Free Plaster and Poison by Jennie Bentley Page A

going through all our records, as if we’d be lying about it.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’m sure it’s nothing personal,” I said. “They have to ask. And not everyone is as law-abiding as you and Peter.”
“Right.” Jill looked at me for a second before she smiled. “Anyway, we’d love to get together for dinner sometime. I’ll talk to Peter and get in touch, OK?”
I told her I’d look forward to it and went on my way.
    6

    I’ve never been what you’d call an early bird. Starbucks serves coffee all day, so what’s the hurry? Especially this time of year, when the floor is cold and the thought of having to strip to get into the shower is demoralizing, to say the least. And that was before I moved from New York—cold—to the coast of Maine—colder.
Even with all that, I beat Derek to the B&B the next morning. It was the anticipation of seeing my mom later that did it, I guess. I was knocking on Kate’s kitchen door before eight o’clock: washed, brushed, and raring to go.
Kate was sitting at the table nursing a cup of steaming brew, looking like she hadn’t wanted to get up this morning.
“You OK? ” I said sympathetically.
She managed a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Fine. There’s coffee in the pot.”
“Thanks.” I walked over and poured myself a cup. “I looked for you yesterday afternoon, but I couldn’t find you.”
“I was trying to track down Shannon.”
I glanced at her over my shoulder. “And did you?”
“Afraid not. Although I did give her”—her teeth closed with a snap—“ companion a piece of my mind.”
I returned to the table to sit across from her. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It wasn’t pretty,” Kate said.
I wanted to push for details, but aside from the fact that they weren’t any of my business, she didn’t look like she was in a mood to share. “Well, you look like you didn’t sleep much.”
Kate shook her head. “Wayne didn’t come home ’til around one. He’s still asleep.”
“I see.” Maybe Wayne’s arrival was the reason she looked so beat. If he had woken her up and one thing had led to another, say. Some of my worry lifted, and I smiled.
Kate sent me a sour look but didn’t comment. “So your mom and stepdad are coming later today, right?”
I nodded. “I can’t wait. My mom’s great. You’ll love her. We lived together until just a couple of years ago, when she moved to California. Weird, I know, for a daughter to live with her mother that long, but we get along really well, and she had a rent-controlled apartment in a really good location, and I wasn’t making that much money, and . . .”
“You don’t have to explain,” Kate said, looking a little better for the change of subject. “I’m sure your mom is lovely. I’m looking forward to meeting her. And your stepfather works in television, right?”
“Right. Producer or something. Something behind the scenes.”
“I guess you don’t know him that well, do you? If he’s always lived in California and you’ve always lived in New York?”
I shook my head. “He met my mom three or four years ago. Online, of all places. They hit it off, and whenever he had business in New York, they’d have dinner together. I met him two or three times before he proposed. He actually asked my permission beforehand!”
“Did he really?” Kate smiled. “That’s sweet.”
“Isn’t it? He took me to lunch and showed me the ring and asked me for my mother’s hand in marriage. She quit her job the next day and flew to California with him. They got married three months later. On the beach.”
“That’s wonderful,” Kate said warmly.
“I know. What about your family? You never talk about them.” I realized, too late, that maybe there was a good reason for that.
Her face closed up. “We had a falling out after Shannon was born. Irish Catholic family, political aspirations, child out of wedlock, all those things. So I don’t have much contact with them anymore. My grandmother was the only one who stayed in touch, and she died last spring.” She shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” I said.