“I was telling Merry just the other day I had my concerns about you, Bob. Now, fill her in, and then we can go to the police.”

  The penny dropped, as they say, and I realized who Bob was. The man George feared was being embezzled by an online scam.

  The chimes over the door tinkled, and a group came in. “Would you like to discuss this in private?” I asked. “We could go to my office.”

  “Good idea,” George said, without waiting for Bob to reply.

  “I’ll be right back,” I called to Jackie as I led the way through the curtain to the back rooms. I showed the men into my office. Mattie lumbered to his feet and greeted the visitors with a thorough sniffing. That done to his satisfaction, he allowed George to give him a hearty scratch between the ears.

  “Big dog,” Bob said.

  “That he is,” I said. “And a good one. Have a seat.”

  Bob sat. I only have one visitor’s chair, so I gestured to George to take the one behind the desk, but he shook his head and leaned against the wall.

  “Okay, let’s get straight to the point,” Bob said. “As usual, my old pal George is making much ado about nothing. But if it amuses him, I don’t mind telling you. I might look like an old geezer to you, but I keep up on the social media thing. I don’t even need a lot of help from my grandchildren, not that they’re ever around to be much help.”

  “Get on with it,” George grumbled.

  “Okay. Okay. I met this … lady … online. Nice young lady, about your age. Pretty too. I’ve always had a fancy for long blond hair. I wanted Evelyn—that’s my late wife—to dye her hair, but she refused. Said it would make her look like a floozy.” Bob winked at me. “Nothing wrong with looking like a floozy, I always said.”

  I had absolutely no difficulty in guessing where this was going. “I assume this … young lady … sent you a photograph of herself.”

  “Better than that, we FaceTimed regularly. Added a bit of spark to my day, it did.” He winked at me again.

  George caught the wink and rolled his eyes. “Played you for a fool, she did, Bob.”

  “Rather a fool than a dull old geezer.”

  “Can I guess this woman was Raquel Torrone?” I asked.

  “Such turned out to be her name,” Bob said. “Although she told me it was Robyn and she lived in Kansas City.”

  “How did you … uh … meet?”

  “Online, like I said. I’m fond of the horses, like to place a bet now and again—nothing too large, mind—and I like to chat to the like-minded. Social media is great for expanding one’s circle of acquaintances. Robyn, as she called herself, and I started talking as part of an online group, and then she suggested we break away and talk privately.” Bob smiled. He didn’t seem to be all that distressed at being, presumably, scammed, so I guessed the situation hadn’t progressed too far.

  “Bob sent me a screenshot a while ago of his new lady friend.” George sniffed in disapproval. “And so, when I saw a picture of that very woman, or one much like her, on the local TV news, I called him right away. Told him to get down to Rudolph ASAP.”

  “Where do you live, Bob?” I asked.

  “Manhattan.”

  “Had you ever met Raquel, this Robyn, in person?”

  “Never. She lived in Kansas City, didn’t often get a chance to get away. She was a waitress, she told me, in a bar.”

  I assumed George hadn’t brought his friend to meet me to talk about horse racing or his FaceTime conversations, so I dared to ask the pertinent question. “Did she ask you for money?”

  “Of course she did.”

  Mattie and George let out similar sniffs of disapproval. Although in Mattie’s case, I assumed it was because no one was paying him any further attention. He returned to his favorite spot under the desk, circled twice, and settled down.

  “And?” I prompted.

  “And I sent it to her. A hundred here. A couple of hundred there. Not much more than I would have lost on the horses, and nothing I couldn’t afford. I’m not a total fool, despite what George here might think.”

  “How long did this go on?”

  “Seven months. I last heard from her about a week ago. I made the mistake of telling George about her, and he figured I was being scammed. Hardly news to me, I told him. I knew all along it was a scam. What on earth does a young girl like that want to be online friends with an old geezer like me for, if not money? My wife’s dead. My children have moved away and don’t visit often. I’ve never liked to travel. I play golf in the summer, but the rest of the year …” He shrugged. “Winters can get mighty boring in New York.” He checked his watch and stood up. “Almost two, George. Time to get going.”

