Murder by Yew (An Edna Davies Mystery #1)(12)

“It must be nice to know so much of the history of your family,” Dee replied, following. In the living room she moved to sit on a mahogany sofa, upholstered in gold brocade, and ran a bejeweled hand over the fabric. “Another fine piece of furniture. Yours or your husband’s family?” She smiled as she raised an eyebrow.

Edna chuckled, pleased that Dee recognized what was another family heirloom. She found herself becoming more delighted than annoyed with the woman. “That sofa always takes me back to my grandmother’s parlor. That’s what’s nice about having things handed down in one’s family, the stories and memories that go with them.” Edna grew uncomfortable, realizing she was babbling on about her family to a stranger. She wanted to know more about Dee. “You must have wonderful accounts of your own.” She made it sound like a question, hoping to draw the woman out.

Dee’s laugh sounded like the tinkling of tiny wind chimes. “Hardly. I grew up with what has been referred to as early Salvation Army.”

Her guest’s frankness made Edna squirm inwardly, as though she’d been flaunting her wealth. At the same time, she remembered that it had been Dee who’d led the conversation down this particular path. Besides, according to Tuck, Dee was now a very rich woman.

As if again reading Edna’s mind, the sides of Dee’s mouth twitched. “My fortunes certainly have changed.”

Edna began to think Dee was purposely trying to unsettle her. She used the opportunity to encourage Dee to talk some more about herself. “What was your home like—the one you grew up in?”

Dee laughed again, more like breaking glass than twinkling chimes this time. “Oh, Honey, it was nothing like this.” She looked down at her hand stroking the brocade. “Definitely not like this at all.”

Edna felt her face grow hot at the term “Honey.” She didn’t consider herself a snob, but she couldn’t help the reaction. Dee’s tone and manner had been more like those of a store clerk than a wealthy socialite. Hiding her discomfort, Edna tried to refocus the conversation. “We’ve driven by your house at the shore, my husband and I. It’s lovely.”

Dee’s brow furrowed. “My late husband’s house. It’s not the same as having my own history.”

“Are you from around here?”

“I’ve lived in many places. My two sons are in California.”

With a vague feeling that Dee kept slipping out of her grasp like a wet goldfish, Edna tried a less direct approach to learning more about her. “Sons.” She didn’t need to force the enthusiasm into the word as she thought of her own two boys, actually grown men now. Momentarily forgetting how old Dee really was, she assumed her children must be teenagers. “Will they be joining you here?”

“Oh, no.” Dee smoothed her skirt across her lap. “They’re both tied to their jobs. We don’t see much of each other. When I married Les, my th … my second husband, the boys stayed in Los Angeles with their father.” She smiled at Edna. “Les was in the oil business with a place down in Texas. The boys didn’t want to leave their little school friends. They preferred to stay with their daddy instead of moving to Houston with me.”

Edna hoped her shock didn’t show. She couldn’t imagine ever leaving her children, but if such a dreadful occurrence had been necessary, she didn’t think she’d be talking so casually about it. Now she was even more curious. How many times had this woman been married? There was, apparently, the boys’ father and the oil magnate. Had there been others? Which husband had Joel Tolkheim been?

Before Edna could think too much more about it, Dee rose from the couch. Crossing the room, she stopped and reached out to rest a hand on Edna’s arm. “We need to stick together, Edna. As outsiders in this community, we need to support each other, don’t you think?”

Having no idea what had brought on this spurt of sentimentality, Edna pushed up from her own chair. “Why don’t I show you upstairs?” She wasn’t ready to become Dee’s close friend and confidante.

In the master bedroom, Dee moved at once to an oak dresser and picked up a wedding picture, a black-and-white photo of Edna and Albert smiling at the photographer as they’d come out of the church. Edna wore a wide, flowing gown of net and white satin; Albert was in a tux and top hat.

“Where’s your husband?” Still holding the picture, Dee turned to Edna.

“Chicago. He left this morning for a weekend conference.”

“You didn’t go with him?” She raised her finely-shaped eyebrows.

“No.” Edna hesitated. She didn’t think her fear of flying was any of this woman’s business. “There would have been nothing for me to do. I would probably have seen him only at night.” Apparently, her words didn’t sound as lame to Dee as they did to her.

“That’s the dangerous time, the time when you should be with him. He’ll be looking for companionship.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Edna felt her face redden at the implication.

Dee shrugged. “Men that age, retirement age, have a roving eye.”

“Not Albert.”

“Any man. Please forgive me for saying that you’re being naïve if you think otherwise.”

“I trust Albert implicitly.” Edna bristled, then felt more pity than anger at this beautiful woman who’d apparently lost more than one husband. How many had died? Thinking of Joel Tolkheim, the question flew unbidden into Edna’s head just as Dee spoke again.