Samantha and Vanessa were still seated in the Adirondack chairs on the side porch when the two detectives went looking for them. They escorted Samantha to the lounge and asked Vanessa to wait.
“I gather, since you’re back here asking questions, there’s something fishy about Mr. Nilsson’s death,” Samantha said as she seated herself, trying to control her anxiety about being interviewed by the police.
“You’re correct, Dr. Hunter,” Elias said.
Samantha sighed. “I see you’ve tracked down my real name. I do keep my dual identity a closely guarded secret from both my readers and my academic colleagues. I rely on your discretion, Detective Lindstrom. If it got out that I write romance novels, it would undermine my credibility as a serious historian.”
“At the moment, I see no need to go public with your information. I do have some additional questions. Can you give me a timeline of everything you and your group did after your arrival Sunday afternoon?”
“That’s easy. We checked in around three in the afternoon, got together at five-thirty for wine and appetizers, dined and then met in my room after dinner to plan our week. When we do these retreats, we designate certain times for writing, and specific hours to read and give one another feedback on what has been written. At this point, we are all very familiar with one another’s work and style.”
“When did you end the meeting?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but I think it was between eleven and twelve. We’d had a long day and everyone wanted to get some sleep.”
“Did you hear or see anything unusual during the night?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. I’m not a sound sleeper and I get up several times a night to empty my bladder. One of those times, I did hear footsteps and a door closing nearby. The rest of my group are in the east wing so it must have been one of the other guests. I don’t know who occupies which room.”
“What time was that?” Elias asked.
Samantha shook her head. “All I can tell you is that it was the last time I got up before morning. It could have been as late as four or five a.m.”
“How well did you know Scott Nilsson?”
“Not at all. I met him Sunday night briefly, for the first time.”
“You teach at the University of Chicago. Scott Nilsson grew up and lived in Chicago until he moved to New York State to study at the Culinary Institute. Are you sure you never met him?”
“Really, Detective. Chicago is a very big city. Do you know everyone in Bellingham?” She raised her eyebrows and gave him the look she used to quell unruly students.
“Do you cook, Dr. Hunter? Know how to make truffles, perhaps?” Elias asked.
“I order in and reheat. And no, I’ve never made truffles.”
“Do any of your fellow writers have a previous relationship with Scott Nilsson?”
“I believe Ilana worked with him at some restaurant in Seattle, years ago. I don’t know if anyone else was acquainted with him.”
If the police had uncovered her identity as Mildred Hunter, they probably already knew about Ilana.
“Thank you, Dr. Hunter. That will be all for the moment.”
The two detectives returned to the porch and pulled up two more chairs so they could sit and face Vanessa.
“This won’t take long Miss Brooks.” Elias could tell that she was tense and he smiled to put her at ease. “I just need a summary of your activities on Sunday night.”
Vanessa clasped her hands together and pursed her lips as if she was trying hard to remember. “We had just arrived. I unpacked and changed, and then joined the other guests for appetizers and dinner. It was an excellent meal.”
“And after dinner?” Elias prodded.
“We went to Samantha’s room and talked for a while. Then I went to bed.”
“Did you see or hear anything unusual after you returned to your room?”
She gave him a puzzled look. “Not really. I went right to sleep.”
“What do you do for a living Miss Brooks?” Elias noticed her body relaxing. This was a question to which she knew the right answer.
“I manage a boutique hotel in Seattle.”
“Have you ever had a professional or personal interaction with Scott Nilsson?”
Elias watched as her body tensed again.
“I never met him. He made an announcement at dinner Sunday night. That was the first time I’d set eyes on him.”
“Thank you,” Elias said. “Just one more question. Do you happen to know how to make truffles?”
Vanessa smiled at him. “I make it a point not to know how to cook anything fattening, Detective.”
“That will be all for now,” Elias said.
Vanessa picked up her papers and disappeared into the house.
Elias turned to Rashida. “What do you think?”
“I think she was much more on edge than I expected. We didn’t find any place where her background overlapped Nilsson’s, but my instincts tell me she’s hiding something.”
“I agree. Let’s go speak to Melanie Wells again. It seems she didn’t tell us everything either.”
“No one tells the police everything,” Rashida muttered.