  I threw a look at George.

  “We have an appointment with Detective Simmonds at two. If Bob’s friend Robyn is this Raquel Torrone, the police need to know. Not every old geezer still has all his marbles, and for some of them a hundred here and a couple of hundred there is all the money they have in the world.”

  “George is right about that,” Bob said. “For me, it was a lark. FaceTiming with her, listening to her stories about the characters she met at her bar, her hardscrabble upbringing and tough-as-nails working-class family, provided some entertainment in a long, uninteresting day. Like interactive TV. If she worked so hard as a waitress, I thought but never said, how come she always had evenings free? I was sorry to hear she died, because I did like her, and I enjoyed her online company. But if she was scamming me, she was likely after others as well. And some people aren’t as kindly disposed to being fooled as I might be.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It never does a tourist-oriented town any good to be the location of a well-publicized murder, and I knew from Dad that Rudolph’s powers that be had been holding their breath, worried about fallout from Raquel’s death. So far, that hadn’t happened. The police report was as vague as usual, and they asked for anyone who’d seen anything in the area, or who had recent contact with the dead woman, to come forward. But the news stories couldn’t help but imply that the deceased had been involved in activities of interest to the police, and thus visitors to the town had no reason to fear they’d be murdered in their comfortable hotel beds.

  Talk of the kidnapping of Mrs. D’Angelo was a sensation in Rudolph, even more than the murder, but it didn’t get all that much exposure in the outside world.

  As Mattie and I walked home at the end of another productive day, I thought about George and Bob’s visit. Bob’s experience with Raquel was definitely an avenue for the police to explore. Might her death have had nothing to do with the counterfeiting ring? Had an enraged relative of one of Raquel’s elderly victims sought revenge? Was Bob himself as blasé about it as he implied? Had he really known all along she was phony and only after whatever she could get from him? Or had the revelation come as a shock and surprise to him?

  Bob said he’d last had contact with Raquel a week ago. That would indicate Raquel Torrone didn’t confine herself to one criminal operation at a time. How many more scams might she have had on the go? And thus, how many more enemies?

  If, as the police were assuming, she’d known her killer enough to invite him (or her—never forget her) into the house and get close to her, could that person have been one of her online lovers? Had she invited Bob, or a man like him, to drop in on her in Rudolph? Maybe he offered to bring her a little (or a large) gift. Jewelry? A car? Expensive clothes? Something that couldn’t be mailed or transferred online.

  Possible. Bob didn’t look to me like a killer, but presumably Raquel’s killer hadn’t looked like one to her either. Otherwise she wouldn’t have let him (or her) get so close. She was a criminal. Surely that meant she had a criminal mind and didn’t trust people.

  Most of us—me, anyway—tend to think of criminals as people “not like us.” I’ve known people who killed in anger, or because they believed they had a perfectly reasonable reason to want to get rid of someone. But Raquel was different. It would seem, from what Eve said, she’d started her criminal activities when she was still in school. I was interested in how that sort of thing came about, and what it eventually led her to.

  I reminded myself Raquel was the victim in this. She’d knocked out Mrs. D’Angelo, tied her up, and left her in the pantry, but she had not killed the older woman. If what Mrs. D’Angelo overheard was correct, Raquel wanted to abandon the operation and simply leave. Perhaps I was naive and wanted to think the best of Raquel, but I believed that once she left, Raquel would have told someone where to find the prisoner.

  Mattie and I turned up our driveway, but instead of heading around the back, I climbed the steps to the porch and knocked on the front door.

  The door opened almost immediately. I’d never met Mrs. D’Angelo’s sister Iris, but I knew instantly this must be her. The same small dark eyes, the same olive skin and pointed chin. Iris was slightly shorter and slightly chubbier. Her thick gray hair was bluntly cut, and she wore no makeup. She was dressed in gray trousers, freshly ironed, and a collared white shirt under a dark-gray pullover. Slippers were on her feet.

  “You,” she said to me, “are Merry.”

  “That I am.”

  “Mabel is resting.”

