Our mom tilted her head to the side and studied the ribbon as if the cure to cancer lived in the cut. “No. Just a bit more.” She sat back when Donna cut and then smiled. “That’s it.”
The ribbon had looked fine to me. I grinned at our mom. She wore black pants, a green sweater, and diamond earrings. She looked like an older version of Tessa with even more of an Irish complexion, and she had a slight brogue when her temper blew, which was rare. Our mother was special. Probably the strongest person I’d ever met. She was soft spoken, humorous, and managed the world with shrewd humility. She also didn’t ask for anything but respect and kindness, which were what every good mother deserved in this life.
Her green eyes sparkled when she focused on me. “I heard Aiden is back in town.”
“Yep,” I said. “Speaking of which, do you think Dad would like a new flannel for Christmas?”
“He does love his flannels,” my mom said agreeably. “What are you going to give to Aiden?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m lost. Any ideas?”
She pursed her lips. “No clue.” Then she deftly snipped more wrapping paper to cover a puzzle of frogs dancing on a cloud. “Please tell me you’re finished with the Santa murder case.”
“Not yet.” I put my finger in the middle of the wrapping paper before asking, “Do you know a Sharon Smith?”
“No,” Mom answered, trapping my finger. “I do know Florence, however. She was devastated when Bernie cheated on her.”
So everybody knew about the breakup. “Do you know any of the details?”
She swept her hand in the air. “Of course not. I heard the basics and ignored the rest. Gossip never does anybody good.”
Gossip could actually do a lawyer a lot of good. But my mom didn’t just sound classy—she was classy. The woman truly disliked gossip. However, I had other sources, including my grandparents. While they were still classy, they also liked to keep their thumbs pressed on the pulse of the world around them.
I tugged my finger free and looked at Donna. “Do you know Hoyt Forrest?”
“Sure. I sold him his lake cabin,” she said, reaching for a box of what looked like Legos that would make cars. “Heard he lost it to the bank though.”
That would track with what I’d heard about his gambling addiction.
“It was too bad,” Donna continued. “His girlfriend loved the place and was already planning where to put the water skis on the wall for decorations.”
I paused in reaching for a set of books that had fur coming out of puppy ears. “Girlfriend?”
Donna frowned. “Yeah. Her name was, what was it? Something cute. Um, Lucy. Yeah, that’s it. Lucy Gardiner.”
I had never heard of her, but Timber City was growing, so that wasn’t unusual these days. “Do you remember anything about her?” Was she still dating Hoyt? I needed to find her.
Donna reached for sparkly white paper. “Let’s see. What did she say?” She cut expertly along the line on the back side. “I think she said something about saving for more decorations and working at Buck’s Candy Store and Ice Creamery over on Oakwood? The only reason I remember that is because she brought me some butterscotch candies, and I thought that was sweet.”
My pulse jumped. All right. More leads to follow. The girlfriend would know how deep Hoyt was with gambling debts as well as the status of his relationship with his father.
It made me sick to think that a son would kill his own dad, but if Hoyt had been desperate and if he’d known that Lawrence was going to leave the bulk of his estate to Florence, who knew?
My mom glanced at her watch. “Oh. I have to go. I’m meeting your father for dinner over the hill.”
I loved that they still had date night. My dad was a badass miner and a tough guy, but he was putty in my mom’s hands. “Do you have time to give me a ride home first?” I asked.
“Of course.” She reached for her jacket. “We can brainstorm a present for Aiden on the way. How about an engagement ring? Men wear those, right?”
Donna shot me a sympathetic look but didn’t put herself in the line of fire.
I wished I’d just asked to borrow a car. “No, mom. They don’t.”
“Well,” she said cheerfully, sliding her arm through mine. “We could always change that. Right?”
Chapter 13
Istared into my freezer, not feeling all that inspired. Cooking relaxed me, so I often had dinners prepped far in advance, but lasagna or Irish stew just weren’t doing it for me, even though it was well past dinnertime. So I shut the dinged white metallic door and returned to my kitchen table, where I’d spread out my notes on Bernie’s case. My phone buzzed, and I lifted it absently to my ear. “Anna Albertini.”
