At last Sue-Anne sat down, to polite applause, and Roberta took the mic again. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have been warned. It’s time to get those checkbooks out.”

  “No one uses checks anymore,” a man yelled. “It’s all about e-transfer.”

  Roberta did not like to be interrupted. Her face stiffened. “I don’t care how you pay, Julian, as long as you pay. And pay a lot.”

  Everyone laughed. Julian beamed, delighted at being the center of attention.

  “We have a great many interesting and marvelous things for you to bid on. Some people were not able to join us today, so their opening bids have already been accepted, and Norma is on the phone keeping them informed.” Norma, earbuds in her ears and phone in hand, waved. “Be warned—those bids are high. Now, before I open the auction, I’m aware that some of you have to be on your way soon, so I’d like to thank a few people.” She began reciting names. The women stood up and bobbed when their names were called. “Grace Olsen for providing the lovely premises and the delicious luncheon. Grace has asked our chef, Mark Grosse, to come out and take a bow.”

  Obviously waiting in the wings, Mark came into the room, strikingly handsome in his chef’s whites, smiling and waving. I glanced at Vicky, proud and happy.

  A woman at our table sighed. “A man who can cook and who looks like that to boot. If I were but thirty years younger.”

  “I think you mean fifty years, dear,” the woman next to her said.

  Vicky grabbed my wrist. At first I thought she was going to share a laugh with me about the woman admiring her fiancé. But I soon realized the grip was too strong for that, and her smile had died.

  The man sitting next to Cindy Farrar had risen to his feet. He stepped away from his table, into the center aisle. He was in his mid-thirties, with thinning brown hair cut close to his head and a neatly trimmed goatee. Large round glasses perched on his prominent nose. Average height, verging on scrawny.

  Conversation slowly died. Mark saw the man, hesitated, and his wave died.

  “You’ve got a nerve, buddy,” the man shouted when he had everyone’s attention. “Standing up there in front of all of us as though you’ve done nothing.”

  Grace lifted her left hand and beckoned to a hovering waiter.

  “Do I know you?” Mark asked the man.

  “No, you don’t know me. You knew my father-in-law, Jim Cole. My name’s Kevin Farrar.”

  Cindy slipped up to Kevin. She touched his arm, but he shook her off. “You know Jim of course. Jim Cole—the man you killed.”

  Mark’s face was tight, his eyes narrow. “Like I said, buddy, I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. But I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

  “Or what?”

  Vicky jumped to her feet. Before I could stop her, she darted between the tables to stand next to Mark. If looks could kill, Kevin Farrar would be writhing on the floor.

  Russ Durham had been given a table at the back of the room. He’d also stood up, camera in hand, hesitation on his face.

  “Call Security,” Grace whispered to the summoned waiter. He ran for the doors.

  “Or,” Mark said, “I’ll shut it for you.”

  “The way you shut Jim’s?” Kevin spoke to the crowd. “I hope you all got that. It was a clear threat.”

  A uniformed security guard came into the banquet room at a rapid pace, hand on the radio at his shoulder. He looked at Mark in his chef’s uniform, Vicky standing firmly next to him. He looked at Kevin, bristling with indignation, and the woman beside him, wringing her hands in embarrassment.

  Grace stood up in a river of smooth white. “I’d like you to leave, Mr. Farrar.” She didn’t raise her voice, but the command was clear. “If you have accusations to make, the police will be happy to hear them.” She nodded to the security guard, who took a step toward Kevin.

  “Please, honey,” Cindy Farrar said, “don’t do this. Let it go.”

  “If you wish to bid on any items, Mrs. Farrar,” Grace said, “you may do so by telephone.”

  The security guard stepped in front of Kevin. Kevin took his wife’s hand in his. “Okay. We’re leaving. You,” he said to Mark, “haven’t heard the last of me.”

  “Isn’t it late for you to be making threats?” Vicky said. “After you ate Mark’s food? I didn’t notice you sending any of it back.”

