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her not seeming to comprehend who she was, Rose added. “I’m Rose Jones, Darryl’s daughter. My father was your husband’s partner on the police force.”
    Elizabeth McGruder nodded once. “Of course! And how are your father and your mother? She’s such a lovely woman!”
    Rose stopped short then said, “They’re fine. They send their condolences.” Rose was a bit shaken since her mother, Gretchen Jones, had been dead for more than thirty years.
    As Angel moved to follow Rose in offering condolences, she gestured for him to go down the hall to the kitchen. Rose walked over to Ann McGruder and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Annie.”
    The petite woman nodded as her eyes filled with tears.
    Elizabeth spoke looking at Ann. “Bud is dead. You are his sister and…brother.” She pointed at Bogie then turned away. “Please make the arrangements.” Elizabeth then glared at Bogie. “Since you are an investigator, find out who killed my son. That’s the least you can do after all the misery you’ve caused this family.” The old woman carefully got out of her chair and took her granddaughter’s arm. “Come, Amanda, tell me all about your life in our Palm Beach mansion.” As Elizabeth slowly led Amanda down the hall to the den, Bogie shook his head.
    Four years earlier, Elizabeth knew that the run-down mansion in Palm Beach had been sold without her knowledge to finance Baxter McGruder’s last attempt to play her for a fool and part her with as much of her fortune as he was able. She learned that Bogie was involved in that charade, but found it almost impossible to think less of him since she already believed he was one of the lowest forms of life.
    Bogie studied Elizabeth as she moved away. He had watched her decline over the years. Her closet drinking increased as Baxter McGruder continued philandering and humiliating her.
    Bogie turned to his sister as Rose pulled up a foot stool and sat down beside her. Ann seemed to be following in her mother’s footsteps with a nose covered with broken capillaries and tremors in her hands. Bogie said, “You’re right! She’s going around the bend.”
    “And you don’t know the half of it,” Ann said wearily.
    Bogie sat down as they listened to Elizabeth speaking from down the hall. It was difficult for Bogie to think of Elizabeth McGruder, this demented old woman, as a once vibrant blonde socialite from a prominent Boston family. As the only daughter of Angus Culley, the financier, and granddaughter of the former Boston Mayor, Robert ‘Bud’ Culley, she was given the best education money could buy, although she had no particular scholastic talent or interest in academics. By the time she was ready to receive her degree in Art History from Radcliff, she had three serious suitors asking for her hand in marriage. The least qualified was the forty-five-year-old Police Chief, Bobbie Shoeberg. He was tenacious, though, showering Elizabeth with flowers and compliments as he professed his undying love for her. He worked his charisma on the whole family. Shoeberg joined the family’s church and was invited to join Angus Culley’s poker group. Shoeberg shared his political aspirations with Angus Culley, making no secret of the fact that becoming the Governor of Massachusetts was part of his master plan. Bedazzled by Shoeberg’s charm and encouraged by her parents, Elizabeth agreed to marry him. She began a year of planning for a wedding ceremony in the Park Street Church to be followed by a reception at the Harvard Club.
    Elizabeth was deeply involved in every detail of the upcoming wedding which was Boston’s most-anticipated social event. But Elizabeth noticed that Bobbie always seemed busy with his police work or huddled with his political handlers who were deciding which functions he should attend, which causes he should endorse or whose ass he should kiss.
    Before they were even married, Elizabeth felt a bit cast aside. Then she met one of her fiancé’s drivers. That