Pepper, the Highlander & the Dead Guy

“Did Pepper show you the photos?”

“Double traitor,” I whispered, and she laughed and grabbed my phone which I unwisely had left on the table.

“You look radiant,” my mom said.

“Oh my God, you’re stunning together,” Zelda said.

“You’re going to have beautiful babies,” Lara added.

“Whoa, whoa, slow it down. No one is having any babies,” I said, trying to rein the women in.

“Eventually,” my mom said with the confidence of one gazing into a crystal ball and seeing the future. “And I do look forward to them.”

“Enough,” I said and swiped my phone back. “And no spreading false gossip.” It was a senseless warning, but I gave it a try anyway.

“The usual for everyone?” Lara asked, ignoring me.

We nodded and Zelda and Lara walked away whispering and I inwardly cringed at their wagging tongues.

“Love finds you when you least expect it,” my mom said.

“Not for Aunt Effie. She never married,” I said.

“That doesn’t mean she never loved anyone,” my mom said with a sad smile.

“Aunt Effie loved someone?” Amy and I said together.

“How come I don’t know that?” I demanded.

Aunt Effie had been special to me, a gorgeous model who brought me trinkets and strange things—that I still have to this day—from all over the world, a woman who had walked down endless runways, whose picture had graced famous magazines, who told me stories of kings, princes, famous actors, lavish parties, yet a woman who preferred her cabin in the woods than to all the glamor in the world.

“Aunt Effie told me that since she had never gotten to be with the man, she loved with all her heart in this life, she hoped that they would get together in the next life. You know how strongly Aunt Effie believed in reincarnation.”

“That makes me sad,” Amy said. “Aunt Effie was such a loving and generous woman. She deserved to be happy.”

I felt the same as Amy, sadness overwhelming me for my aunt.

“Aunt Effie would be overjoyed for you, Pepper, and she would tell you not to waste a minute denying it, simply free yourself to love, love, love,” my mom said, dramatically as she waved her hand high in the air imitating my Aunt Effie perfectly.

“To Aunt Effie,” Amy said, raising her glass of orange juice.

Mom and I raised our juice glasses as well, “To Aunt Effie.”

Tears tickled all our eyes, and my mom wisely changed the subject.

“You’ll bring Ian to supper soon,” my mom said when Amy and I stepped outside the diner.

We’d had a great breakfast and a fun time recalling things Amy and I had gotten into when we were young. It was good to stroll down memory lane with family every now and then.

“I will,” I said and kissed my mom’s cheek, pleased she was leaving it up to me to decide when to bring him.

“Toodles, girls, and behave,” my mom said after Amy gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she walked off laughing.

“I love your mom,” Amy said. “I always feel so good after talking with her.

“She does have a way about her of making people feel good, but since you spent more time at my house than your own, basically my mom raised you making her your mom too.”

Amy smiled. “You don’t know how much I appreciate you sharing her with me.”

“Hey, I desperately needed a sister to help me survive my three brothers,” I said.

Amy laughed. “That’s the truth. Are you seeing Ian tonight?”

“Yes, but how about we plan a girls’ night soon. It’s been a while since we had one.” I realized during breakfast how much I missed just Amy and me getting together.

“I’m glad you said that. I could use a girls’ night.” Her phone dinged. “Almost late for a client. “Talk later and we’ll pick a date.”

“I’ll make something special, including dessert.”

“I’ll bring the wine.”

We hugged and I walked over to where I’d parked my truck and was about to get in when my dad pulled up in his police vehicle.

“Thought you’d want to know that the blood on the knife Mo found matched Struthers’s blood type. But we didn’t find any viable fingerprints.”

“It was the murder weapon then?” I asked, though wondered why if it had no fingerprints on it someone would bother hiding it. Unless the murderer hadn’t been the one to bury it.

My dad nodded. “Ian keeps knives like that at the lodge for photo shoots.”

“He was there and caught a glimpse of the knife when I handed it over to you and made no mention of recognizing it,” I said, realizing I was defending him.

“Or he didn’t want to say he did.”

“You told me you didn’t think he had anything to do with it,” I reminded.

“I do believe that, but there are plenty of other people at the lodge besides Ian and that knife looked similar to the knife Ian had on him when you found the body.”