“That’s very kind of you,” Marisa said. “Unfortunately, unless you read Braille, you won’t be able to get far.”
“I don’t read Braille,” Nancy said. “But please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
Marisa smiled. “Didn’t you and Bess come to get a sewing machine? You’ve wasted half your day here already. I feel terrible.”
“It’s not your fault,” Nancy said. “I only hope it fits in my car.”
With the convertible top down, the sewing machine fit into the backseat. Finding a place to put it in Bess’s room half an hour later was more difficult.
Casey and Amber supervised as Nancy and Bess moved the desk underneath the window and the sewing machine into the corner where the desk had been.
Nancy patted the sewing machine. “You’d better get a lot of use out of this.”
Amber giggled as Casey licked her bare toes. “That tickles.”
“Thanks for watching Casey for so long, Amber,” Bess said. “Nancy brought us some delicious muffins this morning. Do you want to take some home?”
Amber’s face fell. “Do I have to go?”
Bess reached over and squeaked Casey’s hamburger. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Amber sighed. “I guess it’s time anyway. Maybe Devon and Marisa will take me to the mall with them.”
The trio headed for the kitchen, where Bess put some muffins in a bag and handed them to Amber. “ ‘Bye, Amber. Thanks again. Come visit soon.”
“ ‘Bye, Bess. ’Bye, Nancy,” Amber called.
Nancy and Bess watched through the window while Amber walked to her house. “Poor Amber,” Bess said. “I don’t think she’s too happy at home.”
“That’s a shame.”
Bess nodded. “I know. The Marshalls have been having a lot of financial troubles lately. Mr. Marshall’s a land developer and a builder, and his business has been doing poorly. I think Devon moved back home from his fraternity house to cut down on his college costs. And Mr. Marshall doesn’t approve of his relationship with Marisa, so it’s been rough on everyone.”
“How could anyone not like Marisa?” Nancy asked.
Bess shrugged. “That’s a good question. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”
An hour later Nancy breathed in the comforting aroma of Hannah’s homemade chicken noodle soup. Nancy’s mother had died when she was very young, and she was grateful for the love and support she had from her father and from Hannah.
“Hannah, your soup smells wonderful,” Nancy said.
Hannah smiled. “One of the Homemakers gave me a new recipe.”
Hannah had many good friends in the River Heights Homemakers club, and like Hannah, all of them were excellent cooks.
Nancy had an idea. “Hannah—do you know if any of the Homemakers ever worked as a housekeeper for Emmaline Whitby?”
Hannah set down her dish towel. “The woman who owned Candlelight Inn? Yes, as a matter of fact, Kay McNamara worked for Mrs. Whitby for years.”
“Do you have her phone number?” Nancy asked.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “What are you getting yourself into now, Nancy?”
Nancy smiled. She knew Hannah worried about her. “Nothing dangerous, I promise. I’m just trying to learn who had access to Candlelight Inn. And your friend, Mrs. McNamara, might be able to tell me.”
Mrs. McNamara was home when Nancy called her. She said she would be happy to speak with Nancy the next morning.
Nancy phoned Marisa, who asked if she could accompany Nancy to see Mrs. McNamara.
“Sure,” Nancy said. She took down the directions to Marisa’s apartment and arranged to pick her up at eight-thirty the next morning.
Mrs. McNamara was a stout woman, in her sixties or seventies, Nancy figured.
“I hope this isn’t an inconvenience for you,” Nancy said after introductions were made.
“None whatsoever,” Mrs. McNamara said. She ushered them into her spotless living room. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Marisa. I was very fond of your grandmother, you know. It’s odd we never met before.”
“It is odd,” Marisa agreed. “But my grandmother didn’t like to share too much of her personal life.” She sat down with Misty at her feet.
Mrs. McNamara nodded. “That’s certainly true. I worked for her for over forty years, and I know very little. I’m afraid I won’t be able to answer many of your questions.”
“Do you know if anyone else worked for Mrs. Whitby?” Nancy asked.
“I don’t think so,” Mrs. McNamara said. “Of course, I can’t be sure. I came in once a week to do the heavy cleaning. Mrs. Whitby did everything else herself.” She chuckled. “Of course, she did eat a lot of prepared food. Even before she lost her sight, she wasn’t much of a cook.”
Marisa shifted in her chair. “Most legally blind people need at least a little help with their bookkeeping. I know I do. My grandmother didn’t have anyone?”
“She may have had someone to help manage her finances,” Mrs. McNamara said. “But it wasn’t me, and I haven’t the faintest idea who it might have been. Now, years ago, when she still had some sight, I think Susan—your mother—was involved with the bookkeeping. She was a sweet girl, but then . . .” Mrs. McNamara shook her head. “I know your grandmother’s deepest regret was losing touch with her only child. Mrs. Whitby didn’t talk about what happened, but she was never the same afterward. I’m so glad you were able to get to know your grandmother, Marisa. How is your mother, dear?”