  “It’s okay, babe,” Mark said to Vicky.

  Kevin marched out of the room, dragging Cindy behind him. She threw an apologetic look toward Grace as she went. “I am so very sorry,” she said to no one in particular. “It’s been a very stressful time for my husband. I don’t … I mean, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m glad you folks enjoyed your lunch,” Mark said once the door had shut behind the couple. “Feel free to bid on the dinner for four at the restaurant here. I promise not to poison the food.” He walked away, returning to his kitchen. Vicky hurried after him.

  All was quiet for about a half a second. Then conversation erupted everywhere.

  “That,” my mother said, “was highly unfortunate.”

  “Kevin Farrar never has known when to keep his mouth shut,” a woman said. “He was in my third-grade class. He was always getting himself into trouble. None of the other children liked him.”

  “Do you think there’s anything to what he had to say?” Sue-Anne asked. “Everyone knows Jim Cole died at Chef Mark’s house. The police are treating the death as suspicious.”

  “There is absolutely nothing to it,” I said. “I’ll thank you, of all people, Sue-Anne, not to go around repeating that slander.”

  “I’m just asking.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  “I believe the auction is about to begin,” my mother said calmly.

  A noticeably nervous Roberta had resumed her place at the front of the room. She tapped the microphone to get our attention.

  Grace’s phone buzzed with a text. She checked it and then leaned between Mom and me to whisper, “The gentleman in question has left the premises.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said.

  “His wife didn’t go with him.” Grace pointed to where Cindy was slipping back into her chair. Her face was flushed, and the other people at her table greeted her in soft, questioning voices.

  Vicky did not return to her seat, and I bid on the garden consultation for her. I’d call it an early Christmas present.

  * * *

  I sent a text to Vicky, telling her if she wanted to leave, I’d get a ride back with Mom. She replied: We’re fine here. Helping with dinner prep.

  Judging by the look on Roberta’s and my mother’s faces, the auction was a roaring success. I wasn’t able to get the garden consultation for Vicky. The bidding went far, far higher than I could afford. My mother herself took the stage to lead the bidding for the opera outing, and it was heavily bid on. One by one, disappointed bidders dropped out before it eventually went for an eye-popping amount. When the highest bidder finally emerged triumphant, Mom gave her a radiant smile and dipped into a half curtsy that had the audience engaging in another round of applause.

  The whole thing wrapped up at four o’clock, and attendees departed in a babble of excitement.

  “Thank you so much, Aline,” Roberta said. “For all your help in organizing this afternoon, as well as your very generous gift.”

  “An evening at the Met is no hardship for Noel and me,” my mother said.

  I texted Vicky to say I was ready to leave.

  “If your father dares to do something like that again, I’ll divorce him,” my mother said to me as we left the banquet hall.

  “You didn’t seem too unhappy with the winner,” I said.

  “Let me remind you, dear, I am an actress as well as a singer. Fortunately the tickets will have a date on them. If I’m lucky, Mr. Sommerset will come down with a dreadful illness the night before, and his devoted wife will thus be forced to reluctantly bow out of the expedition.”

  As arranged, Vicky was waiting for us in the lobby, standing next to the center table decorated with a collection of toy bunnies and fluffy yellow chicks and a huge flower arrangement.

  “Everything okay?” I asked her.

  “I’m okay. Mark’s pretending to be okay. He’s not. Grace came into the kitchen a while ago, asking for a quiet talk in his office.”

  “And?”

  Vicky’s face was troubled. “And she told him to keep a low profile until this business blows over.”

  “That was unwise of her,” Mom said. “Mark did nothing at all out of order.”

  “He told her that. Grace said she wasn’t accusing him of anything, but she didn’t appreciate his remarks about not poisoning the food. She added that rumors of that sort won’t do the inn any good. Mark was about to tell her what she could do with her inn as well as her rumors, but fortunately for his employment prospects, he thought better of it. We went for a walk in the gardens after, and he was pretty upset. I was my usual cheerful, encouraging self in front of him, but I’m worried.”

