"No, it's all hers, and Blume's Art Shop is leased in Delphi's name, as well."

"So Libby lives in a condo owned by her mother and works in a shop leased by her mother, and Oliver lives over his mother's garage. Delphi was either very generous or wanted to control her children's lives. Either way, I don't think Libby or Oliver would have wanted to pull that financial plug."

"Unless perhaps they wished to inherit her money and run their own lives. It's something to think about, isn't it?" Grace asked.

"I'm sure the cops have already thought about it." I glanced out the window to check on the train and saw a long line of boxcars still to come, so I turned my thoughts to another puzzle: Who drove Libby's Corvette to get rid of the body?

"I'm going to swing by Ace Hardware and Gandy's Lock and Key on my way back," I told Grace. "I want to see if anyone came in to have a duplicate Corvette key made."

"Take your time, dear," Grace said. "This is important."

When the gates went up, I started across the tracks only to see a green Prius crossing from the opposite direction. My heart quickened when I spotted Marco at the wheel, but he gave me only a nod as we passed. I nodded back. That was it, a passing nod, as though we were mere acquaintances. It felt like someone had a hand around my heart and was squeezing tight.

At the hardware store I went to the key department in the back and rang the buzzer. A moment later a pleasant-looking older man appeared. "Can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you've copied any Corvette keys lately. It would have been for an older model, say, 1980?"

"You're the second one to ask me that question today. I'll tell you what I told him. No one asked me to make a copy of a Corvette key. But I don't work every day, so you'll have to check back with Fred after three o'clock today. He works this counter when I'm not here."

I gave him my business card. "Would you tell Fred to be expecting my call?"

I stopped at Gandy's next, a tiny, triangle-shaped shop tucked into a corner lot on Concord Avenue, where I found the locksmith, Mr. Gandy, about to head out on a call. "I already talked to a detective and a private investigator," he said, climbing into his van. "If you want the information, check with one of them."

"Would you tell me if the PI's last name was Salvare?"

"That's him."

Damn. Marco had beaten me to the punch. Now I'd have to see if Dave Hammond would tell me what information Gandy had given Marco, since I wasn't about to call Marco myself. I had another question for Dave anyway, so as soon as I got back to Bloomers, I called him, catching him between appointments.

"Hey, Dave, I have some news for you. I went out to see the customer Libby saw yesterday morning-Sally Mitchum-and she mentioned that Libby was driving the Blume's Art Shop van, not the Corvette, which means Libby wasn't on her way back from Sally's house when she was picked up by the cops. What do you make of that?"

"Nothing, until I talk to Libby."

That was a typical lawyer answer.

"Why were you visiting Sally Mitchum, Abby? You're not conducting the investigation. You wouldn't be investigating on your own, would you?"

Oops. Time for some artful dodging. "Sally's helping me with the jail situation, Dave. She has a neighbor who's a congressman, and she's going to ask him to get some federal money for the county courts to help move people through the system quicker. Isn't that great?"

"Sure is. I hope it works."

Damn. I could forget about asking Dave for more information on the case.

I stepped into Bloomers to find the Ladies' Poetry Society meeting under way. The elderly poetesses gathered weekly in the parlor to share their original poems while munching on Grace's buttery scones and downing pots of tea. I scurried past just as one of the members began to read.

" 'Ode to a Varicose Vein.' 'Oh, purple vein, how I hate thee. / Inching up my calf, to my knee. / I will sigh when you reach my thigh. / But I'll take a pass when you reach my-' "

I stuck my fingers in my ears and dashed past the doorway. There were some subjects that just didn't lend themselves to poetry. In the workroom, I plunged into the orders on the spindle, trying to erase the image in my mind of Marco's quick nod at the railroad crossing. I still couldn't believe we'd broken up. I wanted to cry when I thought about that painful scene in his office. I hadn't asked for much, just for him to give Libby back her file. Stubborn male!

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. By the time Dave Hammond called at three o'clock, I was really fuming.

"Abby, Marco phoned me earlier. He went out to interview Sally Mitchum, but she told him she'd done enough talking and referred him to you for any further information."

It was a good thing Dave couldn't see me, because I was grinning from ear to ear. Score one for the florist.

"I thought you said you went to see Sally about the jail problem, Abby."

