“Huh.” The woman eyed her doubtfully. “Dot doesn’t have friends visit.”
“We’re not really friends,” confessed Nadine. “I’m a reporter.”
She might have said,I’m a serial killer, for the reaction the woman gave. She practically growled as she shook her finger in Nadine’s face. “One of the ones who said Dot was dead? Nearly killed her, you people did.”
“I’m sorry.”
She must have looked contrite, because the woman softened. “Well, I guess it wasn’t your fault.”
This was worse. “It kind of was. I was the obituary editor for theHerald.”
“Was?”
“They moved me to a new job.”
“Should have fired you for incompetence,” said the woman serenely. Nadine figured she deserved that, although it bit deeper than anything Daniel had said when reaming her out about the obit. “Well, if Dot says you can come in, I guess you can.”
“Are you Dot’s…?” Nadine trailed off, realizing she had no idea how to finish the sentence.
“Housekeeperwill do. Maria Silva. Been here twenty years. What are you doing with them flowers?”
“Dot told me to put them in a vase from something called the butler’s?”
“Butler’s pantry. Over here.” She passed by Nadine, trailing the smell of bleach.
If Nadine thought Maria would take the flowers to arrange herself, she was mistaken. She was led to a long, dark, narrow room beforeMaria took off, grumbling about Dot’s new organizing kick and the never-ending dusting.
Nadine simply stood. Part of her knew she needed to get this task done so she could get to the real work of learning Dot Voline’s story in this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She couldn’t because she was immobilized by the rows of shelves filled with vases, platters, and bowls. A few were so huge they fell into the basin category. A small stepladder sat in the corner to reach the high items since the shelves extended to the ceiling. Why would anyone need so many? What was the point of this?
“Nadine?” She started at Wes’s voice from the kitchen. “Are you here?”
She poked her head out to see Wes doing a slow circle to take in the space. “Hey.”
“Are you spying?” he demanded. “That’s against the rules.”
“Like being alone with Dot?” she countered.
Beaten by her logic, he went on the offensive. “Dot wants to know what’s taking so long.”
She gestured wordlessly, and he came over.
“Oh. Having some decision paralysis over the vase?” he asked. “When in doubt, go blue.”
“Is that like pickingCon a multiple-choice test?” she asked. His arm pressed against hers, and she jumped away, then halted when her back brushed the shelf.
“Better watch it,” said Wes.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said automatically. “Do you thinkcollectingis a rich person word for hoarding? Like, is it hoarding when everything looks like it costs a million dollars?”
Wes pointed to the shelf behind her. “If that’s the celadon-glazed vase I think it is, more like a quarter million.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “You’re lying. That’s two hundred and forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety dollars more than any flower vessel should cost.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you break it and find out?”
Nadine wasn’t sure if she believed him, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She held her breath and eased herself slowly away.
Wes reached past her to pluck a blue vase from the shelf. He smelled nice, she noticed. Clean but like linen spray, not vinegar. “Here,” he said. “A plain old vase that won’t bankrupt you when you smash it.”
