Free Water Like a Stone by Deborah Crombie Page B

to synthesize, sometimes allowed the disparate pieces of an investigation to slip into place.
    Now, if she could just apply some of those same skills to navigating the complexities of Duncan’s family, maybe she would actually get through this holiday. She liked Rosemary, although she didn’t know her well. Their phone conversations had consisted of superficial chitchat. Gemma had no idea what lay beneath this woman’s competent exterior.
    “What are you making, exactly?” she asked, watching Rosemary transfer an assortment of bottles into a box for easy carrying to the car.
    “It’s called cardinal’s hat. Very festive—and lethal if overindulged in.” She touched the bottle tops in turn. “Claret. Cognac. White rum. Red vermouth. Cranberry juice. Rose water.” Reaching into the fridge, she pulled out a bottle of champagne and held it aloft like a trophy. “Champagne. And”—she reached into the fridge again and removed a plastic bag—“rose petals to float on the top. Scavenged from my friend the florist on the square.”
    Gemma couldn’t remember her parents ever drinking champagne. From the photos, she knew their wedding had been strictly chapel, a tea-and-cake affair, and any family gatherings where alcohol was served tended to run to beer and port. “Sounds very elegantjust for us,” she said, glancing a little uneasily at her casual slacks and sweater. The punch sounded as if it called for a velvet dress.
    “It’s a bit much for Juliet’s taste, to be honest,” Rosemary told her, placing the rose petals carefully atop the bottles. “But Caspar likes the show.”
    Gemma’s curiosity prompted her to forget her caution. “You didn’t sound earlier as if you were much bothered by what Caspar thought.”
    “Oh, dear.” Rosemary glanced up, a guilty expression on her face. “Didn’t I? In front of the children?”
    Gemma nodded. “Maybe I misinterpreted—”
    “No.” Rosemary sighed. “Although I do try not to do that. It’s very unfair to Lally and Sam. He is their father, and the past year or so has been difficult enough for them without my adding to it.”
    “Um…” Gemma hesitated, not sure of the line between polite concern and nosiness. On the job, she’d have had no such scruples. Temporizing, she said, “I understand Juliet changed jobs this last year?”
    “That’s a very tame way of putting it,” agreed Rosemary, pushing the box out of the way and sitting across from Gemma at the big scrubbed table. “Juliet had served as general dogsbody for Caspar’s business since he and his partner set up on their own a few years ago. ‘Office manager’ was her official title, but she did everything from answering the phone to making appointments to keeping the books, and Caspar paid her a minimum wage. He said she benefited by the firm’s overall profitability, so it would be like robbing Peter to pay Paul to give her a decent salary. And while that may have been true, at least in part, it certainly did nothing for Juliet’s self-esteem.
    “She was content enough at first, because it allowed her some flexibility with the children, but then I could see it wearing away at her. Anyone could guess it was only a matter of time before she bolted.”
    “But setting herself up as a builder, and with no experience? Wasn’t that a bit—”
    “Risky? Impractical?” Rosemary’s smile, so like her son’s, lit up her face. “I’d even say foolhardy. But she’d managed quite complicated DIY projects on their own house for years, as well as acting as an unpaid contractor for her friends, and it was what she’d loved doing ever since she was a child.”
    Gemma wondered if Rosemary felt a little envy for the daughter who had turned away from the family business to make her own way. Had Rosemary dreamed of a life that held more than raising her children and helping with her husband’s shop?
    “Our banker, an old friend of Hugh’s and mine, loaned her the start-up money. Caspar was