I tucked all this away for further consideration, and since the minister was now saying something about Marjorie’s dedication to always looking her best (yikes!), I continued to study the crowd. I’d gotten there a couple minutes before the service started and talked to Ella, so I knew the man standing closest to the minister was Marjorie’s nephew, Nick. He was in his thirties, and not bad looking, considering he was related to Marjorie. He had eyes that were a soft shade of blue, mousy brown hair, and a high forehead. He was wearing a dark suit that was just outdated enough for me to think he only pulled it out of his closet for weddings and funerals. Ella said he was a software engineer, and I wasn’t surprised. I pegged him as a geek.
Nick’s wedding was the one Marjorie had tried to browbeat Ray into attending, so I assumed the petite blonde who stood at Nick’s side was his fiancée. She, too, was wearing a dark suit. Every strand of her shoulder-length hair was in place and her nails were perfectly manicured. One look, and I knew that Marjorie and her soon-to-be niece-in-law did not share the same good taste, especially when it came to shoes. No alligator green platforms for this woman! She wore a pair of Dolce & Gabbana pointed-toe slingbacks made from a combination of earth-toned patent, suede, and snakeskin, and I experienced an instant pang of shoe envy.
“Amen!”
I was jolted out of my thoughts when the minister finished his prayer and the folks all around me mumbled, “Amen,” in response.
Before the mourners scattered back to the cars parked along the winding road, I knew I had to talk to Nick. For one thing, I had a trunkful of Marjorie’s Garfield memorabilia I was anxious to get rid of. For another . . .
Well, experience has taught me more than just what’s what where men are concerned. I knew that when it came to murder, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to suspect the victim’s nearest and dearest. I also knew it would be stupid not to take this opportunity to question Nick. After all, if anybody knew Marjorie, it was probably her only living relative.
I was all set to close in on Nick when I saw him approach Ella. I didn’t want to butt in. He might have been doing something sappy like thanking the staff on behalf of the family for all their concern and support. Or he could have actually been as nutsy as his aunt and eager to talk about President Garfield and his supposed connection to the family. Either way, I wasn’t taking any chances. I waited until Ella walked away before I made my move.
“I’m Pepper,” I said by way of introduction. “I’m the one who—”
“Found her. Yes, of course.” Nick’s expression softened. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am—” He stopped short and glanced at the woman at his side. “I can’t tell you how grateful Bernadine and I are for all you did for my poor, dear Aunt Marjorie.”
I carefully avoided pointing out that by the time I found her, there was nothing I could have done for Marjorie even if I’d wanted to. She was that dead. I sloughed off his gratitude. “All I did was call the cops. It was nothing.”
“It was the final act of kindness for a woman who was nothing but kind herself.”
See? I was right. He was getting all mushy. Funerals do that to people. I knew this for a fact when this total stranger reached over and gave my arm a squeeze. I guess it was a good thing I was so distracted by the gesture, since it kept me from saying what I was thinking, and what I was thinking in relation to this horse hockey about Marjorie being kind was, “Huh?”
Instead, I tried to keep myself—and my investigation—on track. “Speaking of cops . . .” We weren’t, not exactly, anyway, but I wanted to, and this was my perfect opportunity. “I’ve been wondering if you have any theory about what might have happened to your aunt?”
“Theory?” Nick and Bernadine exchanged glances. “It seems pretty obvious what happened. She went over the railing of the balcony. The police say she was pushed.”
The
Nick’s nose scrunched. His eyes scrinched. If I didn’t know that Quinn had already asked him the same question—and believe me, I knew he had; there was no way a guy as thorough as Quinn would let something so obvious get away from him—I would have said that Nick was surprised by the very thought.
“You work here,” Nick said. “And Aunt Marjorie spent so much of her time here. I have to imagine you knew her well. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise when I tell you exactly what I told the police when they asked me that question. No one disliked Aunt Marjorie. How could they? She was sweet and compassionate. She truly cared about other people, about their interests and their ideas and their feelings.”
