some art institute down in Boston. He never came up to see his ma before the murder. Of course, some folks think he’s the one that did it.”
“John, you are a terrible gossip. And they talk about women.” Emma scowled at him. “You shouldn’t be spreading rumors to this poor girl. She looks upset enough.”
Emma took John’s arm and started moving him toward the door.
“Maybe the place is haunted. Carolyn’s ghost roaming around her house,” John said, as Emma shoved him through the post office door.
I felt a chill run through my body. Maybe all those house noises hadn’t been mice in the attic.
“Maybe someone rents the house. How would the son take care of everything from down in Boston?” I said trying to use my practical lawyer’s mind.
“If anyone knows about the house it’d be the lawyer who handled Carolyn’s affairs,” Margaret said.
“Who is that?” I asked
“Only two lawyers in the village, Dash Mellman and Leroy Poston. Has to be one or the other. Dash’s office is right down the road in the yellow house with the rocking chairs on the front porch.”
“I’ve got to get my stuff out of that Brousseau house right away, but maybe I can catch the lawyer down the road as long as I’m here.”
“Sure. Maybe he knows what’s going on in the Brousseau house and it’ll set your mind at ease. Let me know what you find out. What about that mail? Shouldn’t you give it to me?”
“I will later, but if this Mellman guy is the lawyer for the Brousseau family, maybe he needs to see it.”
I gathered an impatient Sam out of the car and we walked down the road to the yellow house.
.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
The sign on the porch of the yellow house said “Daniel ‘Dash’ Mellman, Attorney at Law.”
I opened the front door and stepped into what once must have been the entry hall of a Victorian house. Now it was a reception area. A woman with grey hair done in what used to be called a beehive hairdo was on the phone.
I waited as patiently as I could, tapping my foot and eyeing the woman who had no intention of pausing in her conversation. “I told her no one makes blueberry jam like Edith. She grows those berries on her own property, some special plants she originated and she said—”
Sam decided not to wait for a further introduction. He put his front paws on the phone blabber’s desk. That got her to notice us at once. She stood up. Sam transferred his paws to her shoulders. She wasn’t a very tall woman. She let out a small scream.
“Can I help you? You don’t have an appointment, do you? she asked accusingly trying to regain her composure.
I hauled hard on Sam’s leash and he released the woman.
“I was just hoping to catch Mr. Mellman. I’m an attorney from Miami, Florida, and I’m in need of some information.” I smiled at Mrs. Beehive, hoping to repair Sam’s intrusive introduction.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Welcome to Vermont. I’m Daisy Mellman, Dash’s mother. We’re always happy to help a colleague.” She turned toward a door at the end of the hall and shouted, “Dash, come out here. We’ve got a guest.”
The door opened and a man of about forty strode out. He was dressed in khakis, a golf shirt and some kind of boots. He was tall, muscular, and suntanned; the outdoorsy type, but not bad looking.
He held out a big hand and shook mine. I introduced myself and pulled out a card from my backpack.
“What brings you all the way up here?” he asked.
“It’s a long story, but mainly I’m on vacation. I’m trying to find out about Carolyn Brousseau and her house. Did you handle the estate?”
“The house isn’t for sale, if that’s what you want to know. I did handle the estate.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to buy that house. I have some other questions.”
“Let’s step into my office,” Dash said. He pointed to a door at the end of the hall. I followed him and Daisy followed me, but Dash shut the door firmly.
“My mother is my