Melanie looked up from her desk to see the two detectives returning. Were they ever going to leave her alone? She had enough problems to deal with.
“Back again?” she asked.
“Afraid so. We’d like to know who occupies the rooms in the West wing,” Lindstrom said.
Melanie turned to her computer. “Samantha Allen is in the end room. Mr. Gunderson, and Mr. and Mrs. Sutton occupy the two adjacent rooms.”
“Mr. Gunderson tells me that he spent part of Sunday and Monday night in your bed. Can you confirm that?”
“What has my sex life got to do with any of this?” Melanie said. She was pissed at Noel and his big mouth.
“I’m not interested in your sex life,” Lindstrom said. “I just want to know what time Mr. Gunderson left your home Sunday night.”
Melanie shrugged. “I can’t tell you. He was gone when I woke up at seven. He always makes it a point to leave before Josh wakes.”
“We understand you had a relationship with Mr. Nilsson that was more than business,” Rashida said. “You failed to mention that.”
“You didn’t ask,” Melanie said. “Scott and I were partners with benefits. We occasionally had sex but we weren’t exclusive.”
“When was the last time you slept with him?” Lindstrom asked.
Melanie shrugged. “I don’t recall. It was a few weeks ago. As I said, occasional.”
“Are either of those two men the father of your son?” Rashida asked.
“No.”
“Who is his father?”
Melanie smiled. She felt no hesitation about sharing that piece of information with the police.
“Detective Daniel Ross,” she said.
Daniel was seated on a log on the beach, a perch to which he had retreated after Hannah had asked him to go for a walk and leave her alone, so she could think about what he’d just told her. Her face had been blank. He couldn’t tell if she was devastated, furious, ready to leave him or all of the above. He just knew that somehow, he’d blundered badly and may have destroyed their marriage before it even had a chance to begin.
He wondered which aspect of his confession had upset her the most; the fact that he’d cheated on Annie, that he hadn’t told her the full truth about Melanie, or that he might have an illegitimate son. He thought about how he might feel if the situation was reversed.
A brisk breeze blew in over the water and he shivered. Time to go inside. He’d been sitting on the beach for over an hour. Hannah might not be ready to see him yet, but at least he could sit in the lounge and have a hot tea.
As he got up, he noticed the two detectives walking toward him. They paused and waited as he approached the house.
“A word, Mr. Ross,” Detective Lindstrom said.
“Certainly. Do you mind if we talk inside? It’s getting chilly out here.”
Daniel led the way into the empty lounge, made himself a mug of chai, and sat down on one of the armchairs. The two detectives sat opposite him.
“Have you determined the cause and manner of death yet?” Daniel asked, cupping his hands around the warm mug.
“The cause was an anaphylactic reaction to peanuts contained in the truffles Mr. Nilsson ate. We are currently investigating whether the truffles were given to him in a deliberate attempt to commit murder.”
“I see. How can I help?”
“We have a few more questions for you, Mr. Ross,” Elias Lindstrom said.
Daniel noticed Lindstrom was pointedly not addressing him as Detective. This was not a collegial conversation.
“You told us that you met Scott Nilsson for the first time prior to Monday night’s dinner. You didn’t mention that you were not only acquainted with Melanie Wells, but that you were the father of her child.”
So that was it. Melanie must have told them. There wasn’t any reason other than spitefulness to do so. It was hardly related to Scott’s death. She must want him off balance.
“I hadn’t seen or heard from Miss Wells in fifteen years, and until yesterday I had no idea she had a son, much less that she believed I was the father.”
“Do you think she lied to you?”
“I think she believes what she told me. I need to see the evidence before I can believe it.”
“Paternity tests don’t lie,” Detective James said. “Did she offer you one?”
“She did.”
“Did you know that Melanie Wells owned Alder House when you decided to come here?” Lindstrom asked.
“Of course not. I’m on my honeymoon. Why would I want my new wife to meet a very old former sexual partner?”
“How long were you and Miss Wells a couple?” Lindstrom asked.
“We were never a couple. We had a one night stand when I was stationed at Fort Lewis, just before the end of my tour. I didn’t recognize her when I got here. I only remembered who she was when she mentioned her name and it rang a bell.”
“What does she want?” Rashida asked.
