Mimosas, Magnolias, and Murder by Tricia L. Sanders

Author:Tricia L. Sanders
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tricia L. Sanders

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“One of Cecelia’s biggest flaws, among the many others, is sticking her nose in other people’s business.”

Hazel Cavanaugh

As much as I hated the idea, I had to talk to Hazel. Phillip gave in to her whims too easily, and he wouldn’t ask her the hard questions. Hazel already despised me, so I had nothing to lose.

Phillip headed back to the office, and I headed to the Cavanaugh family home, Marymount. Pretentious or not, the Cavanaugh estate had its own name.

Marymount sat on the edge of Wickford on 125 acres of prime grape-growing property. I thought it ironic considering she didn’t drink. Between the vineyards and the winery, Hazel had no money worries.

I still had a house key but opted to ring the bell. Ingrid, the housekeeper, answered the door with a shocked expression.

“Is Mrs. Cavanaugh expecting you?” she asked.

I shrugged. “No. Tell her I talked to Phillip, and it’s important. She’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

She led me to the front sitting room and left to find the mistress of the house. Or was it matron? Either sounded better than old windbag.

Hazel had redecorated since the last time I’d been here. She binged every five or six years and changed up the entire house. This time she’d chosen a French provincial theme. I had to admit it was beautiful, and a tinge of jealousy coursed through my veins. I struggled every day to pay bills and keep my business afloat. She could redecorate four thousand square feet on a whim.

“What do you want?” Hazel’s icy tone startled me.

I shook it off and remembered how much better I’d feel when the van payments were gone. “Nice to see you too.”

A shadow of concern crossed her face. “Is everything okay with the girls?”

“They’re fine.” I leaped in feet first, putting the fake pleasantries aside. “We need to talk about Saturday. Phillip asked me to find out what happened at the club.”

“By what occurred, I assume you mean the untimely death of that young woman.” Hazel had assumed her battle stance—the one I was all too familiar with—both hands planted on her hips, feet slightly apart, and her face drawn into a stern mask. I wondered how Willow kept from cracking under Hazel’s intimidating scowl.

I had several sarcastic replies, but under the circumstances, I took the high road. “Yes.”

Ingrid appeared with a tray of hot tea and scones. My mouth watered. Hazel’s cook made the best scones ever, and her homemade peach preserves were to die for. Back when I’d been a reluctant visitor, those treats were the only highlight of my visits.

Hazel waved a dismissive arm. “We won’t be needing that.”

My mouth turned into cotton. Crap!

Ingrid’s cheeks turned bright pink. She mumbled an apology and left.

“What does Phillip want you to do?”

I eyed the sofa. “Can we sit down?”

Hazel sighed. “If we must.” She sat in one of two antique wingback chairs.

I perched on the edge of the sofa, my insides quivering like a bad gelatin dessert.

“Spit it out.

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