  “The police do not listen to rumors. Diane Simmonds most of all. That Kevin Farrar is an attention hound,” said Aline Steiner Wilkinson, a woman who knew something about being a diva. “He deliberately waited until lunch was over and the program about to begin before making his overly dramatic statement. And, I might add, making a total fool of himself in the process.”

  “Do you know him, Mom?”

  “I do not. And I do not intend to ever make his acquaintance. Now, I must be off. Your father invited the Wongs for dinner tonight, and by now the house will be in full dinner preparation uproar.”

  We left the hotel together. A few people were enjoying another stroll through the gardens, but the visitors’ parking lot was mostly empty. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, Cindy Farrar stepped out from behind a row of holly bushes. “Ms. Steiner.”

  Mom jerked back. She was accustomed to being approached by strangers wanting to meet her, and she usually handled it with grace and aplomb. She might later complain, and usually did, loudly and often, about the annoyance of being accosted in public, but when it came to concealing her delight, her acting skills failed.

  Today, she was noticeably not pleased and made no attempt to pretend to be so. “This is not a good time, Mrs. Farrar. My daughter and I have to be on our way.”

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry about my husband’s behavior. Please accept my apologies.”

  “You do not need to apologize to me.”

  “My husband disrupted the lunch.”

  “Then he may apologize. First to Chef Mark, then to Grace Olsen and Roberta Conroy.”

  Cindy glanced at Vicky. “I am sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do. Like Aline said, your husband can apologize, although I doubt he’s going to.”

  “Sorry,” Cindy said again. “I realize this isn’t a good time, not after what happened, but I’ve been wanting to meet you for ages, Ms. Steiner. I’m a big fan of yours. My mom used to save up all year so she could take me to the Met at least once a year to hear you perform. She adores you, and she has all your records. I came here today, hoping to bid on the opera tickets as a present for my mother. But the bidding went way too high for me.” She gave an embarrassed laugh.

  “Most unfortunate.” Mom took one step. Then she stopped abruptly and turned to face Cindy, a big smile fresh on her face. “There will be other opportunities, I’m sure. Are you new to town, Cindy? May I call you Cindy?”

  Vicky and I exchanged questioning looks.

  “Gosh yes. My husband grew up in Rudolph, but I didn’t, even though my dad’s family’s from here. I was born in Syracuse, but my parents divorced when I was young, and my mom and I moved to Brooklyn. Kevin—that’s my husband—went to New York City for college and stayed. When we met, we realized we had something in common: Rudolph. Isn’t that fun? We moved here about a year ago. Kevin started up a business of his own, and he can run the company as well from here as in the city, and he convinced me to move here. I didn’t need much convincing. Like I said, my dad’s family has strong ties here, and Kevin never stops singing the praises of Rudolph. Plus we’re close to his parents, which will be nice when we have kids.” Cindy was babbling on, but Mom simply smiled at her. I didn’t know if she always talked in such an unrelenting stream, or if she was so nervous meeting the woman she admired, she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Are you enjoying living here?” Mom asked. She slipped her arm through Cindy’s and began walking. Vicky and I followed. We were not, I couldn’t help but notice, heading for our cars, but for the gardens.

  “I love it. We’re hoping to have kids one day, once we’re settled and Kevin’s business is on an even keel, and I can’t think of a place I’d rather raise my family.”

  “That’s what we Rudolphites like to hear,” Mom said. “I teach vocal lessons; did you know that? Perhaps when your children are old enough, they’d like to join one of my classes. Or have a private tutorial.”

  “Oh my gosh! That would be unbelievable. Thank you so much.”

  I had absolutely no idea where this was heading. My mom taught voice to both children and adults. She had no criteria at all. Anyone could take her classes. Anyone willing to pay her substantial fees.

  We strolled slowly between the long rows of American holly, its evergreen leaves a bright and welcome contrast to the early spring bareness of the rest of the trees and shrubs. Frank and one of his assistants were standing in the rose garden as he pointed something out to a small cluster of luncheon attendees.