“Money.”
“Are you going to give it to her?”
“You’re putting the cart before the horse. First I need to know if her son really is my son.” Daniel hoped with all his heart that the paternity test would be negative. He wanted Hannah’s baby, their baby, not some teenage boy he hadn’t known existed.
“Did she want you to dump your wife and stay here with her? She owns a lucrative business. Might be much nicer than corralling scum in Los Angeles. Now that Scott’s dead, she owns it all.”
“You’ll have to ask her what she wants. All I want is to resolve this situation quickly and go home with Hannah.”
“Have you told your new bride about this?” Lindstrom asked.
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She’s still processing it. Not the kind of thing you expect to learn on your honeymoon.”
“How do we know you’re telling the truth? Maybe you and Melanie conspired together to murder her partner, so you three could be a family, and she would inherit Nilsson’s half of the business.”
“Melanie needs a chef to run this business, not a homicide detective who can’t cook anything but French toast. If you’re implying that I had anything to do with Scott Nilsson’s death, I won’t talk to you further without an attorney present,” Daniel said.
“We’ll need to talk to your wife. Where is she?”
“I think she’s still in our room.”
“Rashida, would you run upstairs and ask Mrs. Ross to join us?”
Hannah was lying on the queen-sized bed, her face buried in the damp pillow. She’d finally stopped crying but she still felt as if a brick was pressing on her chest. Had she just made the biggest mistake of her life? Had her judgment been so badly flawed, that she’d failed to recognize a cheater in their two years together?
There was a knock on her door. “Mrs. Ross, are you there? It’s Detective Rashida James.”
Hannah rolled over. “What?”
“We’d like a few words with you. Can you come downstairs?”
“I was taking a nap. Give me a few minutes.” She forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed and then dragged herself into the bathroom. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy with crying. Her hair was a mess and her eyelashes were clumped together with tears. What possible questions could the detectives have for her?
She washed her face in cold water and took out her makeup. Foundation, blush, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara took care of everything except the bloodshot eyes. She’d have to remember to keep her lids partly closed. No way was she going to allow them to see she’d been crying. She brushed her hair and twisted it into a bun, anchoring it firmly with large pins. Her T shirt was wrinkled, so she changed to a fresh one and put on her sneakers. Slipping the key into her jeans pocket, she left the room.
The two detectives were waiting for her in the lounge. Daniel was nowhere to be seen.
“Have a seat, Mrs. Ross,” Detective Lindstrom said, closing the door to the room.
“It’s Dr. Kline,” Hannah said. She noticed a smile tugging at the corners of Detective James’s mouth. Hannah chose an armchair close to the fireplace.
“Just a few questions, Doctor,” he said. “Were you aware that your husband was an old friend of Melanie Wells?”
“No.” Hannah saw no need to elaborate. This was a situation in which one word answers were the best. Where was he going with this?
“Did you know that your husband was the father of Miss Wells’ son?”
“I know that she believes he is.” Hannah kept her face an expressionless blank.
“Did your husband communicate with Miss Wells prior to your trip to Oriole Island?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see or hear them converse with one another after you arrived?”
“We both talked to her when we checked in. I didn’t witness any other conversation.”
“Did your husband know Scott Nilsson prior to your arrival at Oriole.”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
The two detectives exchanged a look. Detective James took over.
“How did you feel when your husband told you he had fathered Miss Wells’ son?” she asked.
That wasn’t what Daniel had told her and she wouldn’t believe it until there was genetic evidence.
“I don’t see what any of this has to do with Scott Nilsson’s death. Are you finished questioning me?”
“For now,” Lindstrom said.
Hannah got up, left the lounge without a backward glance, and went upstairs.
“Cool customer,” Elias commented. It had been a most unsatisfactory interview.
“Were you hoping for an angry, hysterical wife?” Rashida asked.
“She could have been more forthcoming.”
“She’s very smart, she’s married to a cop and she clearly knows that the less said, the better. She’s obviously been crying.”
“How can you tell?”
“Her eyes are bloodshot and her makeup is perfect. She told me she’d been taking a nap. She went to a good deal of trouble to appear composed before she came downstairs.”
“Women…” Elias muttered. “I would like to be a fly on the wall when she sees her husband.”