"That's just--" I began.
"About your parents," he said, glancing at the page before he handed it back. "The Larsens. You're investigating their crimes."
Ida nodded, looking as concerned as if I was researching new appliances for my apartment. At the next table, Veronica perked up and inched her chair closer.
"I, uh..."
"You're curious," Ida said as she sat across from me. Walter took the extra chair at Veronica's table and swung it over. "That's natural. It must have been a huge shock for you. You need to understand it."
When Lores's interview came out and no one in Cainsville mentioned it, I'd told myself no one had noticed. That had seemed odd, but they'd said many times that they weren't interested in city news. Now I realized they'd known who I was for a while. Maybe even before the article came out. They just hadn't brought it up.
"I'm just checking a few things," I said. "Are you staying for dinner? The special is roast ham--it wasn't ready for me to snatch some early, but it smells amazing."
"Is that what you were doing with Gabriel?" Walter said. "Investigating the murders?"
"He's not working for me anymore. Did I mention there's strawberry and rhubarb pie? Trudy brought fruit in from her garden, and Larry made it this morning."
Ida reached out and patted my hand. "You don't need to hide things from us, dear. We know you're investigating the crimes and we think it's a lovely idea."
Lovely?
"What are you working on now?" Veronica asked. She'd moved her chair up beside Walter and was peering at the folder.
"Um, just, uh..." Oh, hell. They weren't about to be brushed off. Might as well get it over with. "There were ritualistic aspects to the murders. I'm trying to understand them."
"Witchcraft, wasn't it?" Ida said.
Walter shook his head. "They're called Wiccan now, dear."
"No, Wicca is a different thing altogether. Mavis's granddaughter became a Wiccan when she went away to college, and she certainly never killed anyone. That's witchcraft. Or a satanic cult." She looked at me. "What did they think it was with the Larsens?"
"They didn't know. That's what I'm looking into. What they did to..." I cleared my throat. "The ritualistic aspects don't fit any known occult branch. I'm trying to make sense of it myself."
"Oh, that sounds interesting." Ida reached out for the folder. "May I take a look?"
Hell, no. I lowered the folder onto my lap. "I can't. Sorry. They're official files."
"Perhaps you can give us an overview," Ida said. "I do love mysteries."
"I really don't think--"
"She's trying, very politely, to say, 'not a chance in hell,'" said a voice behind me.
Patrick strolled over. As he met my eyes, he rolled his.
"Those weren't polite little Agatha Christie murders," he said to the others. "Liv's not going to share it with folks whose idea of horror is Bela Lugosi in face paint."
"I didn't say--" I began.
"Why give the old folks nightmares when they sure as hell aren't going to know anything useful about the occult."
It wasn't the first time I'd heard Patrick talk to the town elders like that. They might rebuke Gabriel, but they only glowered and muttered at Patrick. Odd, considering how young he was.
"Shoo," he said, waving his fingers at them. "You can't help here. I, on the other hand, am well versed in the black arts."
I don't know what kind of look I gave him, but he burst out laughing.
"No, I don't mutilate cats in my basement. I'm a writer, remember? This is my specialty."