Read Online The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) by Victoria Abbott - Free Book Online
Authors: Victoria Abbott
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melted.
Number 153 was one of the lucky updated houses on the street; it had a new red door, wire window boxes with coconut fiber, interlock pathways and shiny white shutters. A large, expensive double stroller was parked out front. Twins? A baby and a toddler? I figured either would explain why it was the only house with the leaves still thick on the lawn.
I rang the doorbell and waited. A young woman with a perky blond ponytail answered with a smile. She was balancing a baby on her hip. Behind her, a curly-haired toddler clung to her yoga pants. Both children had wide, green eyes, the same as their mother’s. A lovely legacy for sure. Everyone’s cheeks were pink, a sign that they’d been out for a walk in the pleasant weather.
I smiled back at the three of them. The toddler hid her face shyly behind her mother’s back.
“What beautiful children,” I said. “Those eyes.”
“We like them.” She grinned. “Although you have to push them for miles before they will go to S-L-E-E-P.”
I got down to business before we went down the life-with-babies conversational path. “I am representing the legal firm of Lawson and Loblaw. We have information that could benefit a C. Delgado of this address.”
She said, “Oh.”
I kept smiling to encourage a bit more than the “oh.”
“There’s no one here by that name. We moved in last year. Our name is Bennacke.”
I tried to avoid saying “oh” again. “We did have this address, so perhaps . . .” I paused to glance at the paper in my hand . . . “C. Delgado was the person you bought it from. We are following up on an inheritance.”
“My! An inheritance,” she said with interest. She seemed like she wanted to help. “We never met the owners, but I don’t think the name was Delgado. It was a bit more ordinary.”
“Is there a way you could find out?”
“My husband takes care of all the legal papers.”
“Do you mind checking with him?”
“He’s at work. He often works weekends. He’ll be back this evening. I could ask him then.”
“I have to do that myself quite often, like today,” I said, keeping my disappointment to myself. I wrote down the number of my new cell phone, gave myself the name Clarissa Montaine, for no good reason except that I liked the sound of it, and made a note to myself to leave a greeting from Lawson and Loblaw on the burner.
No point in people knowing that Jordan Bingham was nosing around, in case someone was in touch with some lurking Delgado.
“Clarissa,” she said, “that’s such a beautiful name. I’m Audra. I’ll let you know.”
“What about the neighbors?” I said, smiling at her. “Have they been here awhile?”
“The ones on both sides bought after we did. We’ve been here two years. Across the street they’re new too. This is a great street for a bargain. Our own home was a fixer-upper,” she said, with pride. “We did most of the work ourselves.”
“Terrific,” I said, gazing around admiringly. “You did really well on this.”
She beamed. “We are planning to move on up, but I do love our little house. It will be really hard when the time comes.”
Speaking of time, I needed to get back on task. “So no one around who might know about this C. Delgado?”
“Oh. Well, there’s an older couple three doors down, in the house on the corner. Their name is Snow. They’re retired and they’re in and out all the time. I see them coming and going when we’re out on our walks. I’m pretty sure they’re the original owners. They might be able to help. And I’ll ask my husband to call you.”
“Thanks.”
I headed to the corner, hoping that I would find the couple at home. But no one answered the door. There was no garage, and the carport stood empty. Timing is everything, as they say. If I hit a wall, I’d have to come back. I wrote down
175 Maple Street/Snow
and
Check with the Bennackes about previous owner
. Then I headed back to the neutral Honda I had used to travel
Number 153 was one of the lucky updated houses on the street; it had a new red door, wire window boxes with coconut fiber, interlock pathways and shiny white shutters. A large, expensive double stroller was parked out front. Twins? A baby and a toddler? I figured either would explain why it was the only house with the leaves still thick on the lawn.
I rang the doorbell and waited. A young woman with a perky blond ponytail answered with a smile. She was balancing a baby on her hip. Behind her, a curly-haired toddler clung to her yoga pants. Both children had wide, green eyes, the same as their mother’s. A lovely legacy for sure. Everyone’s cheeks were pink, a sign that they’d been out for a walk in the pleasant weather.
I smiled back at the three of them. The toddler hid her face shyly behind her mother’s back.
“What beautiful children,” I said. “Those eyes.”
“We like them.” She grinned. “Although you have to push them for miles before they will go to S-L-E-E-P.”
I got down to business before we went down the life-with-babies conversational path. “I am representing the legal firm of Lawson and Loblaw. We have information that could benefit a C. Delgado of this address.”
She said, “Oh.”
I kept smiling to encourage a bit more than the “oh.”
“There’s no one here by that name. We moved in last year. Our name is Bennacke.”
I tried to avoid saying “oh” again. “We did have this address, so perhaps . . .” I paused to glance at the paper in my hand . . . “C. Delgado was the person you bought it from. We are following up on an inheritance.”
“My! An inheritance,” she said with interest. She seemed like she wanted to help. “We never met the owners, but I don’t think the name was Delgado. It was a bit more ordinary.”
“Is there a way you could find out?”
“My husband takes care of all the legal papers.”
“Do you mind checking with him?”
“He’s at work. He often works weekends. He’ll be back this evening. I could ask him then.”
“I have to do that myself quite often, like today,” I said, keeping my disappointment to myself. I wrote down the number of my new cell phone, gave myself the name Clarissa Montaine, for no good reason except that I liked the sound of it, and made a note to myself to leave a greeting from Lawson and Loblaw on the burner.
No point in people knowing that Jordan Bingham was nosing around, in case someone was in touch with some lurking Delgado.
“Clarissa,” she said, “that’s such a beautiful name. I’m Audra. I’ll let you know.”
“What about the neighbors?” I said, smiling at her. “Have they been here awhile?”
“The ones on both sides bought after we did. We’ve been here two years. Across the street they’re new too. This is a great street for a bargain. Our own home was a fixer-upper,” she said, with pride. “We did most of the work ourselves.”
“Terrific,” I said, gazing around admiringly. “You did really well on this.”
She beamed. “We are planning to move on up, but I do love our little house. It will be really hard when the time comes.”
Speaking of time, I needed to get back on task. “So no one around who might know about this C. Delgado?”
“Oh. Well, there’s an older couple three doors down, in the house on the corner. Their name is Snow. They’re retired and they’re in and out all the time. I see them coming and going when we’re out on our walks. I’m pretty sure they’re the original owners. They might be able to help. And I’ll ask my husband to call you.”
“Thanks.”
I headed to the corner, hoping that I would find the couple at home. But no one answered the door. There was no garage, and the carport stood empty. Timing is everything, as they say. If I hit a wall, I’d have to come back. I wrote down
175 Maple Street/Snow
and
Check with the Bennackes about previous owner
. Then I headed back to the neutral Honda I had used to travel
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