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dead body in her cellar.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “OH, THERE YOU ARE, Beth dear. Ivy and I were wondering what was keeping you so long. The tea is getting cold.”

      Just the good doctor and his nasty daughter, she was tempted to say, trying hard to remember that she’d once been a pubescent child with a big mouth. Though she was positive she hadn’t been as rude as Stacy Donovan, who had seen fit to flip her off when her father’s back was turned. The young girl had passed annoying and was heading straight for unlikable. And though she knew there were reasons for her behavior, Beth had a difficult time accepting them.

      “Sorry I’m late. Some unexpected guests just arrived—a Dr. Donovan and his daughter. I’ve been getting them settled in their room.”

      “I saw them out the window when they drove up,” Ivy stated, perching primly on the edge of the red velvet settee and crossing her ankles, looking like everyone’s idea of the perfect granny and making it hard to believe that the old lady had a salacious side.

      “The man is quite handsome. You’d be wise to take notice, Beth. It’s been a while since you’ve indulged, if you get my meaning, and he looks to be very well—”

      “Aunt Ivy!” She held up her hand to cut off whatever suggestive comments her aunt was about to make. Beth had enough problems at the moment; she didn’t need a matchmaking old lady meddling in her affairs.

      “I’m not interested in Dr. Donovan, or any man, for that matter. I’ve told you both countless times that I’m content as I am. Besides, Brad Donovan’s daughter hates me, so there’s not really much point in pursuing any fantasies about him, if one were into fantasies, which I’m not.” She lived vicariously through the heroines in romance books and movies. It would have to be enough.

      Ivy smiled smugly, not believing a word of her niece’s protestation.

      Pouring tea out of a pink-flowered china teapot into three matching cups, Iris glanced up, eyes widening in surprise. “But why does the girl dislike you, dear? She doesn’t even know you.”

      With a lift of her shoulders, she tried to explain. “Stacy lost her mother a few years ago. Apparently, she feels threatened by other women, sees them as competition for her dad’s affections, which is totally ridiculous where I’m concerned, because I have no designs on the man.”

      “Tsk-tsk. That poor child.” Ivy took the cup of Earl Grey her sister handed her. “She’s undoubtedly lonely. I’ll make it a point to befriend her. Maybe Stacy likes computers. I’ll be sure to ask her the first chance I get. We can go online and—”

      “But no pornography! You must promise, Aunt Ivy,” Beth said firmly. “Most—” normal teetered on the tip of her tongue “—people don’t think as liberally as you do about these kinds of things.”

      “Of course not!” Her aunt looked insulted that Beth would even suggest such a thing. “Though I don’t know what all the fuss is about. There are statues of naked men in museums. Why, there’s even one in the center of the town common. Nudity is a very healthy thing. If I were a bit younger and less wrinkled, I’d be tempted to join one of those nudist colonies. I think it would be a very exhilarating experience. I might just do it one of these days anyway.”

      The image of a shar-pei came to mind, but Beth blinked it away.

      Iris’s mouth fell open, and then recovering, she said, “That statue you speak of, sister, is a copy of the David by Michelangelo. It’s a famous work of art.”

      “I’ll say it is. That David was no slouch. Makes me want to travel to Italy to check out those Italian men.”

      “Do either of you know anything about Robert Donovan’s whereabouts? Where he might have gone after leaving here?” Beth interrupted, though she doubted the new topic would be any safer. “I was hoping he might have told you something during your visits.”

      The two women’s faces reddened simultaneously and their eyes widened before exchanging what Beth construed to be guilty looks, even as they shook their heads in denial. “Why, no, dear.” Iris smoothed the skirt of her print dress with quick, nervous movements. “We didn’t associate with Mr. Donovan all that much. Did we, sister?”

      Ivy shook her head. “No. Not at all.”

      “But I thought you played bridge with him a few times. I distinctly remember you telling me that.” Her suspicions continued to grow. The old women were hiding something.

      Dead bodies, perhaps?

      Bonnie and Clyde. Iris and Ivy. It didn’t have the same cachet to it. But still…

      “Dr. Donovan is here to search for his father. He’s very worried about him, says it’s not like him to go off without leaving word.”

      Ivy scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be just fine. After all, Robert—” Her cheeks filled with color at the slip. “I mean, Mr. Donovan is a grown man who undoubtedly knows his own mind. Young people should give older folks more credit for being capable. Why, you’d be surprised what we can do when we put our minds to it.”

      Thinking back to the shovel, bones and locket, Beth had no doubt about that.

      “Are you sure you’ve told me everything? It’s very important that you confes…confide in me, if you know anything.”

      “Of course, dear,” Iris answered in wide-eyed innocence, quickly changing the subject. “Now, why don’t you tell us about your meeting with Mr. Pickens? I’m just dying of curiosity, and so is Ivy.”

      Heaving a sigh, Beth knew she’d get no more information out of the two old ladies today. They could be as stubborn as lint on black socks when they put their minds to it. Though she went on to reveal the details of her meeting with the banker, Beth couldn’t shake the feeling that Iris and Ivy knew more than they were saying, which didn’t bode well for her peace of mind, not when there were bones buried in her basement.

      “I HATE LYING TO Beth, Iris.” Ivy wrung her hands nervously and paced across the colorful Aubusson carpet her ancestor Isaac Swindel had brought over from England when he’d made the trip to the colonies with William Penn. “She’s going to be madder than a flea-infested dog when she finds out what we’ve done.”

      Uneasy at her sister’s prediction, for she knew it was true, Iris said, “Now, sister, you know it can’t be helped. We don’t want to involve Beth and get her into trouble. It’s best to keep our own counsel, as we’ve already discussed. Besides, keeping information from someone to protect them isn’t really lying—it’s being responsible.”

      Blue eyes filled with uncertainty, Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the pain centered there, and nearly dislodged her wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m going to take some Excedrin and rest a bit before dinner. I feel a headache coming on.”

      “All right, dear. I’m going to try that incantation one more time. I must be doing something wrong. It’s just not working like it should.”

      “Maybe you should add some Viagra to your potion. It supposedly raises quite a few…er…things.”

      “Ivy Swindel! You are shameful.”

      The old woman smiled. “Yes, I know. But at my age I have every right to be. Life should be fun when you’re as old as I am. In fact, I’m thinking about forming a chapter of that Red Hat Society here in Mediocrity. It’s for women over fifty. They wear red hats, purple dresses and have oodles of fun. I may even let you join…or not,” she tossed out before disappearing.

      Iris shook her head and had just opened up The Wicca’s Guide to Potent Brews when she felt someone’s eyes upon her. She and Ivy rarely closed the door to their suite of rooms; they were the only inhabitants on the fourth floor, so it seemed unnecessary.

      Her niece had insisted that they were too trusting of strangers