Then he turned and watched the snow. It had gotten heavier in the past minute. It looked as if they were in for another storm. That would be two in the past week. He could be in Buffalo given the snow they were getting. Hopefully, this would be the last of it.

He'd liked snow when he was younger, liked the way it made the town quiet and clean, liked riding around in his squad car helping people out of the ditches they'd slid into, but that was when he could walk without thinking about it. Now, he wasn't so fond of the stuff. Even though it looked pretty, it was just another obstacle for him to have to overcome if he wanted to get from place to place. He shook his head to clear the negative thoughts away. No point in entertaining them. They didn't help anything anyway. But lately they'd been swarming around him like a bunch of no-see-ums in the spring.

A few minutes later, when Bernie and Libby had gone downstairs to get the tea and cake and check on things in the shop, Sean took his cell out of his pocket and called Ines. He wanted to see how she and Trudy were getting on. And, if truth be told, he liked hearing her voice. She had a knack for making him laugh.

Chapter 23.

The snow kept up all Wednesday afternoon and well into the evening, drawing a veil over Longely. It piled up on the roads and snarled commuter traffic coming in from the city. Except for a few walk-ins, A Little Taste of Heaven was dead. At six-thirty Libby decided to send Amber and Googie home.

She and Bernie kept the shop open for another half hour and then closed when it was obvious that everyone this evening was going straight home. They spent the rest of the evening drinking hot chocolate, watching the news, and playing Scrabble with their dad. By the time the storm had moved over to Pennsylvania, it had dumped ten inches on Longely, an amount the town was ill-equipped to deal with.

Bernie and Libby got up early the next morning to shovel the sidewalk in front of their store.

"I can't believe we're doing this again," Libby groaned as she picked up the red plastic shovel she'd used yesterday and the day before that.

"Believe it," Bernie replied. She remembered that she had to go to Sam's Club to get the stuff she'd forgot to get yesterday, which meant digging out the van-again. Well, at least she didn't have to go to the gym. Shoveling definitely counted as her cardio workout for the day. "I bet we're going to get slammed today, just like we did after the last storm," she concluded, thinking of all the work that lay ahead of them.

"Well," Libby said, pausing at the curb, "at least the storm is good for our bottom line."

Bernie grunted. "If this kind of thing keeps up, we should hire someone to clear our sidewalk."

"Definitely," Libby said, unb.u.t.toning her jacket. She'd just begun shoveling and she was getting warm already. "It'll be money well spent, in my opinion."

"What I want to know is, whatever happened to global warming? I thought we were going to turn into the tropics, have beachfront property, and be rich," Bernie complained as her cell started ringing.

It was Amber telling her she'd be an hour late. At least. Five minutes later, Googie did the same thing.

Bernie slipped her cell back in her pocket. She'd been expecting the calls, but that didn't mean she was happy about them. "I have a feeling we're going to be stuck in the shop all day today."

"I have a feeling you're right," Libby said. "If we'd been smart we would have baked extra last night."

But they hadn't been, so they spent the day making m.u.f.fins, scones, brownies, and fruit pies, not to mention ginger chicken, Swedish meatb.a.l.l.s, potato and leek soup, and apple and b.u.t.ternut squash bisque to feed the ravening hordes, although their dad pointed out that Mrs. Stein and Mr. Patella could hardly be considered ravening, much less part of a horde. It wasn't until Friday that they made it out to Melissa Geist's house.

She lived ten miles outside of Longely, on a back road to which the county plow had given what their dad would have called a lick and a promise. Basically, the road was fine for SUVs, but it wasn't so fine for top-heavy vans with rear-wheel drive.

"We should have waited another day," Libby said as Bernie fought to keep their vehicle on the road.

Bernie didn't say anything, because she was too busy concentrating on her driving.

Libby popped a piece of apricot bread in her mouth, glad that she wasn't the one behind the wheel. Bernie's nerves were steadier than hers in situations like this.

"I wonder where Joyce is?" Bernie mused.

As per their plan, they'd stopped at Joyce's house on their way to Melissa's. However, her car hadn't been there and no one had answered the doorbell.

"Maybe she's out selling Avon," Libby suggested.

"Or taking a vacation," Bernie replied.

"Now that would be an interesting thought," Libby said. She hadn't taken a vacation in ten years or more. "I think I've forgotten what that's like."

Bernie slowed down to a crawl over a treacherous piece of road. "Ah, the joys of being a small-business owner."

"Do I denote a bit of sarcasm?" Libby asked.

"Just a trace," Bernie replied.

