Thirty-seven

The implication hit home right away. “I didn’t see any fibers on his neck!”

“They’re microscopic. No one would have noticed with the bare eye.”

“Am I correct in deducing that you now think I strangled Randall because I happen to have these scarves?”

“Holly—”

I stepped toward him. “Don’t you Holly me. You know me, Dave! You know me. I didn’t murder anyone. This is ridiculous.”

“I don’t like this any better than you do.”

“Then find the real killers. For starters, there are probably half a dozen women in this town who own that scarf. In fact . . .” I stopped talking.

“What? Tell me!”

“The owner of Petunia said that Randall Donovan bought the exact same scarf.”

Dave’s jaw tensed. “I need to get these to the lab.”

My hopes crashed.

It must have shown in my expression, because Dave said angrily, “Find the doggone jacket, will you? I don’t want to have to arrest you when Hank’s blood turns up on this one.”

He left, and I locked the door behind him, hurried to the bathroom, and stripped off my wet clothes. When I stepped out of the shower, I reflected on my situation. I had washed enough clothes to know how hard it was to get blood out. The lake water had been cold, but I feared that the lab would still be able to identify the stains on it as Hank’s blood.

I returned to my closet, pulled on a skort and a sleeveless top, and then searched the entire closet methodically from end to end but found no sign of my jacket. There were no other choices. I had to figure out who’d killed Randall and Hank. If that was my jacket in Dave’s possession, and they found Hank’s DNA on it, along with mine or with my fingerprints, then they would lock me up for sure.

The thought drained me. How could I feel so unenergetic just when I needed to be on my toes and thinking? I needed to focus. A hot drink wouldn’t hurt either.

But I didn’t want to run into a bunch of people and have to explain myself. At that moment, I was immensely grateful that Oma had installed the secret stairway from my apartment to the kitchen. Trixie and I hurried down the stairs.

I found Oma and Zelda seated at the table, picking at a lemon meringue pie still in the pie plate.

Oma handed me a fork. “We have put on tea. Zelda thought we could all use something to calm our nerves.”

I poured myself a mug and stirred in sugar and milk. I settled at the table with them and sipped the hot tea. Surprisingly, it did make me calmer.

I told them about the jacket and the scarf. “I’m scared to death that the jacket is going to turn out to be mine.”

“Does it look like yours?” asked Zelda.

“Unfortunately, yes. But don’t all denim jackets look a lot alike?”

They agreed so fast that I suspected they were trying to console me. “We have to identify the killer before the lab connects me to the murders.” I tried to keep my voice level. In spite of my efforts, I squeaked a bit.

Zelda gazed at me with pity. “I’ve been over and over this with anyone who would listen. All we’ve got is a bunch of people who disliked Hank and Randall. There’s nothing concrete tying anyone to the murders.”

“Gee, thanks. No wonder Dave is so excited about the scarf and jacket.”

“Let us consider this from a different angle,” suggested Oma. “Who would have had the opportunity to take your jacket?”

“Anyone,” I groaned. “I was wearing it when John and I found Randall. We came straight back here. I could have left it here in the kitchen, or outside on the patio, or I could have taken it upstairs with me and hung it in my closet.”

“Aha! It blew from the patio into the lake. You wait and see. It will be yours, but it will not tie you to Hank’s murder.” Oma smiled at me.

“Then what were those brownish stains on it?”

Oma ignored my question. “The cats were playing with the scarf? This would indicate it belongs to one of our guests.”

“That was my assumption.”

“Then we can narrow down the suspects, no?”

“Assuming they didn’t drag it in from outside or that the killer didn’t happen to drop it while having lunch here.”

Zelda gasped. Waving her fork in the air, she said, “Or plant it here so Holly would be the suspect. Think about it! It’s the perfect setup. The killer has lunch here and accidentally drops the scarf he used to strangle Randall. He looks for it but can’t find it because the cats have made off with it. So he steals someone’s jacket—in this case it happens to be Holly’s—and then after he kills Hank, he throws it off the dock in the middle of the night. That way, the police find both items in or near the inn and think the killer is staying here, but really, it’s—“

“Paige!” I pointed my fork toward Zelda. “She had one of those scarves. You’re so right. Someone could have planted both of those items.”

Oma shook her head. “But I have seen our darling stinker Twinkletoes in guest rooms pulling items out of their luggage.”

“And out of drawers,” I added.

“So we’re back at square one,” Zelda griped.

“We’re going at this all wrong.” I sat back with the warm mug in my hands. “We have to start with Randall. He came here looking for someone who was participating in Animal Attraction.”

“Probably a woman,” said Oma.

“Nessie has said all along that a married man at Animal Attraction was up to no good. So maybe he had a girlfriend?” I suggested.

“Now we have something.” Oma sipped her tea. “Because she used his gift to strangle him.”

“What would have made her that angry?” asked Zelda.

“He wanted to break off their relationship?” I got up and poured more tea for all of us.

“Why come to Wagtail to do that?” asked Zelda. “If she was here looking for a guy, then problem solved.”

“Macon keeps talking about people who misrepresent themselves. Maybe he was going to give her away for who she really is. Maybe he was going to ruin her plans?” I brought the sugar and milk to the table.

“One of his patients, perhaps?” Oma asked. “Maybe he wanted to prevent a patient from doing harm to someone else?”

I shook my head and sat down. “Now we’re getting into speculation again. I do think the killer was a woman, though. Not many men would have used the scarf to strangle him.”

“Then we can eliminate Macon and Bob. Where’s the bag?” asked Zelda. “Wouldn’t he have carried it in a bag?”

“Great point!” We toasted with our mugs.

I took a bite of the lemon meringue pie and started to feel better. Maybe we could figure this out.

“Paige!” I almost shouted her name. “She said someone gave her the scarf as a gift.”

“Eww. And she was wearing it after strangling him? That’s just gross.” Zelda grimaced.

“The thing is,” I said, “I really don’t see how Paige or Sky could have had the time to kill him. They didn’t plan on Sky picking up Duchess.”

“Perhaps the murder was not planned,” said Oma. “It could have been spontaneous. One of them ran into him, he gave her the scarf, they had words about some issue between them, and he was strangled. It could have taken less than fifteen minutes.”

“She took his wallet but didn’t keep the money,” I pointed out.

“Ja!” Oma exclaimed. “This is significant. Why? If I had killed someone, I would have disposed of the wallet.”

“That’s where it all falls apart. Why murder Hank? Why place the money on him and make it obvious that there’s a connection to Randall?”

“To mislead.” Oma gave Zelda a sad look. “Your Hank was not an honest man. Perhaps he entered into a shady deal with her. She wanted to make it appear that Hank had murdered Randall.”

“Hank’s killer was very angry with him.” Zelda gulped hard. “Like the people who stab someone one hundred fifty times. I think she kept hitting him and hitting him.”

“Then why didn’t your stalker see her?” I asked.

“Maybe he did. We don’t know who he is,” Zelda whined.

“Or maybe,” I said, “she was the person we thought was Hank.”

“I have a woman stalker?” Zelda said.

I sat up straight. “She was waiting for Hank to show up!”