“You didn’t attempt a pole dance or pick a fight with your mom, if that’s what you’re worried about. Mostly, you just got really, really mellow and went around telling everybody how much you loved them. Including Andrea Payne and what’s-her-name.”
“Belle Isle Barbie and Melody Zimmerman? Who invited those two?”
“You did. Along with Father Templeton and the organist, who nobody’d ever met before, and various other random funeral-goers. Fortunately most of them had the good sense not to show up. Except, of course, for Andrea and Melody, who waltzed right in here like they were your long-lost cousins.”
“Oh, no. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was excellent comic relief.”
Riley took another sip of coffee. “I didn’t … say anything about Wendell, did I? Anything bad?”
“Not that I heard,” Parrish said. “You definitely didn’t say anything the two of us were thinking.”
“That’s a relief. But wait. Oh God! Did Maggy notice how strangely I was acting?”
“Relax. She wasn’t here. As soon as we got out of church, Ed tracked her down.”
“Where’d she go after she left the chapel?”
“Ed said she was sitting on the seawall, near the marina. Just sitting there, staring out at the water.”
“Where they found Wendell’s body,” Riley said. “I’m afraid she’s obsessed with that.”
“Yeah. They sat and talked for a while. She was pretty emphatic about not coming back over here afterward, so Ed took her over to the Mercantile and got her an early supper, then took her back to the Shutters. We didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Mind? I’m incredibly grateful to Ed for being so sensitive to Maggy’s mood. I’m so grateful to both of you. I don’t know if we could have survived yesterday without the two of you.”
Parrish said, “We didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done for us.” Changing the subject, she asked, “So what are you going to do with the rest of the day?”
Riley looked around the room and spotted her clothes, neatly folded on an armchair near the bed. “I feel like doing something useful. Now that I’m starting a new job, we only have a couple of weeks to figure out how we prove Melody Zimmerman killed Wendell.”
Parrish sighed. “You’ve got another screwball plan, don’t you?”
“What would it hurt if we just took a ride over to Melody’s cottage and took a look around?”
“Oh, no,” Parrish said. “I am not breaking into that woman’s house. At least we had a key to get into Wendell’s office, and he was your husband. This is an entirely different crime. It’s called breaking and entering.”
“Who said anything about breaking in? We could just cruise over there and maybe peek in a window or something. You’ll have to loan me some clothes, though. I can’t go snooping around in my funeral outfit.”
“What if she catches us? What if a nosy neighbor sees us? What if Ed finds out? He was not happy when I told him we’d been stalking Melody.”
“If she’s home, we’ll leave. We won’t get caught. I swear. And since when do you have to ask for your husband’s permission to do something? Geez, Parrish, talk about growing a set!”
* * *
Melody Zimmerman’s cottage was a modest seventies-era, single-story redwood cottage, in an enclave of half a dozen homes from the same era, each nestled into its own thicket of live oaks, palmettos, and bay laurels.
“Nice and private,” Riley said approvingly, as Parrish steered the cart down the cul-de-sac. She pointed to a small green fenced-off public space with a sign designating it as a dog park. “Park over there.”
“This is crazy,” Parrish muttered as they tried to act nonchalant, walking through the steady drizzle toward Melody Zimmerman’s cottage. “We can’t see anything here,” Parrish said, pointing at two large picture windows covered with closed plantation shutters. “She’s probably got the same thing on every window.”
“Quit being such a pessimist,” Riley said. “Let’s check in back.”
As they turned the corner they noted what looked like a set of double windows, covered again with closed plantation shutters.
Next, the two women darted around to the rear of the house. A set of sliding glass doors led onto a small brick-paved patio. “See, no more plantation shutters,” Riley said.
The two women plastered their faces to the sliders, which were partially obscured by a set of sheer curtains. “Ugh. Total granny city,” Parrish said. They were looking at a combined living/dining area. The living room featured a fussy faux French furniture suite with brocade sofa and two matching tufted armchairs. There was a dining room with a crystal chandelier centered over a reproduction Early American maple dining room table and chairs.
“Melody certainly has way better taste in clothes than in furniture,” Parrish said.
“Didn’t you say the house actually belongs to a relative?” Riley asked. She pointed to a window to the right. It was located halfway up the wall, above an air-conditioning condenser, just high enough that they couldn’t see in. Not to be deterred, Riley jumped onto the condenser and pressed her face to the glass.
“See anything?” Parrish asked.
“Wow, talk about stuck in the eighties,” Riley reported. “It’s just a normal kitchen. For a home-wrecking slut, our Melody is a tidy little soul. Not even a coffee mug on the countertop.”
“Okay, let’s go,” Parrish said anxiously.
“Oh, hello!” Riley said. “There’s a doggie door over there, on the side of the house.” She clambered down from the condenser.
“Which means there’s probably a dog,” Parrish said. “Now we really gotta go.”
“Don’t be such a fraidy-cat,” Riley chided. “If there was a dog, it would have barked by now.”
She hurried around to the side of the house and stood looking at the dog door, a rectangular opening approximately eighteen inches high by fourteen inches wide. Riley dropped down onto her knees and looked up excitedly at Parrish. “I bet I could crawl through this, don’t you?”
“Have you lost your mind? That’s a big-ass doggie door. Which means there is a big-ass doggie somewhere inside that house, probably a Rottweiler or a Doberman, just waiting to rip your throat out,” Parrish said. “Now let’s go.”
“I’m just gonna stick my head in and see what’s what,” Riley said. “If there’s a dog, he’ll bark, and we’ll boogie on down the road. Okay?”
“No! Absolutely not. I did not sign up for illegal entry,” Parrish said. But it was too late. Riley poked her head inside the door’s outer rubber flap.
“Hellooo. Hellooo. Mr. Doggie, is anybody home? Mr. Doggie?”
She backed out of the door and grinned up at her best friend. “There’s no dog in there that I can see. Any self-respecting Dobie would have clawed right through that door if he was home. I’m going in and taking a look around. Cover me, okay?”
“No!” Parrish tried to grab hold of the waist of Riley’s shorts, but her friend was too fast. She’d already wriggled all the way through the door.