Page 134

Obviously still… agitated, Sonya streamed back in.

“You know, I really regret neither of those women could see me this morning, so I could tell them just what I thought of them.”

She sat, set the compact down on the table.

“And I’m already reminding myself I can’t tell Gretta Poole what I think of her. She lived a lie, was culpable in separating brothers. She had a choice, and she chose the lie. Instead, she wants to blame her own brother for doing what she didn’t have the freaking balls to do. Live his own life.”

“She’s sick, Sonya.”

“Yes.” She nodded at Trey. “And by the time I see her, I’ll have that in the forefront. But not right now. Okay.”

She swiped her hands in the air as if clearing it.

“This is a Lucien Lelong compact. He was a French fashion designer. He also had a perfume line, designed compacts, lipstick cases, and so on. I looked it up.”

“Of course you did.” Trey picked up the case. “So you’d carry this in your purse?”

“Yes. Or evening bag in this case. Other than the broken mirror, it’s in perfect shape. And inside?” She waited for Trey to open it. “The powder, the rouge barely show use. Same with the puffs. She could’ve replaced those, but…”

“You think this was fairly new,” Trey finished, “when she dropped it.”

“I can’t date it exactly, but it’s from the forties, so it may have beena few years old. But I think it’s not. It just feels new. Which really doesn’t matter.”

“But it’s curious. It’s interesting.”

“Can I see it?” Owen held out a hand. He closed it, turned it, frowned over it. “I don’t know anything about this stuff, but I think Clarice has something like this.” He ran his thumb over the raised design.

“One of the cousins?”

“Yeah.” He flicked a glance at Sonya. “Yours and mine. Yeah, she’s got a couple of things like this in a display cabinet in her house. Tubes, cylinders? A couple of them and something like this.”

He handed it back to Sonya. “Queen P—I remember hearing people call her that behind her back when she was still coming in to the shipyard—liked Clarice. Clarice has a serious head for business and a get-it-done-right work ethic. Plus, she’s not stupid otherwise, and knew how to play the old lady. I’m remembering she left Clarice some of her personal stuff.”

He gestured at the compact. “Like that.”

“So a set,” Cleo concluded. “Lipstick case, perfume case, maybe a mirror case, or just a powder compact.”

“Probably. Same design, so some sort of set anyway. I didn’t know her all that well. She wasn’t especially fond of me. Liked my work fine, but on a personal level not so much. After all, I hung out with bad companions.”

“Which would be me,” Trey put in with a laugh. “And the mystery of why she wasn’t fond of the Doyles is solved by learning my grandmother told her to suck it.”

“Do tell,” Cleo said, so Trey did.

“Your grandmother sure as hell stood up for herself.” Sonya rose to let the animals out. “And that’s currently my favorite story.”

“I do know the old lady was obsessive about things matching,” Owen continued. “Her office was like some static showroom, same with her house. I guess it’s a style but with no imagination.”

“Rigid. It fits.” When Cleo started to get up to clear, Trey waved her back down.

“We’ve got it. Meatloaf.”

“That’s fair.” Owen rose, grabbed plates. “We’ll get this done before I have to take off.”

“You could stay.”

He started to tell Sonya thanks but no thanks, then caught Trey’s eye. “Yeah, why not?”

“Look, Cleo, Pye’s on top of the doghouse again.”