  “I am not,” came a voice from farther inside the house. “Let her in.”

  Iris frowned, and then she looked at the dog sitting politely at my feet. “I don’t care for large dogs. Dirty creatures. He can stay outside. You can come in, if you must.”

  I told Mattie to wait for me, wrapped his leash loosely around a railing post, and went into the house. Iris shut the door behind me with a disapproving slam.

  “Boots off,” she said.

  I did as ordered.

  “My sister has experienced a considerable shock. She is not in a state to be disturbed. I’ll give you five minutes, and then you have to leave.”

  “She’ll stay as long as she wants,” the voice shouted. “As long as I want, at any rate.”

  “Living room,” Iris said. “I suppose I have to serve tea. I hope you like tea.” She walked away without waiting to find out if I liked tea or not.

  This house had never been modernized. Closed doors were off the corridor leading to the kitchen at the back of the house. A staircase with a heavy oak banister curved upward, but it led to nothing, as the upper level had been sealed to create the apartments above.

  I peeked through the first door to my right and saw Mrs. D’Angelo waving at me. “Come in. Come in. Don’t stand on ceremony, Merry. I’m perfectly capable of greeting visitors myself, but Iris insists on me behaving as though I were an invalid. Thirty years as a United States Army nurse, and she’s delighted to get the chance to practice terrorizing her patients once again.”

  The furniture in this room likely hadn’t been updated since Mrs. D’Angelo first moved in. Spindly-legged side tables bearing Dresden shepherdesses and a collection of Wedgwood, orange-and-brown upholstery, cream shag rug, grandfather clock clicking steadily away in a corner. I lowered myself carefully onto a chair next to my landlady. She was stretched out on the couch, propped up on a pile of decorative pink pillows, a homemade afghan in lurid shades of pink and lime green tucked around her legs. The bruises on her face were fading, and fresh bandages were wrapped around her wrists.

  “You did suffer a considerable ordeal,” I said.

  “I’ll admit, it could have ended worse than it did.”

  We said nothing for a few minutes. This was a well-built, solid old house; no sounds of tea being prepared came from the kitchen.

  “I’ve been hearing things about Raquel Torrone,” I said at last. “Not exactly an upstanding citizen.”

  “So it would appear.”

  I waited for Mrs. D’Angelo to expand on that. When she didn’t, I said, “Have you heard anything more from the police?”

  “They’ve come around a couple of times,” she said. “I’m afraid I can’t think of anything further to tell them. Sometimes I don’t even know what I remember or what I dreamt.”

  “Here we are.” Iris came into the room carrying a tray. Teapot under a crocheted cozy, three cups and saucers, small jug of milk and sugar bowl and silver spoon. A side plate held six small brown cookies. She put the tray on the low table in front of the sofa.

  “That looks nice,” I said.

  “I was stationed in England for three years. Learned how to make a decent cup of tea. It’s late for tea, but as we have a guest … Shall I pour?”

  “Please do,” Mrs. D’Angelo said.

  I looked between the sisters. “Are you two twins? The resemblance is strong.”

  “I’m five minutes older. And substantially more intelligent.” Iris poured the tea; steam rose into the air, hearty and fragrant.

  She passed me a cup. “You can talk in front of me. Mabel keeps no secrets from me.”

  “That you know of,” my landlady said.

  “Cookie, Merry?” Iris offered me the plate. “I don’t bake myself, far too frivolous a hobby for me, but I found these in the freezer.”

  I accepted one. “Like I said, I’ve been hearing things about Raquel, which naturally makes me curious as to what went on in that cellar.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” Iris said.

  “I … uh … okay. I’m wondering what you know about her and her family. That’s all.”

  “Speculation,” Mrs. D’Angelo said, “has been running amok.”

  “Gossip,” Iris said, “never did anyone any good. Neither to the gossiper or the gossipee.”

  “Isn’t it time for my medication, Iris?”

  Iris checked her watch. “Ten more minutes.”

  “This tea is delicious,” I said. “If possible, could I have a glass of water?”

