Free The Bee Balm Murders by Cynthia Riggs Page A

hungry?”
    He smiled at her. “Sounds like a plan, Ms. Roche.”
    She pointed to herself and looked up at him. “I’m Dorothy. May I call you Finney?”
    Finney looked down at her and nodded.
    They went out the side door, past the fishpond, down the slate path, and seated themselves under the grape arbor at the glass-topped table. He set his laptop on the paving.
    “Nice,” said Finney, leaning back in his wrought-iron chair. The filtered light coming through the grapevines gave Dorothy’s face an attractive softness. “Peaceful here. How long have you had this place?”
    “It’s my summer house,” said Dorothy. “Here’s Courtney now with our coffee. Thank you, darling. You can leave the coffeepot on the table. And Courtney, dear, we’ll have breakfast whenever you have it ready.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” said Courtney, and walked lightly down the garden path toward the house.
    “Nice girl. Has she been with you long?”
    “‘Woman,’ dear.” Dorothy patted his hand. “She’s a student at Brown. Why don’t we get right down to business.”
    “Good idea,” said Finney, taking a sip of the excellent coffee. “I understand you’re buying into Universal Fiber Optics, Nanopoulos’s company.”
    “I’m acquiring the Ditch Witch horizontal directional drill as my share in the company. Isn’t that a wonderful name for such a machine!”
    Finney glanced up at the safely contained grapevines above them. “Orion tells me you’re financing the rig.”
    “According to my accountant, that was the most advantageous way for me to do it.”
    “Sometimes it is,” said Finney cautiously. “How did you hear about the fiber-optics project?”
    “A friend mentioned it. I wanted to learn more.” She looked over the rim of her delicate cup at Finney. “So I went to the selectmen’s meeting and heard Orion speak and, well, I was impressed.”
    “Rightly so,” said Finney. “He knows what he’s talking about. My friend, Angelo Vulpone—”
    Dorothy clasped her hands again. “I’m so sorry. I heard you were great friends. What a tragedy.”
    “A great loss. Angelo endorsed the fiber-optics project so strongly, we won’t have any trouble raising the money we need.” Finney took a sip of coffee. “Did you know Angelo, by any chance?”
    Dorothy looked away. “Not well.” She smiled. “How much do we need?”
    Finney was caught off guard by the “we.” “The project cost is estimated at twenty-four million. Nanopoulos has commitments for ten, so we need an additional fourteen.”
    Dorothy gazed at him with admiration. “And you’ll be able to raise the whole fourteen million?”
    “No problem,” said Finney, a bit uncomfortable now that he’d mentioned numbers. But she was part of the company, he told himself, and he felt better thinking that. He lifted his coffee cup. “The best coffee I’ve tasted in a long time—Dorothy.”
    “I’m glad you like it, Finney.” Dorothy leaned toward him. “You must have wonderful contacts. I’m sure they think highly of you to trust your judgment.”
    Finney shrugged and started to demur, but Dorothy exclaimed, “Here’s our breakfast!”
    Courtney was wheeling a serving cart down the path. As it approached, the aroma of bacon and sausage and cinnamon made Finney realize how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten much the day before. He’d been too tense about the meeting with Nanopoulos and his partner.
    Courtney lifted the lid of a chafing dish. Two golden omelets oozing melted cheese and topped with chives, and a half-dozen little sausages, and another half-dozen rashers of bacon.
    Courtney reached to a lower shelf on the cart where a magnum of champagne was chilling in an ice bucket. Holding the bottle in a linen napkin, she showed it to Finney.
    “Good heavens!” said Finney, looking at the label.
    Dorothy put her hand on his arm. “If you don’t see what you like, just ask,” she said, and she smiled.
    Courtney eased the cork out of the bottle