I returned to the front and spotted Peggy and Gerda standing in a corner, stuffing raffle tickets into a huge glass bowl. Tony Carerras, lithe, dark and tattooed, stood ready to help. They all looked up as I approached, and Tony stepped back, out of the way but hovering near at hand like a faithful dog. A Doberman or Rottweiler, perhaps. One that kept up a growl just under its breath. And displayed all its teeth.

“It’s going very well, dear,” said Gerda, though without a trace of pleasure in her voice.

Peggy folded another ticket and rammed it in with the others. “I don’t see why anyone has to investigate Brody’s death. Everyone is better off without the nosy old snoop.”

Tony nodded, but said nothing. His gaze challenged me to contradict Peggy, or even say something nasty to her. Like “hello”.

“Hush!” Gerda looked around, and her expression changed from worry to consternation. I didn’t have to look behind me to guess who had crept up.

“Any trouble between you and Clifford Brody, Ms. O’Shaughnessy?” asked Sheriff Sarkisian.

Tony’s hackles rose, but he kept his mouth shut. At least he transferred that unsettling glare of his from me to the sheriff, who seemed not to notice.

Peggy peered over her glasses at Sarkisian. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Mrs. O’Shaughnessy would never hurt anyone!” Tony took a protective step closer to Peggy.

Sarkisian studied the young man for a moment, then turned back to Peggy. “Brody oversaw your work at Brandywine Distillery, didn’t he?” A lesser detective would have inserted a wealth of meaning into the question, but the man actually made it sound like no more than casual conversation.

Peggy bristled nevertheless. “I didn’t like him, but I don’t know anyone who actually did, except that sister of his.” Tony nodded agreement.

“So what did you do about him?” Sarkisian managed to sound fascinated.

“Subtle things.” She cast him a suspicious glance, then shrugged. “I made things hard for him to read. Or I’d take a few shortcuts in notations. All perfectly legal, and much easier for me, but it made it harder for him to double-check every entry.” She pressed her lips together, squeezing out a smile at what was probably a fond and malicious memory. “Petty, I know, but vastly satisfying.”

“You don’t murder someone just because they irritate you,” I pointed out. “Sounds like Peggy had a much better plan in irritating him right back.”

Sarkisian’s gaze transferred to me. “You’re thinking he might have wanted to murder her, instead?”

I met his gaze, and with surprise recognized his amused appreciation. I supposed a sense of humor was mandatory for anyone in law enforcement who wanted to keep their sanity. Tom had certainly had one. He’d married me, after all. “Irritation isn’t a motive for murder,” I said, just to make sure he’d gotten the point.

He studied me for a long moment, then turned with exaggerated surprise toward Gerda and Peggy. “Did either of you two hear me invite Ms. McKinley here to join in the investigation?”

“Yes,” said Gerda promptly. “You asked her to go with you to see Cindy, didn’t you?”

He opened his mouth, but to my delight he apparently found nothing savage enough to say that was still polite enough for the ears of two aging ladies. I grinned at Aunt Gerda and made a motion with my finger, chalking up one point for our side.

“Annike!” yelled Sue Hinkel, interrupting my moment of triumph. “Get over here and help me sell tickets! There’s a line!”

I looked from Sue and the small crowd around her, to the glass bowl stuffed with raffle tickets. The turkey still hadn’t arrived.

Gerda stiffened, straightening to her full and rather impressive height. Peggy gasped, and around us a circle of hushed expectancy rippled outward until no one was talking in our immediate vicinity. I turned around, bewildered, then spotted the petite, elegant figure of Doris Brody Quinn, Clifford’s sister, just inside the door.

Gerda strode toward her, quivering in anger. I reached out to grab her arm, but Sarkisian caught me. I glared at him, but he shook his head, and his grip tightened on my wrist.

“You have some nerve, showing your face here,” Gerda breathed, not loud, but with amazing menace.

“Nerve?” murmured Sarkisian. “Because she should be in mourning?”

Peggy sniffed. “Because of the way she and her brother conned poor Gerda. It’s a deliberate provocation, her coming to a Service Club event.”

I closed my eyes. Why, I wondered, had no civic-minded soul thought to strangle Peggy before now?

Chapter Nine

Doris Brody Quinn had done the occasion proud. She wore a black suit with a gray lace blouse and a hat with a wisp of black netting for a veil. Her gray flecked brown hair curled softly about her beautifully made-up face, and her brown eyes gleamed with malicious enjoyment. “Whatever can you mean, my dear Gerda?”

