“It was his niece, Liz Coleman, Mary’s daughter.”

I paused, then shook my head. “They’re family. Maybe they reconnected over Constance’s death.”

Maureen’s eyes narrowed. “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said? My husband is not the type of man who reconnects with family over the passing of a loved one. No, Ms. Warren, I don’t know what they’ve been talking about, but it’s not a reunion.”

I nodded. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me that.” I didn’t know what it meant, but it somehow felt like an important piece to the puzzle.

“Don’t thank me. Just deliver that letter. And again, don’t tell John where you got it. I can’t have things blowing up just yet. I need more time. Rip needs to believe I’m still on his side.”

Maureen turned again, and this time I didn’t stop her.

I stared at the letter in my hand. I wanted so badly to read it. I didn’t believe John was a killer, but Maureen had said quite clearly this letter contained a motive. A motive beyond being cut out of the estate. I needed to know what that was, even if John did have a rock-solid alibi.

But too many people had already read this letter. It would be wrong to add myself to that list.

Then again, this wasn’t just about Constance Graves’s family, it was about mine too.

I waved the envelope in the air debating what to do, when I noticed a strange smell coming from it. I brought it carefully to my nose. It was the same scent from the soap in the gift shop, but this time I knew what it was.

I knew what it was!

I had to get home.

I stuffed the letter in my bag. I would give it to John tomorrow. That meant, of course, I would have all night to agonize about whether or not I should read it. But none of that was important right now.

I had to talk to Nora.

She had a whole lot of explaining to do.

Chapter 22

I walked around the B&B, through the iron gate, to the back of the property, hoping to get into the greenhouse unnoticed. I had to check one thing before confronting Nora with the day’s events. Given the tension that already existed between us, I didn’t want to make things worse unless I was sure about what I thought might be going on.

Thankfully I found the conservatory empty.

Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, casting a lovely glow on the verdant plants, but I wasn’t feeling the peaceful vibe.

Now, where was it?

I walked up and down the rows of plants. If memory served, the one I was looking for was quite small and looked a little like an African violet. The flowers were different, though, much more striking.

It took three passes before a small clay pot finally caught my eye. After digging through the dark green fronds of some larger plants, I found my way back to the tiny beauty sitting underneath them by the glass. I pulled it up to my sight line and turned it in the sun. There weren’t many plants with jet black flowers, but this was one of them. Actually, it was only the petals that were black. The pistil was canary yellow, trimmed in red.