"Can I help it if other subjects come up in the course of normal conversation?"

"Such as what vehicle Libby drove to her appointment? Is there anything more?"

I could tell Dave wasn't happy with me. "There might be."

He sighed, clearly frustrated. "You don't need to get involved. Marco is on the job."

"But therein lies the problem, Dave. Since Libby had hired Marco to work on another case for her, someone has to make sure he gives Libby fair and unbiased treatment on the murder investigation. Besides, you were the one who said Libby made sure I was involved."

"Look, Abby, if anyone understands your feelings about Libby and Marco, it's me, but you're wrong about Marco. He's a pro. He can deal with it."

It was useless to try to change Dave's mind, so I decided to use a different tactic. "Okay, fine. The truth is, I'm just being nosy. You know how I love to poke around in things, and you also know there's no use in telling me not to poke, right?"

He sighed again, this time in resignation. "Right."

"So how about we make a deal? I'll share all my information with you if you'll do the same for me."

"Do I have a choice?"

That didn't even merit an answer. "Do you have your pen handy?"

After I gave Dave the information Grace had gleaned at the Recorder's Office, I said, "So what information has PI Salvare turned up?"

"Nothing yet."

That meant he'd struck out at Gandy's. Ha. I was one step ahead of Marco. Now if I could get to Fred at Ace first...I glanced at the clock. Yikes. It was past three. I needed to call right away. "I'll let you know the moment I learn anything new," I said, and hung up.

Just as I opened the phone book to look up the number, I heard screams coming from the shop, followed by some heavy thuds and a flurry of excited chatter. Dropping the phone book, I dashed through the curtain to see what was happening.

In a word, chaos. On the floor lay half a dozen senior citizens, their wrinkled arms and stockinged legs flailing. The other poetesses watched their fallen compatriots from the sidelines, hiding giggles, while Lottie and Grace did their best to give aid. In the midst of it all stood Mom, looking horrified.

Then I saw the reason for the chaos: giant wooden beads all over the floor.

I knelt to help one of the ladies who was lying on her back, laughing hysterically.

"Abby, you should have seen us," she wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. "We came out of the parlor chattering away, not looking where we were going, just as those danged beads went shooting all over the floor." She started laughing again, which made her cough. "I haven't laughed this hard in years."

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" I asked, thinking of the potential lawsuits I faced.

"Oh, heavens, no. I got a bump on my rump is all, and believe me, it's well padded. Give me a hand and help me up."

Grace and I each took an arm and helped the woman to her feet. As she and the others left Bloomers, chuckling, and rubbing sore backsides and elbows, I said a quick prayer that none of them had been seriously injured. My mom, I noticed, was quietly packing her beads into a box.

"I'm so sorry," Mom said to me after the poetesses left. "I wanted to bring you my newest piece of art, a lovely beaded lampshade, because"-she burst into tears-"I wanted to apologize for not believing you about Libby, and for being such a traitor! What was I thinking, taking her my jacket?" Gulping back tears, she said, "Then the plastic threads came apart and my lamp-shade broke, sending beads everywhere. Oh, those poor, unsuspecting ladies!" She handed me the box and wept into her hands.

"Mom, you're not a traitor," I said, putting an arm around her. "It was a chance for you to showcase your art in the best environment for it. I understood that."

"We mustn't cry over spilt milk, Maureen," Grace said, "or spilt beads in this case."

"Sweetie," Lottie said to her, "don't fret. The ladies weren't injured."

"Abigail," Mom said, sniffling, "do you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Mom. It's okay."

"We didn't believe Abby, either," Lottie said.

"To think Libby killed her mother," Mom said, her big brown eyes red-rimmed.

"Mom, let's not condemn Libby until we have all the facts, okay?"

"Would you like some tea, Maureen?" Grace asked. "It'll soothe you."

"Thank you, Grace, but I'm going home to gather every bead in my house and take them to the Goodwill store. And I promise you my next hobby won't have anything to do with beads!"

"Do you know how to knit?" Lottie asked. "Because I belong to this great knitting club. We meet every Wednesday evening at KnitWits, just around the corner, and we have a ball."

"I'd like to try it," Mom said, dabbing her tears with a tissue.