Gerda ignored her and turned to Sue Hinkel. In an unnecessarily loud voice, she said, “Don’t accept a check from her. And make sure her cash isn’t counterfeit.”

She turned on her heel, but Owen Sarkisian moved forward into her path. “I think I’d like an explanation from both of you ladies, if you don’t mind.”

Gerda pinned him with a pitying look. “If you believe her, I’ve got a bridge to sell you in Brooklyn.” She stalked with considerable dignity toward the kitchen.

Sarkisian raised his eyebrows and looked questioningly at Brody’s sister. “Well, Ms. Quinn?”

I’d never seen so much spite as the woman managed in her smile. “I’m afraid Gerda blames her own lack of business acumen on my brother. He tried to warn her, but you may have noticed she’s a trifle headstrong, as well as eccentric.”

“Specifics, if you don’t mind.” Sarkisian matched her smile.

Doris Quinn eyed him with speculation, then smiled in that gossipy way she has. “Well,” she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “it was over Gerda’s last business-Upper River Gulch’s sole coffee shop. She ran it into the ground, poor dear, all through mismanagement.”

A sputtering gasp escaped Peggy, but I clamped a warning hand on her shoulder. I wanted to hear this version.

“It was such a nice little place, and it had such potential, if only the right person had charge of it. So I bought it from her before she lost it to bankruptcy, and I built it back up. You ought to come in sometime, you’d love what I’ve done with it.”

“Thanks, I will.” Sarkisian nodded to her and headed back toward the raffle jar, still gripping my wrist. I still gripped Peggy, so we made a threesome. Foursome, actually, since Tony tagged along. I found the kid’s gratitude toward Peggy rather extravagant, but maybe she’d been the first motherly figure to enter his life.

Once out of earshot of the ticket table, the sheriff turned to face us. “Okay, Ms. O’Shaughnessy. Let’s hear the other side of this coffee shop affair.”

Peggy beamed at him. “I knew you had to be smarter than to be taken in by that-that-woman.”

“Oh, I’m rarely taken in by anything,” Sarkisian assured her. “So, what’s Ms. Lundquist’s version?”

Peggy cast him a suspicious glance. “The truth, of course. That swine Brody kept giving Gerda bad advice, then told her she was going to lose the place if she didn’t sell. Then he undervalued the shop and its assets on purpose so his sister could buy it for a song. Poor Gerda took a substantial loss and had to go into debt to buy her current store. She-” Peggy broke off in consternation.

“She what?” The sheriff sounded no more than mildly curious.

“Look,” Peggy declared, arms akimbo, “no matter what you’re thinking, that does not give her a motive for killing Brody. Really, it doesn’t! She wanted him alive to prove to him she could come out on top, in spite of what he did to her.”

“Sheriff?” Doris Quinn appeared at his side. “A word with you?” She drew him several steps away, but still within earshot for Peggy and me. “I’m sure Gerda has a perfectly good alibi for when dear Clifford died,” she stage whispered. “But you will double-check it, won’t you? Not that I’d wish to try to make anyone look guilty, but…” She broke off with that sad, bereaved, pitiable smile that made me itch to dump a cup of coffee over her head.

When she’d strolled off to join the breakfast line, Owen Sarkisian returned to Peggy and me. “I know,” I said before he could open his mouth. “My aunt’s alibi is just driving to a store in Meritville. I wish she’d gotten a ticket on the way.”

“So she’s implying I killed her wretched brother, is she?” Gerda appeared at Peggy’s elbow. “Or is she stating it right out? Horrible woman.”

“I hope she chokes on a sausage,” Peggy declared loyally. Tony nodded, still glued to Peggy’s side.

“That venomous…” Gerda began.

“Annike?” Sue yelled. “Someone to see you.”

A man elbowed his way through the crowd toward us. “You the one who’s gotta sign for the turkey?”

The turkey! I could have kissed him, greasy white apron, stubbly beard and all. Timely interruption and raffle prize, all in one package.

He held out a clipboard, pointed to a line, and I scrawled my name where he indicated. He tucked it under his arm. “Where ya want your bird?”

“Refrigerator, I guess.” I started toward the front door.

The man choked on his laugh. “It’s not gonna like that.”

A sinking sensation of foreboding settled in the pit of my stomach. “What do you mean?”

He cocked his head at me. “You ordered it.”

“No, someone else did. She ordered a smoked breast, ready for a buffet table.” I said the words slowly, trying to convince myself they had to be true.

A slow, evil grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe you better come outside and take a look, lady.”