“Your sister helped make it happen,” Emily said. She had recently gotten a haircut, and it made her look even more like a young Audrey Hepburn than usual.

  Marigold’s thick auburn braid was tossed over her shoulder as she glanced around and lowered her voice. “And how’s Mrs. Rawley behaving?”

  I heard a rumbling sound coming from the dining room. We all stopped talking and stared at the lights that had begun to blink on and off.

  Marigold’s eyes widened. “I guess that answers my question.”

  “Gus will be home in a few hours,” Emily said in a clear voice.

  The rumbling and blinking stopped, and Emily smiled.

  “That’s just freaking weird,” Lizzie muttered.

  Jane shook her head. “I don’t know how you live with that.”

  “She’s a member of the family,” Emily said. “And she loves Gus, which makes her my friend.”

  “It makes sense,” I said. “He might’ve been her great-grandson. If things had worked out, I mean.”

  “You’re crazy.” Lizzie whispered the words in case the ghost was listening.

  Emily chuckled and handed her a champagne flute. “Here, drink this.”

  “Thank you.” Lizzie took the glass and gulped it down. “It’s wonderful. I probably shouldn’t have swilled it.”

  “Swill away, love,” Emily said, giving her shoulder a little rub.

  I grinned. “You’re among friends.”

  Marigold studied Lizzie for a moment and said quietly, “You look harried. What’s going on?”

  Lizzie, usually upbeat and fun, was clearly stressed-out. She took another quick sip. “I’ve been traveling for the past few days, looking at colleges with Marisa. It’s exhausting.”

  “Colleges?” I blinked in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous. She’s only twelve years old.”

  Lizzie held up a hand. “Oh please, don’t you start. I’m having a hard enough time keeping Hal from a complete breakdown. He can’t deal with the fact that our little girl is all grown up and about to move away from home.”

  “I don’t think I can deal with it, either,” I said, feeling gobsmacked.

  “Speaking of weird,” Marigold said. “Did you all hear about that poor woman who was found dead in the church?”

  Lizzie was immediately on the alert. “What? What happened?” She stared at everyone around the table. “I haven’t seen a newspaper in a week. I got home, and Hal had already left for the poker party. What’s going on?”

  Chloe’s eyes widened and she looked at me for guidance.

  Lizzie shook her finger at my sister. “I saw that look, Chloe.”

  My sister held up both hands. “I know nothing.”

  “Shannon?”

  I winced. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to talk about it.” Even though I’d already talked to Jane about it.

  “Oh my God,” Lizzie said. “You found another body?”

  “Um, how about those Seahawks?” I said in a pathetic attempt to change the subject. My friends were well aware of my odd proclivity for finding dead bodies. Not that it made things any easier to explain.

  Jane set down her glass and told the story. “Earlier this week, a woman was found dead in a chapel inside the Lighthouse Church.”

  “Inside the church?” Lizzie’s eyes goggled. “Okay, I need details.”

  Chloe flashed me a look of alarm.

  Jane had to take another sip of champagne before she could tell all. “Shannon found her.”

  Lizzie stared at me, then shook her head. “Girl, you are a force to be reckoned with.”

  “I’d rather not be.”

  “We understand,” Marigold said. “But it does seem to be your role.”

  “There were a bunch of other people there at the same time,” I said in my defense.

  Lizzie cut to the chase. “Who was this woman? Do we know her?”

  “Yes, we knew her.” I grabbed Lizzie’s hand instinctively.

  “Now you’re scaring me,” she said. “Who was it?”

  “I want you to take a deep breath,” I said.

  She frowned. “Oh God, it’s bad.”

  “Please, Lizzie.”

  “All right, but you’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath myself. “It was Sarah Spindler.”

  “No!” Lizzie shouted, and burst into tears.

  I was still holding her hand, and she tightened her grip on me.

  Emily looked on, helpless. “I’m so sorry.”

  Jane’s eyes were filled with tears. “We all went to school with her.”

  Despite her tears, Lizzie managed to whisper, “She used to babysit Marisa and Taz. They both adored her. What will I tell them? How did it happen?”

  I had to tell the truth. “She was . . . murdered.”

  “Nooo,” Lizzie moaned, then sank down in the chair and buried her face in her hands.

  Marigold scooted her chair closer, wrapped her arms around Lizzie, and just held her.

  “I went to that church a few times when I first moved here,” Emily said. “It was a lovely experience.”

  “I’ve been to concerts there,” Jane said in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. “The, um, acoustics are amazing.”

  Chloe nodded. “Because of the dome.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jane said. “It’s spectacular, isn’t it?”

  “Beautiful,” Chloe agreed.

  Emily sighed. “Can you tell us what happened, Shannon?”

  “Yeah.” I took in another deep breath and spent a moment wondering how many details to mention. I didn’t want to say too much. “Someone hit her in the head. Bludgeoned her.”

  I wouldn’t mention the blood or that someone had dragged her halfway across the church to hide her in the small chapel. Even though these were my dearest friends, I didn’t want to burden them with the specifics. They shouldn’t have to suffer with those images.

