Thirteen Diamonds

sum of money. And people have been known to kill for an inheritance, but in this case that would be weird because the money is going to a nonprofit organization.”
    “Right. Next, he's leaving $100,000 to his grandniece, who is apparently supporting a surfer. But she inherited the house she lives in and makes big bucks—or at least big compared to what our generation made. I did some chatting with her surfer boyfriend and asked him whether April had had a vacation recently—very innocently, as if I were concerned for her health. He said no, not for six months. She has taken some business trips, but nothing to North Carolina. There's no evidence that she has been here during the last two years or that she has any connection with anyone here.”
    “Besides,” Tess said, making a note, “from what you've said about her, in some ways you wish she were your granddaughter instead of Sandra.”
    I laughed.  “Well, Sandra could use an attitude adjustment in regard to men. The other significant provision of Gerald's will—actually, an attachment—is forgiving Dora a $25,000 loan. Dora told me she didn't know about Gerald's forgiveness provision, which is actually more incriminating than if she had known about it. And from the way she almost fainted when I mentioned it, I believe it was a complete surprise to her.”
    “And you said Gerald's copy of the note mysteriously disappeared.”
    “I don't know how mysterious it was but the lawyer said he hadn't found it. Anyway, the fact that she owed Gerald money gives Dora a theoretical motive. Let's move on to other evidence. Ida—I believe the word is, allegedly—sleeping with Wesley, our beloved bridge leader. If Gerald had found out and threatened to tell Wesley's wife...”
    “Now it sounds like a soap opera.”  Tess made more notes. “Wesley could be an assistant or an accessory, or something. Instead of narrowing down the motives and suspects, it seems like they're expanding.”
    “I know,” I admitted. “I guess I'm not cut out for this detective business. I prefer everything to be mathematically precise. And there's one more thing that I've only just touched on with you. Ellen used to live in San Diego and was married to an economist who worked with Gerald. And...Gerald apparently took credit for work Ellen's husband had done that helped Gerald get the Nobel Prize.”
    “Aha! The plot thickens, as they say. So there's a revenge motive for Ellen. Didn't you say you talked to Ellen's son in San Diego? I wonder how she likes that.”
    It didn't take us long to find out. A few minutes later the phone rang; it was Ellen. She got right to the point. “My son said that you talked to him.”
    I admitted it.
    “How dare you sneak around behind my back? How dare you talk to my son as if I were a murderer?”
    “I didn't say you were a murderer. I didn't even say that a murder had been committed. But I did tell him something that you had neglected to, namely that his father, your husband, got screwed by Gerald. And, while we're on the subject, you conveniently forgot to tell me and others that you knew Gerald from before Silver Acres.”
    “It was none of your damned business. I'm going to sue the pants off you for accusing me of murder.”
    “I'm not accusing you of murder. You're the one who's doing that. Look, Ellen, the smartest thing you can do right now is bring everything about your relationship with Gerald out in the open. Until you do that there are people who will be suspicious of you.”
    The silence lengthened and I wondered whether she was still there. Then she said, “And just who should I confess to?”
    “Me.” I realized that probably wouldn't sell so I added, “And Tess. She's a neutral observer.”
    “She's your friend.”
    “True, but she's trying to keep me from flying off the deep end. I'll tell you what; come on over to my place for lunch.”
     
                       *    *    *
     
    Typically, when I made lunch for myself, I would throw together a sandwich or a bowl of soup and be done with it. But Tess and I decided to do it up right. We took a quick trip to the supermarket and then, between her cooking ability and my talent for baking we prepared a feast, with a salmon dish, Caesar salad, hot rolls and apple pie for dessert.
    Ellen arrived, wearing a red jacket over a white blouse, and blue slacks. I had to admit that she was one of the better looking women at Silver Acres, even with her dyed hair, but