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way.
    “I really can’t say…” Mary began.
    “Because you don’t need a bunch of amateurs messing things up for you?” Tracey interrupted with a smile.
    “Well,” Mary prevaricated.
    “Why don’t you let me handle the sleuth sisters and if we can be helpful in any way, just let us know,” she said. “We can, actually, keep a secret despite Honora’s excitement. And we did know Peter fairly well. So we might be able to give you some insight.”
    Nodding, Mary considered her offer. “I can give you a little information,” she said. “And actually, it might be helpful to be able to interview all of you about Peter and the rest of the members of the consortium.”
    “That’s fair,” Tracey said. “And I think I’ll be able to keep a handle on those two.  I’ve been doing that for years.”
    “Thanks,” Mary said, eager to leave the hotel and get back to her house. “I’ll be back later this afternoon and then we can start.”
    “Mary,” Tracey said, stopped her. “I just have one question before we meet together with the others.”
    Mary waited expectantly.
    “Does Peter know who killed him?” she asked.
    She really has been reading up on about me , Mary thought.
    “No, he doesn’t,” Mary said. “But we both agree it was murder.”
     

Chapter Thirteen
    The vacuum cleaner had been back in its place in the broom closet for about fifteen seconds before there was a soft knock on Mary’s front door.  She wiped her hands on the back of her jeans, brushed her hair from her face, tucked in her blouse and took a deep breath. “Coming,” she called brightly.
    No sooner had she opened the door than she was enfolded in a warm hug. “Mary, darling, it’s so good to see you,” her mother, Margaret, said.
    Mary placed her head on her mother’s shoulder and just enjoyed the sweet comfort of the hug.  There was nothing better than a mother’s embrace. “I’ve missed you too, Ma,” she replied.
    “Oh, well, I see you do still have a car,” her mother replied wryly, stepping back and smiling into the face of her daughter. “Is it too far a drive from Freeport to Chicago?”
    Mary slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulder and led her into the house. “Well, I have been a wee bit busy lately,” she said, “Solving murder mysteries, chasing serial killers, taking care of Clarissa and planning a wedding. You know, the usual things.”
    “Excuses, excuses,” her mother teased, wrapping her arm around Mary’s waist. “And do you have time for a cup of tea?”
    “It just so happens I have a pot steeping right now,” she said. “And I made cookies yesterday.”
    “Cookies!  And Ian actually left me some?” Margaret laughed.
    “I hid them,” Mary confessed.
    Margaret slipped off her coat and hung it in the closet. “Your house looks lovely,” she said. “I don’t know how you have time to do all you do and keep a neat house.”
    Mary sighed. “Well, to tell the truth,” she began.
    “Darling, never tell me the truth about housekeeping,” Margaret interrupted. “There are secrets no daughter need share with her mother.”
    Grinning, Mary nodded as she placed tea cups and saucers on the kitchen table. “Well, then, if you must know, I get up at 4:30 every morning and scrub the house from top to bottom,” she said. “It pretty much always looks like this.”
    Margaret picked up a cookie and took a small bite. “That’s exactly what I thought,” she said with a smile. “I raised my children to be hard-working and brilliant.”
    “Well, brilliant liars,” Mary laughed.
    “As long as they’re brilliant,” she countered. “That’s all that matters.”
    A little while later they were seated at the table, enjoying their second cup and going through the list of things to do for the wedding.
    “So, how sure are you of the caterer?” Margaret asked.
    “Well, I started working on the case earlier this morning,” Mary said. “It’s going to be a little tricky because