  “But why would anyone want to kill her?” Lizzie cried.

  “I don’t know.” I glanced around. “Maybe she saw someone doing something illegal. Or maybe she had come there with someone else, and they had a fight over something. Or maybe she surprised a thief who attacked her.”

  “In a church?” Marigold wondered.

  I nodded. “I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I know.”

  Lizzie raised her head and looked straight at me. “But you’ll find out more, won’t you?”

  I looked around at my friends and then back at Lizzie. “Yes, I’ll find out more.”

  “And we’ll help you,” Marigold said. “You know we will. And speaking of which, I’m familiar with someone who works at that church. I can chat her up.”

  “Who do you know?” I asked.

  “Her name is Flora.”

  “The flower lady?”

  Marigold smiled. “Yes. She’s a good friend of our store and belongs to our quilting bee. She does beautiful work.”

  “I’ve met her,” I said. “She’s been working at the church for years.” I didn’t bother mentioning her relationship to Buck. It wasn’t important right now.

  “Yes,” Marigold said. “She brought the reverend’s wife to our quilting sessions a few times, but she lost interest.”

  “Mrs. Patterson?” I said.

  “Yes.” Marigold smiled. “She seemed very kind and warm. But she just isn’t a quilter.”

  “But Flora continues to come to the sessions?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s a great asset to our group.”

  “So maybe she knows something,” Jane said. “Or she saw something odd.”

  “I’ll ask her,” Marigold said.

  Lizzie said, “Just please be careful. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Marigold said, and patted Lizzie’s shoulder. “And you know how people like to talk. The fact that a murder has just occurred is the perfect conversation starter.”

  Jane blinked. “Well, yes. I suppose it is.”

  I gazed at each of the women. “Do any of you know anyone else who might have a connection to the church? Maybe you could chat them up, ask them a question or two.”

  Lizzie sipped her champagne. “By now, everyone in town must know something about it. Word spreads fast around here.”

  “Like lightning,” Marigold agreed.

  “I just remembered,” Jane exclaimed. “Uncle Jesse knew an old guy who worked there.”

  “You mean Mr. Brindley?” I asked. “He’s still there. Mitch Brindley, the handyman.”

  “That’s him. Uncle Jesse used to go to church in order to hang out with Mitch.” She shook her head in amusement. “I think they played pinochle in the back room.”

  I had to smile. Jane’s uncle Jesse had been my next-door neighbor from the time I was born. “You’re probably right. I can’t picture Uncle Jesse going to church to pray.”

  “Right?” Jane said, grinning. “But he liked Mitch. Of course, I can’t ask Uncle Jesse about him now.”

  “No.” I gave her a sympathetic smile. Her uncle Jesse had died a few years ago. “But if I mention Jesse’s name, I might be able to get Mitch to talk to me.”

  “Just be careful,” Marigold said.

  “I will.”

  “I see Colleen fairly often,” Emily said.

  “The church secretary?” I said.

  “Yes. She comes in at least once a week to pick up cookies or tarts or lemon bars. I think she takes them back to the church and shares them with everyone there. She’s quite nice.” But Emily’s expression was troubled.

  “Except?” I coaxed.

  “Except she is a bit of a gossip. Always has something to say about the reverend and his wife.”

  “Good things?” Chloe said.

  “Not always.”

  Interesting, I thought, remembering what Lavinia Patterson had said about Colleen. Maybe she was smart not to trust the woman.

  Emily poured pasta from a large pot into a big serving bowl. “She’s hinted that both of them have a wee problem with hoarding.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said. “They’re still packing and cleaning up at the old church even though it’s been several months since they moved to the new church. I guess it’s understandable, though. They lived in the old place for more than thirty years.”

  Emily stirred the sauce one more time and then poured it carefully over the pasta. She used two large spoons to lightly toss it. Then she pulled another oversized wooden bowl from the refrigerator and began to pour her own homemade vinaigrette dressing over the salad. “The next time Colleen comes in, I’ll ask her more about the people she works with.”

  “Okay, but please don’t arouse her suspicions. I don’t want her coming after you.”

  She waved my concerns away. “No worries, love. I’ll be my usual sprightly self.”

  I had to smile. The word “sprightly” suited Emily to a T.

  “Everything smells so good,” Marigold said. “It’s making me ravenous.”

  “Me too,” I said. The tangy aroma of Emily’s chunky pasta sauce was enhanced by the addition of freshly chopped basil, thyme, rosemary, and oregano. I could see the small pots of herbs sitting on the wide windowsill over her sink.

  “Can you take this to the table?” Emily asked, handing me a large bowl filled with freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano that had my mouth watering.

  “Sure,” I said, taking hold of the bowl.

  “I can take the salad bowl,” Marigold said.

  “It’s heavy,” Emily warned.

  Marigold smiled. “I’ve got it.”

  “Shannon.” I turned to look at Jane, who stared at me uneasily. “My mom went to that church.”

