“I prefer to think of it as literal, dear. It sounds so much nicer. Am I right in assuming that you want to search Tori’s condo to look for the name of her business manager?”
Hannah gave a little nod. “That seems to be our only option, Mother. We need that name so that we can find out if he was in Lake Eden the night of Tori’s murder.”
“That seems reasonable, dear. You can’t very well investigate his whereabouts if you don’t know his identity. Tori could have it written down somewhere in her condo.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. Michelle and I will come to get the key right after dinner tonight. We’ll go through Tori’s condo as quickly as we can and bring the key back to you when we’re through.”
“No, dear.”
“No?” Hannah repeated, and she exchanged puzzled glances with Michelle.
“No,” Delores repeated.
“But why, Mother?” Michelle asked her.
“Because I promised Tori I wouldn’t let anyone else use that key. The authorities, of course, were an exception. I had to comply with Mike’s order.”
The urge to roll her eyes was strong, but Hannah knew it would do no good. Instead, she’d play her mother’s game. “I understand, Mother. I know you promised Tori that you wouldn’t let anyone else use the key she gave you. But you didn’t promise her that you wouldn’t make a copy, did you?”
“No, I did not.”
“So you made that copy and you still have it.”
“That’s right, dear.”
“So you have a copy of Tori’s key, but you didn’t promise her that you wouldn’t let anyone use that copy, did you?”
“Of course not! And I see where you’re going with this, Hannah. Your line of questioning is shrewd, but I still won’t let you use the key.”
Hannah was stymied. “Why not?”
“Because if Tori had known I had a copy, she would have asked me not to let anyone else use it. Yes, it’s an implied promise, but I keep my promises. So if you can’t use the key and Michelle can’t use the key, it simply means that I’ll just have to come along with you so that I can use the key myself.”
*
“I’ll have the mini quiche appetizer,” Andrea said, after Michelle had ordered a salad appetizer. “And the pork with Calvados. I practically never have pork at home and Sally’s pork dishes are always superb.”
“I’ll tell her you said so,” the waitress responded and then she turned to Hannah.
“I’m torn between Sally’s cocktail meatballs with two different sauces and the Cheesy Pepperoni Bites. I’ve never seen those on the appetizer menu before.”
“That’s because they’re new and Sally’s trying them out on the appetizer menu tonight.”
“Can you tell me about them?”
“Of course. They’re cute little packets of cheese, pepperoni, and olive, wrapped in puff pastry dough. We came in early to taste them and they’re just great. They’re nice and salty because of the olive and the sea salt Sally sprinkles on top of the packet and the cheese is melted because Sally bakes them in the oven.”
“What kind of cheese does Sally use?”
“Gouda. She’s got the kind that comes in little balls that are covered in red wax.”
“How about the olives? What kind are they?”
“Kalamata olives. They’re my favorites.”
Hannah remembered the wonderful, salty taste of the olives and began to smile. “I really like them, too.”
“Where do they come from, Aunt Hannah?” Tracey asked.
“Most of them are grown in Kalamata.”
She was interrupted by a giggle from Tracey.
“What?” Hannah asked.
“That figures that Kalamata olives would come from Kalamata. I should have guessed that.”
“Not really. Green olives don’t come from Greenland, do they?”
Tracey made a face and began to laugh. “You’re right, Aunt Hannah.”
Everyone around the table laughed, including their waitress, and Hannah waited until the mirth had quieted a bit before she continued. “A lot of them come from Messenia. That’s in the Peloponnese Peninsula. And some are grown in Laconia. That’s close to Kalamata.”
“Kalamata is a better name than Mess . . . whatever you said,” Tracey commented.
“I think so, too. The olives are dark purple and they have to be picked by hand so they don’t bruise.”
“I’ll bring you a couple to try,” their waitress offered.
“Thank you!” Tracey looked delighted at the offer. “We need a new tree in our back yard. Daddy said our old tree has to come out because it’s dying. Isn’t that sad?”
“That’s very sad,” Hannah commiserated, “but you won’t be able to grow a Kalamata olive tree, Tracey.”
“Why not?”
“Because Kalamata olive trees are intolerant of cold weather. Intolerant means . . .”
“I know, Aunt Hannah!” Tracey said quickly. “It means they don’t like cold. And it gets cold here in Minnesota.”
“It sure does!” their waitress agreed.
“I’ll try the Cheesy Pepperoni Bites,” Hannah told her. “They sound really interesting.”
“And for you, Ma’am?” The waitress turned to Delores.
“I’ll have the shrimp cocktail. I always have the shrimp cocktail. Sally gets the best jumbo shrimp I’ve ever tasted.”
“That’s one of my favorites, too,” the waitress admitted. And then she turned back to Andrea. “And for your girls?”
“They’re going to order all by themselves,” Andrea told her. “You go first, Tracey.”
“Thank you, Mommy,” Tracey said politely. “Could I please have one slider with the little shoestring potatoes?”
“Of course,” the waitress said, giving her a smile before she turned to Bethie. “And for you, young lady?”
Bethie giggled. “No lady. I am the baby.”
The waitress managed to retain a perfectly sober expression, but Hannah could tell she was close to breaking into laughter. “I see. And what would you like, pretty baby?”
“Fank you for pretty,” Bethie said, and then she glanced at Tracey, who nodded. “Please I want . . .” she stopped and sighed as she attempted to remember. “I forgot. But I would like . . . what she said!” Bethie pointed to Tracey and smiled. “It sounds very . . . ’licious.”