Libby looked at her sister. She wasn't wearing any make-up this morning except for some black eyeliner, and she'd twisted her hair up on top of her head with a clip, but she still looked stunning in her black turtleneck sweater and black puffy vest. Now, if Libby was wearing that outfit she'd look like a schlep, but somehow Bernie made it work.

"Do you ever regret giving up your magazine job and coming back from California?" Libby asked. It was something she wondered about from time to time.

Bernie considered for a moment before answering. "You know, I really don't. I even like the snow-just not as much as we've been having. Don't get me wrong, it was fun out there, but I'm glad I came back. I like being home with you guys. And there was the boyfriend issue. That was huge."

"Yes, it was." And it hadn't been a good issue either, Libby recalled only too well. Bernie had arrived at the shop with just the clothes on her back. Figuratively speaking, of course. "Good," she said. "I'm glad you're back too."

"And I'm glad that you're glad," Bernie replied.

Libby laughed and went back to talking about Joyce. "We really should speak to her," she said, remembering what Richard had told them when he'd been up at their place. "Maybe she's gone to St. Croix and we could interview her there."

Bernie smiled. "Works for me. I could definitely use a little beach action."

Libby took another bite of her slice of apricot bread. "You sure you don't want some?" she asked Bernie, who shook her head.

"It's good," Libby told her.

"I'm certain that it is," Bernie answered.

Libby had added a touch of chopped candied ginger and some macadamia nuts to the batter and the combination had turned out better than expected. She ate the rest of the slice, even though she'd told herself she'd save some for later-talk about delusional behavior-dusted the crumbs off her puffy coat, and went back to looking out the window. The snow was like a white goose-down comforter blanketing everything. With the sun glinting off it, she had to scrunch up her eyes to see. As she was looking out she remembered something. She turned toward Bernie.

"You know that article that was in the paper about Annabel Colbert buying up the land to make that children's camp?"

"What about it?" Bernie asked.

Libby gestured to the land outside the window. "Well, this is the land she wanted to buy."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. And look," she said as she pointed to the brown house coming up on their right. The cap of snow on the roof made it look like a mushroom. "There's Melissa's house. Right smack in the tract that Annabel was going to buy."

"Well, that's certainly interesting," Bernie said as she slowed down to make the turn into the driveway. "Can we say h.e.l.lo eminent domain, good-bye house?"

"Would the county do something like that?" Libby asked.

"In a heartbeat," Bernie told her. She gestured to the surrounding land. "A place like that would bring in people and businesses. It would give them tax dollars. There's nothing here now, at least nothing of any value."

"You think Melissa knew about Annabel's plan?" Libby asked.

"Yes, I do. How could she not? Especially given Annabel's personality. I don't think she could resist telling her, or at least hinting enough so that Melissa would find out."

Libby nodded as she studied Melissa's house. It was a small colonial, set back from the road by a couple hundred feet. A scrim of evergreens rising up like a phalanx flanked the house on either side. It wasn't fancy. But it was still Melissa's. Libby imagined how she'd feel if the town of Longely decided it had to widen the road and told her she'd have to move A Little Taste of Heaven. It wouldn't matter if the price the town offered her family was market value or not. She'd still be furious. And if it was a "friend" who was doing it, that would just make it worse.

Libby pointed to the small sign off to one side that read, PRECIOUS PUG. "Shouldn't that read Precious Pugs?" Libby asked as they drove past it and up toward the house. Now that they were closer, they could hear the sounds of dogs barking.

"Yes, it should," Bernie said as she maneuvered the van over three small piles of snow in the driveway. Evidently the s...o...b..ower had broken down or the person using it had given up, Bernie decided.

She parked on the right side of the driveway next to a green Ford pickup truck and a large black Explorer. The Explorer had the words Grooming by Appointment lettered on the side, while the pickup truck had the logo Precious Pug. She turned the van's engine off. Now the sound of the dogs was louder, but not as loud as she'd expected.

It didn't sound to Bernie as if there were that many dogs in residence. Most of the noise seemed to be coming from the small building behind the house, to which outdoor runs were attached. When she thought about it, she realized that this seemed like an amateur operation, what a magazine she'd read had called "a backyard breeder." This had not been intended as a compliment. She'd expected Precious Pug to be bigger. More professional.

"It looks as if Melissa has company," Bernie noted.

"And there she goes," Libby said as a thin, black-haired woman walked out of the house a moment later.