  Iris frowned at me, and then she got to her feet. “I know when I’ve been dismissed.”

  She left the room. Mrs. D’Angelo sighed. “I love my sister dearly, but she can be trying at times.”

  “I am concerned for your physical well-being, Mabel,” Iris shouted from the hallway. “Not to mention mental.” Her footsteps faded.

  I smiled to myself. Families could be trying indeed, but they were there for us when we needed them.

  Mrs. D’Angelo sipped her tea. “Dorothy Johannesen. Raquel’s great-aunt. I knew her in passing, living directly across the street and all, but we were not friends. She was generally considered to be what is politely called eccentric and impolitely called a miserable old bat. Always complaining. She had the nerve one winter to complain to the town that she slipped on a patch of ice on the sidewalk in front of my house. As if I would ever let ice gather. As if she would ever walk down the street. She didn’t drive, so she took cabs to do her shopping and visit the doctor and the like, but otherwise she rarely went out, and as I recall, she almost never had company. That she had no friends came as no surprise to anyone. This was a few years ago—remember, Merry?—and much has happened since.”

  “I’m only wanting to get an impression,” I said. “She left her house to her niece when she died. Beth Torrone, Raquel’s mother.”

  “That’s right. They didn’t get on, for all that Beth was the daughter of Dorothy’s sister. I don’t recall Beth or her husband ever visiting her. But, in the end, she did the right thing and left all she had to her closest relative.” Mrs. D’Angelo almost dropped her teacup as a thought came to her. She sat up straighter against her pillows. “Good heavens, Merry, I must be getting forgetful in my old age.”

  A snort came from the hallway. Iris had returned.

  “I totally forgot until now. Yes, that girl. Raquel. I have seen her before, but that was a long time ago, and she was much younger. She called on Dorothy a few times over the years. Not that I ever paid particular attention to whatever Dorothy was up to, mind. But one does see things, doesn’t one?”

  “Of course,” I said. “One does. When was the last time Raquel visited her great-aunt?”

  Tea forgotten, Mrs. D’Angelo’s face crinkled in thought. “Years ago. Likely when she was still in school. Yes, it’s coming back to me now. People talked about the girl. They said she was trouble and her parents were worried about her. She quit school before graduating and left town. Some said she stole a considerable amount of money from her parents before leaving, but I can’t say if that’s true or not. I don’t recall hearing about her ever again. The family moved away, Dorothy died, and new people moved into the house. Cathy might know more. As I recall, Cathy and Beth Torrone were friends.”

  “Cathy?”

  “Cathy Kirkpatrick. You know her, of course. Ted’s wife.”

  I didn’t know Cathy or Ted. But that never mattered.

  “There was another branch of the family. Let me think.” Mrs. D’Angelo thought. “Yes, Dorothy had a brother. Can’t remember his name now. Dorothy never married, so his last name should be Johannesen.” She snapped her fingers rapidly, trying to remember. The light had leapt back into her eyes. The Mrs. D’Angelo I knew and, although I didn’t quite love her, was fond of, was coming back. Nothing Mrs. D’Angelo enjoyed more than working out intricate family relationships. “He, the brother, lived in Muddle Harbor. I believe he had a family of his own, but I don’t know anything more about them. I’ll ask around, Merry.”

  “Thanks.” I got to my feet. “I’d better be off. Mattie’s outside, and he’ll be wanting his dinner.”

  Mrs. D’Angelo frantically patted the pillows and coverings around her. “Where’s my phone? Iris! What have you done with my phone!”

  “I put it away for your own good,” the voice in the hallway said. “You need to rest.”

  “I am resting. I can rest while I talk on the phone.” She threw off the afghan and started to stand.

  Iris came into the room. “Stay where you are. It’s time for your medication.” The look on her face would have cowed many a battle-toughened soldier.

  It did not cow her sister. “I’ll stay here if you bring me my phone. Otherwise, you will force me to go in search of it.”

  The sisters glared at each other, their expressions identical. Iris gave in first, and with a martyred sigh, she pulled the prized object out of her pocket. She handed it over. Mabel snatched it with a cry of triumph.