That was what Maxine Tookdid.
“What’s going on here with you two?” Orbra demanded as she approached. She was watching Iva scrounge through the sheaf of papers covered with spindly writing that had faded so much it was mostly illegible. “What’s all this?”
Iva explained far more succinctly than Fiona had expected her to do—with hardly any mentions of a Ghostly Presence—then went on to order a pot of Earl Grey for herself and a full afternoon-tea menu.
Fiona, too engrossed with some yellowed newspaper clippings to pay much attention to the menu, merely waved her hand and said, “I’ll have the same, and something herbal for tea. You pick, Orbra. No meat.” And then, as an after-thought, she added, “Some kind of scone too, please, Orbra.”
“Right,” said the efficient woman as she glanced back toward the kitchen as if to recall what she had in stock. “I have a violet rooibos that just came in—how about that?”
“Sounds great,” Fiona replied, looking up with interest as the words penetrated her consciousness. “Violet, did you say? That sounds very nice.”
“Of course it’ll be nice,” Orbra grumbled. “I don’t serve anything that isn’t nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, there goes Cherry—and that’s her niece with her,” Orbra said, looking out the front window. “They’re heading to Grand Rapids for a shopping trip for the bed and breakfast she’s opening. Too bad they can’t stop in and chat. Did you meet Leslie yet, Fiona? She’s turning Shenstone House up on the hill outside town into a bed and breakfast. Leslie’s the one who’s hooking up with that hot blacksmith Declan Zyler, you know.”
“Blacksmith?” Fiona asked. “There are still people who do that? Does he work at Greenfield Village?”
Orbra laughed. “No, no, he’s been doing lots of restoration work. He’s doing the staircase at Shenstone House.”
“Shenstone House is haunted too, you know,” Iva said.
“It is?” Fiona asked, looking at the two older ladies. “There are two haunted buildings in one town?”
Iva and Orbra looked at each other and began to hoot with laughter. Jowls shook, eyes filled with mirthful tears, and cloudlike, wispy hair floated and danced like nimbuses as they laughed and laughed.
Finally, Orbra contained herself enough to gasp, “Only two?” And then she and Iva were off in another round of chuckles—though not quite as uncontrolled that time.
Shaking her head at the two of them, Fiona couldn’t help a smile at their antics. Whatever it was that was so funny, the two Tuesday Ladies were certainly enjoying life.
She returned her attention to the curling corners of a newspaper article that had been shoved into an envelope with some kind of letter.
Fiona began to read, with difficulty, the faded printing—then stopped cold. Prickles erupted all over her skin.
“Iva! Listen to this headline: ‘Woman’s Disappearance Still Unsolved.’ And here’s the article—it looks like it’s from theChicago Tribune: ‘Police still have no leads in the disappearance of Miss Gretchen Freudenhofer, 22, a recent immigrant from Berlin, Germany. Friends with whom she was staying reported her missing after she did not return from a shopping trip on August 25. The woman was last seen disembarking from a bus near Lake Shore Drive. If anyone has any further information on this woman’s whereabouts, they should report to the 153rd Precinct Office.’”
She raised her eyes to look across the table. “It’s dated August 31, 1948.”
“What were the initials on that bracelet?” Iva asked, her sharp blue eyes gleaming with interest across the table.
“G…J…F.” Fiona smacked her hand on the table next to the teacup that had appeared without her notice. Hot tea sloshed onto her hand, splattering onto the blue chintz tablecloth. “Gretchen. Our skeleton must be Gretchen!”
As Orbra emerged from the kitchen wheeling a large tea cart, Fiona waved the small clipping. “We figured it out!”
Then she sobered. “If the skeleton is Gretchen, then…”
Iva was nodding from behind her tea cup. “Yes, it would seem that your Mr. Valente knew about her…or possibly—quite probably—had something to do with her appearing in that store room.”
Unease flooded through Fiona. Had the old man been a murderer after all?
“Maybe something happened and she died in his shop—an accident—and he was too afraid to call the authorities, so he hid her body. Or someone else could have killed her and forced him to hide the body—or they could have even hidden it there without him knowing…” Fiona’s voice trailed off as she realized she was defending a man she didn’t know—and who could very well have been a murderer.
“Is there a picture of Gretchen in the article?” Iva reached across the table, her silver and sapphire charm bracelet jingling merrily.
Fiona handed her the curling paper then realized a tray of tea sandwiches had materialized. The super slim cucumber and cream cheese one, sprinkled with dill, caught her attention and she popped one in her mouth.
Iva was looking at her with a strange expression. “Fiona, did you look at this picture?”
