Murder by Yew (An Edna Davies Mystery #1)(57)

There was no porch or overhang at the front door, but the house itself provided a bit of shelter from the wind. Edna lifted the heavy brass knocker in the middle of the door and pounded it three times against the companion metal plate. While she waited, she huddled close to the door, trying unsuccessfully to keep out of the rain. She was about to knock again when the latch clicked, and Dee peered out through a three-inch crack. When she saw Edna, her eyes widened in amazement, then delight. If Edna hadn’t just scolded herself for being overly suspicious, she would have said the look on Dee’s face was almost mischievous.

“What a surprise. Come on in.” Dee swung the door wide and pulled Edna into the foyer.

Once inside, Edna threw back her hood as water dripped off her slicker and puddled on the black and white tile.

“You’d better take that off.” Dee held out a hand for Edna’s coat. Shoving her car keys into a pocket, Edna shrugged off the sodden wrap. “What are you doing out in this weather?” Dee helped her with the sleeves, then held the dripping garment at arm’s length.

Edna snorted a laugh, half in embarrassment. “It wasn’t this bad when I left home. I think the storm is getting worse.”

“There’s a fire in the living room.” Dee held a hand toward the door straight ahead. “Right through there. Go get warm while I hang this in the bathroom off the kitchen and brew up some nice, hot tea.”

Edna walked into a large, rectangular room and felt the warmth of the blaze before she spotted the large fireplace to her left. Shivering, she went to stand on the hearth and set her bag to one side of the stones, where she hoped it would dry out a little.

Rubbing her hands before the flames, she was beginning to warm up when she felt a tingling run up and down her spine, as though someone were watching her. She spun around. There was no one, but straight ahead, on the opposite wall of the long, expansive room, she saw the portrait of an elderly man staring back at her. From the style of his thick white hair and gray pinstriped suit, she assumed it was Dee’s late husband, Joel Tolkheim, Senior. He was seated in a brown leather chair, one hand on the armrest, the other on the cover of a book in his lap. Neither smiling nor frowning, Joel looked as if he were about to make a comment to the artist. She grimaced at the idea of a painting causing her unease. Her nerves must really be shot. She needed a good night’s rest, she thought as the heat from the fire began to make her feel drowsy.

Relaxing slightly when she realized no one else was in the room, she put her hands behind her, palms to the blaze and studied her surroundings. The decor spoke of old money, warmth and comfort. Across the long wall opposite the door she had entered, heavy rose and cream drapes were pulled against the storm. She guessed that behind the curtains was a magnificent view of the Atlantic Ocean.

Throughout the room, several groupings of tables, loveseats and chairs were arranged in small conversation areas, including one directly in front of her. To the right of Joel’s portrait, narrow, built-in, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves met to form the corner. The same leather recliner as in the picture stood in front of the books. Strange effect, thought Edna, having a painting of that corner hanging next to the real thing. Warmer now, she wandered around the room, looking at the knickknacks and potted plants on different tabletops and shelves.

Having inspected the entire room, she was beginning to wonder what was taking Dee so long when her hostess bustled in through a door recessed in the paneling between the fireplace and the draperies. As Edna returned to the fire, Dee lowered herself onto a settee, placing a silver tray on the low coffee table before her.

“I’ve made one of my special teas. You must tell me how you like it.” Dee grinned up at Edna as she lifted a white china teapot and began to pour.

Edna moved to sit on an upholstered chair opposite her hostess, openly admiring the flowering mum plant on the small table at her elbow. “Your plants give the room a cozy feeling.” She was much too nervous to drink anything, but not knowing how to refuse gracefully, she took the cup and saucer Dee offered her. Playing with the delicate china, she turned the cup on its saucer, wondering if this would be another false lead. What if Dee and Tom hadn’t even looked at his schedule? What if they only continued to flirt? More to stall for a few more minutes than any desire for a drink, she started to raise the dainty cup to her lips when she was startled by the sound of a burning log falling apart. Sparks erupted from the fireplace onto the hearth.

Dee leaped to her feet. “I’ll take care of it. Drink your tea.” Grabbing an iron poker and a small broom, she swept hot embers back into the fire and adjusted the log.

With her stomach in knots, Edna felt she would choke if she tried to swallow. She didn’t know why, probably due to the desire not to displease her hostess, but while Dee's back was turned, Edna poured half her tea into the mum plant beside her. She had returned the cup to its saucer and was setting both on the table at her elbow by the time Dee turned around.

Standing on the hearth, her back to the fire, Dee looked at the cup and smiled. “How do you like it?”

Before Edna could think of an adequately noncommittal reply, a man stepped quietly from beside the fireplace. He must have come through the door Dee had used to bring in the tea tray. Edna wouldn’t have noticed him if she hadn’t been faced in that direction, and she must have jumped, because Dee turned to see what had startled her.

Edna recognized him immediately. Thick curly hair and dark mustache, he was the man in the photograph on her daughter’s trial wall, the one who’d been sitting with Beverly Lewis and her brother at Quincy Market. Edna frowned, turning to Dee, uncertain. Had Dee been the fourth person at the table, the woman Starling described as wearing a floppy hat and dark glasses?