“Mom! You don’t know,” Oliver snapped, holding up his hands, as if to fend off an attack.
“It’s true!” Blanche seemed certain, her eyes clear again. “I’ve seen him at the club, ogling the girls. The young ones!”
“Mom, you’re talking about Radley, and that was years ago.”
“Snake in the grass,” she growled. “Never did like him. Never trusted him.”
“Mavis is—was married to Archer. Remember? Archer Greenlee? You went to their wedding.”
Blanche’s brows slammed together as she thought. “Archer. The sawmill man?
“That’s right, he did own a mill before he retired,” Oliver agreed.
“Not the golfer?”
“No.”
“Or, um, the … oh dear Lord. The banker fellow.”
“No. That was Leonard. Leonard Armstrong. They divorced. Then she married Archer Greenlee.”
“The sawmill man,” Blanch repeated.
“Yes, that’s the one.” He glanced at Nikki. “Archer inherited a couple of sawmills and a rock quarry, but he sold them a couple of years ago. Retired.”
“Mavis never did have any taste when it came to men.” With a flip of her hand, Blanche said, “She was boy crazy as a teenager, and I don’t think it ever stopped.”
Nikki hoped to keep them both engaged as she tried to turn the conversation back to Mavis’s first husband. “So Radley and Mavis didn’t get along?”
“Fought like cats and dogs,” Blanche insisted, but behind hismother’s back Oliver was shaking his bald head as he held Nikki’s gaze. And he was sweating, beads drizzling down his cheeks. Was it from a case of nerves or because the heat in the apartment was cranked up?
“What about her second husband?”
“Len?” Oliver answered quickly. “Oh, he was a good guy. Adored Mavis.”
“Low-life banker!” Blanche cut in. “Norton—that’s my husband—they’re friends. But I never trusted that man. Smarmy lowlife, if you ask me. Always had an eye on the family money.”
Oliver looked weary. “No, Mom, he just did some investments for us, that was his job.”
“That’s what he wanted you to think.”
“He loved Mavis,” Oliver argued.
“Nearly twice her age. Robbed the damned cradle, if you ask me.”
Oliver pointed out, “Mavis was the one who filed for divorce.” To Nikki, he said, “This just doesn’t seem right, talking about my sister’s life when she can’t defend herself. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
Nikki put in, “The police will want to know.”
He found a box of tissues on a side table, took one, and swiped his forehead. “They’ve called and asked to speak to Mom already. I said they should wait until we moved over here, but I think they’re coming this afternoon. I only hope that she’s … well, you know.”
Blanche whipped her chair around, nearly running over the toe of Oliver’s leather shoes. “I heard that!” She aimed an accusing finger up at her son, then, with a crisp nod, said to Nikki, “I’m fine.”
“Sure, Mom, sure. Of course you are.” Oliver threw his arms up before walking to one of the wingback chairs near a faux fireplace and plopping himself down.
Triumphantly, Blanche turned to Nikki. “You asked about Mavis having any enemies?” she said, arching her eyebrows over her glasses.
“Yes. That’s right.”