  “My condolences on your recent loss,” Mom said. “Your father must have enjoyed having you living close.”

  “Not so you’d notice,” Cindy muttered.

  “I’m sorry, dear—what was that?”

  “My dad, Jim. We didn’t get on all that well. Truth be told, Ms. Steiner—”

  “Please, do call me Aline.”

  “Thank you. That’s such an honor.”

  “You were saying, dear?”

  “My dad and I never did get on very well. I’m like brokenhearted about his sudden death, but he could be difficult. He and my mom fought about money all the time. He could have afforded way more in child support than he wanted to pay, and Mom had to fight him for every last cent. Her health’s never been good, and I believe all the conflict over money drained her of what strength she had in her. She’s doing better now, though. I’m hoping she can come for a visit over the summer.”

  I was beginning to feel like a lady’s maid, walking a respectful distance behind my employer as she and her friend strolled the gardens. Vicky nudged me and presented me with a puckered face. “What is going on?” she mouthed.

  I shrugged. Although I was beginning to get an idea.

  “Shocking what families can do to one another,” Mom said. “Surely that was all in the past?”

  “The child support ended when I graduated high school. Mom still needs financial help, but she simply didn’t have it in her to try to get him to keep contributing even a tiny amount. He married again about ten years after my parents split. He’s divorced from her now too. They didn’t have any children, but the new wife was another reason for him to try to hold off giving Mom what the courts had ordered him to. He gave me some money to help with college, though—more than I expected. When Kevin first suggested moving here, to Rudolph, where I’d be closer to Dad, I thought it would be a chance to rebuild a relationship with him. I mean, he and my mom had issues, but he was still my father, right? Perhaps I was being naive, like Mom told me I was. I tried to get on with him—I really did—but if anything, he got crankier and meaner as he got older. My next-door neighbor has this dog. I mean, yeah, the dog barks a lot, particularly whenever anyone walks past their yard or when we come into ours, but the yard’s fenced, so he’s not dangerous. My dad threatened to have the dog put down, saying he was a menace. He had my neighbor served with papers and everything. I mean, we’re new here, and sometimes it can be tough getting to know people in a small town. I was hoping we could be friends with the neighbors, but now they’re really angry at us.”

  “That is too bad,” Mom cooed in a soft, sympathetic voice. “Some men have dominance issues. But it wasn’t all bad, I’m sure. Your husband—what is his name again, dear?”

  “Kevin.”

  “Oh yes, Kevin. He and your father were obviously close. I know you feel the need to apologize for his earlier behavior, but I do understand. In our grief we sometimes lose control of our common sense. Perfectly natural.”

  Cindy snorted. “Grief. Hardly. Kevin and my father couldn’t stand each other. I mean, things were okay at first. Dad came around a couple of times for dinner. Kevin didn’t care much about the dog business. He thought Dad had a point. But then Kev asked Dad to invest in his business. Dad immediately began laying down conditions, such as wanting to have a veto over major decisions. When Kev realized that Dad not only wanted to be actively involved, but he was offering a loan at interest rates not far off what we’d get at the bank, rather than outright investing, he was furious.”

  “It can be difficult doing business with family members. Perhaps your father was simply not wanting to cause complications.”

  “Maybe. But I thought it was more like the same way he was with Mom. My dad inherited a lot of money, and he enjoyed holding it over people. He liked making them beg. Kevin didn’t want to beg.”

  Vicky nudged me. She opened her eyes wide, and her mouth formed an “O.”

  I nodded in return.

  “What’s the name of your husband’s business, dear?” Mom asked sweetly. “I might be interested in finding out more. Noel and I have a great deal of influence in this part of the state, you know.”

  “Crypto-Masters.”

  Mom put her free hand behind her back and snapped her fingers at me. I blinked, then realized she expected me to make a note of the name. I pulled out my phone and typed it into Google but didn’t start the search yet.