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use for shows for area artists and for poetry readings and such. They can use the downstairs for that and have their offices upstairs. They’re crammed into a tiny space in the library. The appraisal is largely to establish the worth of the property for tax purposes.”
    I gave a low whistle. “That’s one heck of a gift.”
    She nodded. “Since Michael is her only heir, she wanted to be sure he didn’t mind. She’s concerned that,” she paused as she put the jam and some butter on a tray, “he may somehow feel cheated.”
    “Maybe all that’s why he seems a bit...moody.”
    She waved a hand as she sat down next to me to wait for the muffins to cook. “He’s always been like that. Although, his mother says he’s mellowed a bit the last year.” She seemed about to say more, and stopped.
    I shrugged. “I didn’t really know him at school.” I started to say he didn’t want to know me, but instead I stood and kissed her cheek. “I’m going upstairs to shower. I didn’t want to wake anyone earlier.”
    I took more time than usual getting ready. Scrubbed and dressed in a light wool, tan pantsuit with a hunter green turtleneck and earrings that matched the suit, I appeared in the kitchen for Aunt Madge’s compliments. With her encouraging words in my ears, I walked out to my Toyota to drive to the Riordan’s. Why does my car look lopsided?
    “Damn.” The right front tire was flat. I must have driven over a nail. It just reinforced my current opinion that anything with tires or testicles was trouble. I looked closer. The back one was equally deflated. For some reason, Joe Pedone’s face flashed to my mind. I glanced at my watch. Nothing to do but tell Aunt Madge I had a flat (and hope she didn’t notice two) and borrow her car. It was too far to walk. Double damn.
    I made my way to the Riordans' large home on the north edge of town, the neighborhood of two and three-story homes built from the 1890s to early 1940s. Many of the newer ones were brick or had brick facades, not too common at the beach. The older homes are Victorian and much larger than Aunt Madge’s. Several have guest cottages behind the main house. It is easily the priciest area of Ocean Alley.
    I had tried to look up prior sales for the Riordan’s home, but it was pointless. Her parents had bought it more than fifty years ago, and they left it to her. At least the appraisal when Ruth’s parents bought it (for all of $21,500) listed the size of all the rooms and showed the appraiser’s hand-drawn layout. Jennifer Stenner’s grandfather had had a steady hand. “Third-generation family business,” as their ads said.
    I was about to push the doorbell to the Riordans' when Michael opened the door and said, “Don’t ring the bell.”
    I almost stumbled into the house. “It’s just such a handy way to let people know you want to come in.” Probably not the reaction Harry Steele would have. I needed to remember I was working for him.
    “Sorry,” he said, grudgingly. “My mother’s still asleep. Late for her, so she must need it.” His tone was protective.
    “I’m glad you caught me before I rang.” I looked around the elaborate foyer, with its faux-marble floor ( or maybe it was real?) and elegant crown molding. “Will you be showing me around, then?”
    “No. I have some business in town. You can find your way around, can’t you?” He was pulling on a light suede jacket.
    “Of course. Since I have to measure every room and closet, I’ll probably be here awhile. Will your mother mind getting up to a stranger in the house ?” My mother certainly would.
    “I told her you’re Madge’s niece. She’s looking forward to seeing you. If she’s not up, just go in her room.”
    “Oh, I could come back…”
    “No,” he said with his hand on the door, “Go on in. She has a meeting of the church’s Social Services Committee at eleven, and I doubt she has her alarm set.”
    “I’ll, uh, knock first.” I said this to his