Page 106 of Murder By the Millions

“Please.” She eased herself out of the recliner and shuffled barefoot to the sofa. She patted the cushion beside her, suggesting I sit.

I collected the mail from where I’d left it in the foyer, and placed it on the coffee table. Katherine patted the sofa again.

I sat beside her. “My friend Vanna visited you on Wednesday. She brought you dinner. Do you remember her?”

“Yes. Good cook. Likes ads about electronics. Ovens are her specialty.”

I smiled. I could picture Vanna prattling about the differences between Wolf and Viking ovens. The heat variances. The quality of craftsmanship.

“What did you eat that night?” I asked.

“Can’t remember.”

“Vanna said mac ’n’ cheese.”

“Maybe.” Katherine picked up the stack of mail and began sorting through it. She tossed piece after piece on the table. She viewed a pink envelope, grunted, “Another one?” and pitched it onto the messy pile. On the front were the wordsfinal noticein bold black print. “If it’s not final, why mark it as final?”

She flung the yellow envelope, too. On it was the single wordforeclosure.Heavens. Was the poor woman going to be kicked to the curb? Did Finette know? A foreclosure gave the owner ninety days to either pay off what was owed or sell the property. Had Finette wanted to talk her great-aunt into moving to a retirement facility so she could unload the house and get out from under the burden?

“I’m tired,” Katherine said abruptly. “Leave.”

I didn’t think I should. She was clearly upset. “Vanna said Finette asked her to cook for you on Wednesdays.”

“No!”

“Finette.” I pronounced it correctly this time, accent on the first syllable.

“Yes.”

“She’s your grandniece, ma’am.”

“Yes.”

“The president of the town council. She reads to you. She was here last Monday and readGreat Expectations.Do you remember her being here?”

“That’s my favorite book.”

“She said so.”

“She didn’t read it.”

I stared at her.

“She didn’t read it, because she wasn’t here.”

CHAPTER23

“Of course she might have loved him just for a minute … In any case … it was just personal.”

—Jay Gatsby in F. Scott Fitzgerald’sThe Great Gatsby

Clearly agitated, Katherine said she didn’t want company or any further help with the mail and, in no uncertain terms, told me to get out. Darcy, understanding the old woman’s wishes, bounded into his carrier and warbled loudly, as if to say,Let’s get cracking.

Though I wished I could help the older woman find peace, reluctantly I left.

The moment Darcy and I arrived home, I released him, and he dashed under the armchair.

“Uh-uh, buster. No.” I crossed the room. “The vet told us no more messing around where you might tear another toenail. I have to get the chair fixed.” I bent and waved to him. “Come out.”