“Prescott was a member of the Masons, Lucille. You’ve heard of ’em, haven’t you? Not Mason like those special jars people use for canning fruit and vegetables. This is a club for men only—no women allowed. Everything they do is a secret—how they dress, what they talk about at their meetings, even their handshake is secret. They wear some peculiar getup for their ceremonies that reminds me of the characters from the Harry Potter movies, especially the ones who teach at Hogwarts.”

The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. Thelma always swore by her extrasensible psychotic perception. Did she really know something? Or was she just guessing?

“Of course I’ve heard of the Masons,” I said. “What makes you bring them up and how do you know so much about them?”

“My father was a Mason,” she said. “In fact, he belonged to the same lodge Prescott belonged to.”

More surprises. “I didn’t know that.”

“Masons don’t talk about being Masons. That’s why they’ve got a secret handshake. So they know who’s a real brother and who isn’t.”

“Your father never talked about what happened at his meetings?”

She shook her head and her antler headband wobbled. “He did not. You want a secret kept? Tell a Mason.”

“I see.” I hoped we were going to drop the subject.

“Jock, Prescott, and Tommy,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers. “They were all so much alike, the three of them. Cut from the same bolt of cloth. Always looking for adventure, taking dares, trying something new. If it was dangerous, that was even better.”

I nodded and waited for her to go on. Were we still talking about the Masons or had she moved on to something else?

“If Prescott was hankering to buy that Madeira from you, Lucille, I’m guessing he wanted it to celebrate something special. I heard tell he was planning to have a little party the same day as the Miranda Foundation’s swanky holiday party,” she said. “His lodge did a lot to help the Miranda Foundation, donating money and all, so I’m thinking Prescott’s secret must’ve had something to do with the Masons.” She folded her skinny arms across her chest. “I think he was keeping something to himself when he died. And I think you have some idea what it was.”

“All he wanted to talk about that day was the Madeira.” I stood up. “I ought to pay for my groceries and then I should be going. Thanks for the coffee and the jelly donut.”

She gave me a we’re-not-done-here look, but nevertheless she walked over to the cash register. She rang up my items while I packed them in a canvas tote with the vineyard logo on it. When she was done, she laid her hand on top of mine.

“Are you getting involved in this, Lucille?”