken Bonnie’s medication.
“Did you by chance take Bonnie’s medication this morning?” I asked.
“No, why?”
“You’re very chatty. And busy. And chatty. Speaking of Bonnie, is she up?”
“No. She usually doesn’t arise before ten. Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please. But Ann, honestly, I can get all of this. You don’t need to wait on me.”
Ann ignored me, pouring a large amount of steaming coffee into a blue-and-white polka-dotted ceramic mug. Handing it to me, she said, “Cream? Sugar?”
I took the cup. “Enough already! You keep spoiling me like this and I’ll never leave. I’ll be like Sheridan Whiteside in The Man Who Came to Dinner .”
“Somehow I can’t picture you as an annoying guest.”
“You haven’t had my spaghetti yet,” I reminded her, adding a liberal dose of both cream and sugar to my coffee, before taking a much-needed sip. The bagel popped up from the toaster and Ann rushed to get it.
“Ann! Please. I can get this! You don’t need to wait on me.” She put the bagel on a plate and handed it to me. It was then that I saw the worry in her face and belatedly remembered that, like me, Ann gets chatty when she’s nervous. Taking the plate, I said, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I got a call from the police this morning,” she said, wringing her hands. “Homicide. They want to send someone out here later today to get a statement or something. They want to talk with all of the family.”
“Oh. Well, that’s not too surprising. I mean, we knew that the police were going to treat this like a murder investigation. It’s only natural that they would want to interview the family.”
“I know. I’m just scared.”
“Don’t be. You’ve nothing to be afraid of. Everything will be just fine,” I said confidently. “Did you get a chance to call Miles yet?”
“Yes, he and Laura were horrified to hear about Michael. They said they’d come over later.”
“That’s good. You can talk to him about past employees then. In the meantime, call Scott and see if you can get those employment records.”
“Okay.” Ann fell silent, tracing some invisible line along the counter with the tip of her finger. After a moment, she said, “Elizabeth, do you think you could be here when the police come? I could use some moral support. If it makes it easier on you, you could stay tonight as well. In fact, you can stay as long as you like. That is, if you think Kit won’t mind.”
“Absolutely, I’ll be here and I’m sure Kit won’t mind. She’ll probably be happy to have a break from me and my ‘pedestrian spaghetti.’”
We joked a little more, pretending that everything was fine even though we both knew it wasn’t. Michael Barrow had been murdered and buried underneath the pool at the Reynoldses’ house in St. Michaels and he had “allegedly” embezzled almost $1 million from the family’s company before his death. Add to that a broken engagement with one sister and a drunken attack on another, and the picture became even grimmer.
* * *
Any hope I might have entertained about organizing my thoughts on Michael’s murder during the day flew out the window within seconds of sliding into my desk chair. Sam Wallace, another of our staff writers and probably my closest friend in the
“Uhh … good morning?” I said slowly. I knew something was up but, unfortunately, I did need my coffee before I could figure it out. “Don’t worry about me, I can get my breakfast,” I said, making my way to the breadbox. I picked out a poppy seed bagel and plopped it in the toaster. Ann hovered anxiously nearby. I wondered if she had mistakenly taken Bonnie’s medication.
“Did you by chance take Bonnie’s medication this morning?” I asked.
“No, why?”
“You’re very chatty. And busy. And chatty. Speaking of Bonnie, is she up?”
“No. She usually doesn’t arise before ten. Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please. But Ann, honestly, I can get all of this. You don’t need to wait on me.”
Ann ignored me, pouring a large amount of steaming coffee into a blue-and-white polka-dotted ceramic mug. Handing it to me, she said, “Cream? Sugar?”
I took the cup. “Enough already! You keep spoiling me like this and I’ll never leave. I’ll be like Sheridan Whiteside in The Man Who Came to Dinner .”
“Somehow I can’t picture you as an annoying guest.”
“You haven’t had my spaghetti yet,” I reminded her, adding a liberal dose of both cream and sugar to my coffee, before taking a much-needed sip. The bagel popped up from the toaster and Ann rushed to get it.
“Ann! Please. I can get this! You don’t need to wait on me.” She put the bagel on a plate and handed it to me. It was then that I saw the worry in her face and belatedly remembered that, like me, Ann gets chatty when she’s nervous. Taking the plate, I said, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I got a call from the police this morning,” she said, wringing her hands. “Homicide. They want to send someone out here later today to get a statement or something. They want to talk with all of the family.”
“Oh. Well, that’s not too surprising. I mean, we knew that the police were going to treat this like a murder investigation. It’s only natural that they would want to interview the family.”
“I know. I’m just scared.”
“Don’t be. You’ve nothing to be afraid of. Everything will be just fine,” I said confidently. “Did you get a chance to call Miles yet?”
“Yes, he and Laura were horrified to hear about Michael. They said they’d come over later.”
“That’s good. You can talk to him about past employees then. In the meantime, call Scott and see if you can get those employment records.”
“Okay.” Ann fell silent, tracing some invisible line along the counter with the tip of her finger. After a moment, she said, “Elizabeth, do you think you could be here when the police come? I could use some moral support. If it makes it easier on you, you could stay tonight as well. In fact, you can stay as long as you like. That is, if you think Kit won’t mind.”
“Absolutely, I’ll be here and I’m sure Kit won’t mind. She’ll probably be happy to have a break from me and my ‘pedestrian spaghetti.’”
We joked a little more, pretending that everything was fine even though we both knew it wasn’t. Michael Barrow had been murdered and buried underneath the pool at the Reynoldses’ house in St. Michaels and he had “allegedly” embezzled almost $1 million from the family’s company before his death. Add to that a broken engagement with one sister and a drunken attack on another, and the picture became even grimmer.
* * *
Any hope I might have entertained about organizing my thoughts on Michael’s murder during the day flew out the window within seconds of sliding into my desk chair. Sam Wallace, another of our staff writers and probably my closest friend in the
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