  I felt my mouth drop open. “She did?”

  “Yes. This was a few years before she got sick and moved up to the Gables.”

  Jane’s mother had suffered from depression and other mental illnesses, and spent many years off and on at the Gables. The place was formerly known as the Northern California Asylum for the Insane, a politically incorrect name if there ever was one.

  “Did she ever take you with her?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I know it’s supposed to be an impressive space, very Gothic and intriguing. But, frankly, it gave me the willies.”

  “How so?” Emily asked.

  Jane’s shoulders hunched up and she shivered at the memory. “It probably sounds dumb, but the ceiling was so high, and the room itself was so dark, and there were gargoyles. It felt like they were staring at me, and I was scared.” Jane’s smile was self-effacing. “I was a weird kid.”

  “I’ve known you all my life, and you’ve never been weird,” I said. “Unlike me.”

  “I can verify that,” Chloe said.

  Lizzie laughed, and that was when I knew she was okay with moving on from the sad subject of murder.

  Chloe and Marigold carried several bottles of wine to the table. Jane jumped up and took one of the bottles, then began to pour the rich red wine into each of our glasses.

  I followed Emily back to the stove. “What else can I do to help?”

  She grabbed me in a tight hug and whispered, “You can find the blackheart who killed that lovely young lass and make sure he pays for his crime.”

  Chapter Nine

  At the end of the evening, I made a list of each person my girlfriends hoped to contact during the week. Echoing Lizzie, I cautioned them to be careful. We all knew my warning wasn’t necessary, but I still had to say it.

  I had run into trouble—meaning murder—like this before, and my friends had always generously offered to help me solve the crime. The six of us knew practically every person in town, so why not use our contacts to figure it all out?

  My friends knew how to deal with people, probably better than I did, since they all worked with the public much more closely than I. They were friendly and approachable, and they were all law-abiding citizens of Lighthouse Cove, so they knew better than to harass anyone. They would speak to people in a chatty, noncombative way.

  “And we always get results,” Lizzie reminded me.

  “I know and I appreciate it,” I said. “But somebody out there was desperate enough to kill poor Sarah Spindler. I don’t want any of you to take unnecessary chances.”

  “Because that person might be willing to kill again,” Marigold said.

  I gave a firm nod. “Exactly.”

  We decided to meet at Emily’s tea shop for lunch sometime next week and report what we’d learned.

  * * *

  * * *

  When I got home, Mac was just cleaning up from the poker game. I told him about my girlfriends’ plan to talk to people connected to the church, and he was impressed.

  “Your friends would be great at the Scooby-Doo game,” he said with a grin.

  “They just want to help,” I explained. “Besides, among the six of us, we know just about everyone in town, so it’s easy to talk to people.”

  “I realize that,” he said, tossing a bowl of leftover peanuts into a baggie. “I remember comparing all of you to the Baker Street Irregulars a few months ago.”

  I laughed. “Except we’re not exactly a ragtag band of ruffians.”

  “But because you’ve lived here for so many years, you can chat people up without worrying that they might think you’re being nosy.”

  “Even though we are being nosy.”

  “True. But this is a small town, and people expect others to be friendly and, yeah, nosy.”

  “That’s right,” I said with a smile, pleased that he knew where I was going with this. But then I frowned. “Just please don’t mention it to Eric.”

  “Not me, no way,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “It’ll be our little secret.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The next morning, I met Wade, Niall, Billy, and Sean at the church steps. They had brought the backhoe and all the tools and equipment they would need to complete the work.

  But before I did anything else, I called Eric, as requested. “My crew and I are here at the church.”

  “I’m home having breakfast with my beautiful fiancée.”

  “You’re a lucky man,” I said.

  “Yes, I am.”

  I could tell he was smiling, and that made me happy.

  “We’ll be working along the north side of the church if you’re looking for us,” I said. “We’ll be here most of today and tomorrow.”

  He made a sound of assent. “I’ll be there in about an hour to meet up with Leo and Lilah. Some of my officers might get there sooner, but they won’t bother you. I’ll see you when I get there.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “And Chloe says she’ll swing by sometime this morning.”

  “We’ll put her to work,” I said, and signed off.

  Niall pulled me aside and showed me the work his guys had already started, using the backhoe to excavate a two-foot trench along the foundation wall. Nearby was the pile of wet, muddy earth they had dug up.

  I shook my head. “It sure looks like the drainage system has failed.”

  “Aye. We’ll confirm it, but I think we’ll need to replace the pipes and regrade the area.” He pointed farther down. “Walk with me.”

  We walked another twenty feet along the church wall, and I saw that the ground was dry.

  He was pointing toward the wet ground. “I believe we’ll only need to fix this one twenty-foot section.”

  I walked back and forth, and studied the ground for another few minutes. “I trust your judgment.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What’re you going to need?”

  “I’ll pick up the piping and get a half load of gravel and sand, and then we can start to regrade this area.”

  “Fine.” We walked back to the steps. “Now what about all these pits and cracks?”