Free The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) by Victoria Abbott

following me, but that was how I was raised.
    *   *   *
    BACK IN MY bedroom I pondered exactly what I had learned. Carmen Delgado was Muriel’s mother. She was a widow or divorced, I supposed. She had been described as a “looker.” Muriel hadn’t gotten her features from her mother, in that case. Carmen had gradually moved her way up a bit to a better neighborhood, perhaps with Muriel’s help? But Muriel would have been a child when they’d moved from Willows Road.
    The elderly woman had been immediately suspicious of me and my inquiry. Why was that? I had fooled Audra Bennacke. In fact, my track record for fooling people was so solid it was a good thing I’d decided to go straight. I would make an excellent criminal, but you know how kids are: always rebelling against the family.
    The woman on Lilac Lane had said they weren’t going to turn on their neighbors. I’d been talking about a legacy. A small but nice inheritance, not a request to “turn on” their neighbors. She didn’t seem to have bought that for a minute. Perhaps she knew enough about Carmen Delgado and her family to realize that the legacy idea couldn’t be true. Some people have no relatives and that may have been the case. Even if Carmen had had relatives and this woman had known about their existence and financial state, that didn’t rule out an inheritance. A former employer, a friend, a benefactor could easily have left her a bequest. So why the hostility to me? And who had she been phoning? Would she really have phoned the police? I doubted that. I had a strong feeling that on Lilac Lane, no one encouraged a visit from the authorities. They were probably used to knocks on the door from bail bondsmen, repo men and bounty hunters. In lean times, those guys always had work, and they often employed the same methods I’d used. At least I was polite enough not to kick in any doors or tow away cars or pry Christmas gifts from the fingers of crying children.
    Never mind. I had some of what I wanted. I knew that Muriel Delgado had lived in Harrison Falls as a child and that she was the daughter of Carmen Delgado, Carmie to some people. I knew Carmie had died.
    I wasn’t sure where else this would get me, but it was a start. I’d set out to learn something about Muriel Delgado, and I had already found out quite a bit. Knowing where she’d grown up and some details about her family took her down a peg from the tower of swirling black garments, a malignant black widow. Let’s face it, this woman who seemed to want to ruin my life and who also seemed to have the power to control Vera Van Alst was one scary lady. What was the rest of Muriel’s story? What events had she lived through that created such a menacing personality? Whatever was in her background, I intended to ferret it out and use it to get back to my rightful place.
    My cell phone vibrated.
Audra Bennacke
, it said. Uh-oh. What was my name again? Oh right.
    “Lawson and Loblaw,” I chirped as I answered it. “Clarissa Montaine speaking.”
    “Clarissa?” she said.
    “Yes,” I purred.
    “You remember me? Audra? From Maple Street? You were asking about who we bought the house from?”
    “Yes, of course. Thanks so much for getting back to me. Was it Carmen Delgado?”
    “No. My husband remembered the second I asked him. The previous owner was Bob Smith. It was rented out.”
    “Really. Bob Smith?”
    “Yes. Almost like a joke.”
    “But an answer, anyway. He may have been a second owner or a relative. I appreciate your call.”
    “Oh, and the other neighbors are back now. The Snows. I saw them pull in with their shopping a few minutes ago.”
    I wigged up, left through the back and climbed into the black-cherry Accord again.
    On the way, I decided to check out the third and earliest address for C. Delgado.
    Willows Road sounds more picturesque than it was. Prior to the closing of the shoe factory during Vera’s father’s time, Harrison Falls was a pleasant and