Page 21 of Macaron Massacre
Her eyes enlarge behind her thick lenses, and it gives her an unearthly appeal.
“You don’t say?” She touches the white chocolate chip macadamia cookie to her lips before pulling it back. “So, you must know about the murder they had there just last weekend.”
“Rich Dallas,” I say it crisp and clear in the event she was unaware of her employment connection.
She wrinkles her nose at the sound of his name. “I knew him. I worked for years for the Dallas family.”
“Really? No kidding!” I deserve an Oscar for my ability to feign surprise. “So, what was she like?”
“What was who like?” Her brows pinch as she takes a bite of the cookie.
“His wife, Gloria. I hear she’s the one that did him in.”
She almost gags on her next bite. Perhaps this wasn’t the best strategy—but if I’ve learned anything in all my months of sleuthing, it’s that my time interrogating just about anyone is limited. Note to self: Interrogation first. Cookies last.
She averts her eyes as if it all made sense. “Now there’s a rumor that doesn’t surprise me.”
It didn’t surprise me either. That’s why I started it.
“So, what was Gloria like? Did she hate him enough to have him killed?”
“Gloria? Please. She would never pay someone to off Rich.” Her cookie dips dangerously close to her lips once again. “She vowed years ago to take care of the monster herself. In fact, I’m a little surprised they haven’t arrested her yet.”
“Do you really think she’d have the rage to stab him in the back? Literally speaking, of course.”
“Oh yes.” She waves it off. “It’s a well-known fact Rich cut her off financially years ago. He was supposed to make a hefty alimony payment each month like clockwork, but he stopped that good time rather quickly.” She takes another bite out of the cookie in her hand and moans through its ooey gooey goodness. The white chocolate chip macadamia cookies happen to be one of my all-time personal favorites. “Anyway, he claimed he was broke. That really enraged Gloria. She vowed vengeance on him then, but that was about six years ago.”
“It sounds like she took her time.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she waited until he was good and happy. That would be just like her. She’s the very definition of vindictive. I heard he was engaged to some trumped up trollop just looking to hitch a ride on the Dallas Gravy Train Express.” Her chin dips a notch. “He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about his financial affairs.”
She reaches for another cookie, and I snatch back the box reflexively. I can’t help it. Miranda Lemon is a saint. And one with questionable sanity, considering the fact she entertained that psychotic for oh so long.
It takes less than a second for me to take a deep breath and press on as I glide the box her way once again, and she hesitantly plucks out a blondie bar as if pulling it out of a fire.
“So, Gloria waited to off him once his happiness was at an all-time high?” Doubtful. A stabbing like that is indicative of red-hot rage. A six-year vendetta might inspire a poisoning at best. I’m thinking it’s time to go right to the source. “What does Gloria fill her time with these days? Rumor has it, retirement looks good on her.”
“Oh, it does. After the divorce, she let me go and started a whole new life on the high seas. She and her cohorts go on one cruise after another, just sailing from port to port, eating the best of the best, drinking champagne like it’s water.” That does account for some things. “But I hear there will be a funeral. She’ll be in town until at least that disaster is over.”
“I’m sure her daughters are just devastated. I can see why she’d want to be there for them.”
She rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding? Gloria’s children are no more than acquaintances to her. She had them reared by nannies and boarding schools. Michelle is doing pretty well for herself, but those other girls.” She shakes her head. “Not kosher,” she whispers as if Gloria might be lurking around the corner.
“How so? Michelle’s a life coach. Claret’s a…” I snap my fingers as if her occupation were on the tip of my forked tongue.
“You know what she is.” She gives an exaggerated nod. “Rumor has it, she works for Louie the Lion.”
“TheLouie the Lion?” I pretend to be aghast, even though I have no clue who Louie the Lion might be. Although, he does sound rather ferocious.
“The one and only. And it’s a wonder that it’s poor Dawn they don’t speak to.”
“Oh right, the one with the dicey boyfriend.”
“Dicey?” she balks. “Griffin Locke is anything but. He’s an upstanding citizen who works construction in Leeds.”
I make a face at the mention of the dicey town. Maybe Rich was onto something with this one.
“Griffin Locke,” I say, echoing his name in an effort to remember it. “What could have possibly been so bad about the poor guy that the entire Dallas family blacklisted Dawn?”