She was dressed in jeans, serious snow boots, and a blue parka with the hood up. As Libby and Bernie watched, she marched over to her truck, got in, and took off. A plume of smoke marked the truck's progress until it hung a right onto Strafford three miles away and vanished from view.

"Let's do it," Bernie said. She swung her door open.

A blast of cold air rushed in. Somehow it felt even colder here than it had in town. She and Libby were almost to Melissa's house when the front door opened. The sound of barking followed Melissa as she stepped outside into the cold. Today, she was dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, a down vest, and work boots, which contrasted with her bleached blond hair, crimson lipstick, and bright blue eye shadow. Two spots of bright pink on her cheeks completed the botched make-up job. Looking at her made Bernie want to send Melissa off for a month of enforced stay at remedial make-up school.

Bernie decided that she was one of those women who'd been pretty when they were younger and were still clinging to their youth. Never mind that the realities of the situation had changed.

Obviously when Melissa looked at herself in the mirror, she didn't see that the downward lines around her mouth and the furrows in her forehead gave her a look of perpetual discontentment. She didn't see that they offered nooks and crannies for her make-up to cake up in. She was definitely not aging well. Bernie wondered how she herself looked to other people. She wondered if she was deluding herself the way Melissa was.

"I take it you want to talk about Annabel," Melissa said to them when she got to the bottom step.

"Maybe we want to buy a pug," Bernie said. She wondered as she spoke what it was that Richard saw in her. Maybe it was that she was female and available? Because it certainly wasn't her looks or her charm.

"Sorry," Melissa said. "I don't have any available right now."

"How disappointing," Libby told her. "Can we see the dogs that you have?"

"No. You may not. They're all spoken for. Have you tried the Longely shelter?"

"No. We haven't," Bernie replied. "But thank you for the suggestion."

Melissa nodded.

"We probably should look there," Bernie said. "After all, come to think of it, we really don't need a dog with dental problems."

Melissa stiffened. "That New Hartford thing was absurd."

"That's not what Ramona said," Libby put in.

"Ramona doesn't know anything about dogs and neither did the judge. He was used to judging spaniels, and she knows as much about pugs as I do about Croatia. But you didn't come out here to discuss the disqualification, did you? Just like you didn't come out here to buy a dog." When neither Bernie nor Libby replied, she answered herself, "No. I didn't think you did. It looks as if I was right the first time. You want to talk about Annabel. It makes sense. I've been expecting you."

Everyone was expecting them, Bernie thought. Obviously, they were becoming too predictable.

"According to Richard, you've talked to everyone else who was there when Annabel died. I'm the last one left. Probably because I'm the most inconvenient to get to, is that correct?"

Libby allowed how she was correct.

"You should have called first. It would have saved you the trouble of coming out here. I have nothing to say to you. Absolutely nothing. In fact, Richard gave me the name of his lawyer in case you showed up. You can talk to him."

Bernie stamped her feet. She should have worn her Uggs, because even though she had socks on, the cold was seeping up through her motorcycle boots.

"Now I find that very interesting, because Richard's the reason we're here, isn't that right, Libby?"

"Indeed it is," Libby replied, wondering where Bernie was going with this.

"He's the one who said we should come and talk to you about Annabel-and he didn't mean it in a nice way, if you get my meaning-so I'm having a little trouble believing he gave you his lawyer's phone number. I call that a case of wishful thinking," Bernie said.

The lines around Melissa's mouth turned down a little more. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?" Bernie replied.

"I don't have a clue."

Now it was Bernie's turn to look at Melissa as if she was the idiot. "Think about it. He implied-no, he did more then imply-he stated that you had information about Annabel's death."

Melissa remained silent.

"He implicated you in her death," Libby told her.

"I don't believe you. Richard wouldn't say anything like that," Melissa declared. But Bernie could see by the way she was biting her lip that her confidence was slipping away.

"Indeed he did," Bernie replied.

"You're making that up."

Bernie buried her hands in her armpits to warm them up. Why she hadn't worn her gloves she didn't know. "Do I look as if I am? What did you think? That sleeping with Richard would give you special treatment? That he would protect you? The only person he really cares about is himself. He's a cla.s.sic, textbook narcissist."

Melissa blinked.

"And yes, to answer your unasked question, he told me that you two were sleeping together," Bernie lied. "Not that he had to. Everyone knows." Changing strategy, she said, "He doesn't seem as if he's a very nice man. Trying to lay the blame for his wife's death off on you is pretty tacky."

Melissa shook herself. Bernie decided she looked as if she'd been slapped.

"I didn't have anything to do with that," Melissa said.

Bernie didn't say anything. Neither did Libby.