I patted Lottie on the back. Good idea. Knitting was a harmless hobby-as long as Mom didn't jab anyone with her knitting needle.

I glanced at my watch. Yikes. It was three thirty and I needed to call Fred. "I have to get back to work," I said, giving my mother a hug.

She put her hands on either side of my face and stared me straight in the eye. "I really am sorry for not believing you, Abigail. I love you. I hope you know that."

"I love you, too. Mom." Wow. Mom didn't say that very often. Maybe something positive had come from Libby's return to New Chapel after all.

I left Lottie giving my mom the particulars on her knitting club and hurried to use the phone at my desk in the workroom. I called Ace and asked for Fred, and after what felt like hours, he finally picked up.

"Hi, I'm Abby Knight, and I'm investigating the Delphi Blume murder. I was wondering if you could tell me whether you'd copied a Corvette key in the past week."

"Well, isn't that a coinkydink?" Fred said. "I was just handed your phone message."

"What phone message?"

"The one in my hand that says an investigator called about a key. Isn't that you?"

Oh, no! Marco must have phoned Fred, too. "Well, I did call earlier." No need to mention that my call was in person. "So... about that Corvette key?"

"The thing is, I'd have to know who ordered the copy. That's the way our system works."

"Oh. Well, then, how about Tilly Gladwell? She's a large, stout woman with short gray hair and a heavy cockney accent."

"Now that you mention it, I do remember a woman like that. I could barely make out what she was saying. Let me see.... Did she have a key copied, or was she here for something else?" There was dead air for a few minutes. Then Fred said, "I don't see her name in the system, so it wasn't a key."

"How about a thirty-year-old man about five feet ten inches tall, long, narrow face, short brown hair, thin build, possibly wearing military-style clothing? Goes by the name of-"

"Oliver Blume? He's in here all the time, buying things."

"Did he have a key made?"

"Not while I was here. Last time he was in, he bought a gray utility blanket."

The kind that Delphi's body had been wrapped in? I wrote myself a quick note to ask Dave about the blanket. "Do you have a copy of the receipt?"

"You'd have to check with Sheila in the office about that, but I can tell you right now, unless he paid by check or credit card, his name wouldn't be on any receipt."

I thanked him for his help and hung up the phone just as Grace came through the curtain with a cup of tea for me.

"I have some news for you, dear. I asked a friend of mine who works at the British embassy in Chicago if she would inquire into Tilly Gladwell's background. I thought it might help to rule her in or out as a suspect. But as it turns out, Tilly is in London."

"She flew back to England?"

"No, dear. She never left. The clerk who worked for Libby is not Tilly Gladwell."

CHAPTER TEN.

*illy was an impostor? "The real Matilda Gladwell," Grace explained, "is a lady of high standing in London society. Two months ago, one of her housemaids, a woman who went by the name of Cora Fraime, stole Matilda's passport and a large sum of cash and fled the country. Sadly, that was when Matilda discovered that Cora had quite a criminal background. Fraime was just one of the aliases she's used over the years. She was also Cora Fink, Cora Bell, and Corabelle Finklestein."

"Did you find out if Cora's criminal background included murder?"

"Not yet, dear. I'm still waiting for that information."

"Okay, Grace, let's suppose Cora is the killer. She's a large woman, so she would have had to push Libby's car seat back, right? That's how Libby claims she found the seat that morning. So that's a plus in the suspect column. But Cora doesn't have red hair."

"A wig would easily solve that problem," Grace said. "If Cora has used aliases before, then she might have used disguises, as well."

"True. So let's say Cora gets a copy of Libby's car key, borrows her Corvette, puts on a red wig, and drives to Delphi's house. How does she get inside? Ring the doorbell?"

"Why not? Or perhaps her criminal talents include breaking and entering."

"Or, if Delphi left her purse in Blume's back room, Cora could have snatched her house key and had a copy made when she had one made of Libby's car key."

Grace frowned in thought. "Then everything would hinge on Cora having the opportunity to take the necessary keys without their owners realizing they were missing, then get to a store to have copies made, and return the originals to their owners' key rings. It seems too cumbersome and much too risky. If Cora is indeed a criminal, then it's quite possible she knows how to hot-wire an auto and pick a door lock."