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CARTER SHOWED UP AT West Calcasieu Cameron Hospital quickly, having broken every speed limit along the way. He tried to shoo the ladies from Harriet’s bedside, but Fortune pointedly reminded him that without their help, he wouldn’t be there to begin with. He relented and asked them to wait outside the curtain just for a few moments, so he and Harriet would have some space to talk privately.
When the ladies were gone (although Carter was certain they hadn’t gone far and were probably straining to hear through the privacy curtain) Carter pulled up a chair next to Harriet’s bed.
“It’s a relief to find you here, Miss Harriet.” Carter removed his hat as he sat and dangled it between his knees. “We’ve been worried about you.”
“Is it true?” she made the effort to turn her head to him. “About Mr. Deale?”
“Yes. Mr. Deale’s body was found early Tuesday morning, right outside your book shop.”
Harriet closed her eyes.
“I can scarcely believe it. And he was killed inside my apartment?”
“Who told you tha—never mind. I’m sorry you had to hear it.”
“That means Mr. Deale was inside my apartment.” Harriet’s voice was soft, but her indignation was unmistakable. “I have never invited that man into my home. Are you absolutely certain?”
“No,” Carter said quickly. “Nothing’s certain right now. That’s just where the evidence is leading for the time being. But, and I am so sorry about this, Miss Harriet, I do need to ask you about something. Would you prefer I come back tomorrow, or are you up for this now?”
Harriet smiled faintly.
“Well now, sheriff, if you come back tomorrow, all that’s going to do is get me worrying from now until then. Might as well get it over with.”
“Of course. Thank you, Miss Harriet. And I apologize in advance for this.”
He produced a folder and pulled out a letter-sized color printout.
“Miss Harriet, I have to warn you. There’s some blood in this picture.”
“Well, I guess I’ve seen enough of my own these past few days,” Harriet said drily. “Bring it on.”
Carter turned the photo to her.
“Do you recognize this garment?”
Harriet squinted at the photo.
“I have a pair of pajamas in that pattern. What on earth happened to it? Is that blood? Where did you find it?”
“Wrapped around Mr. Deale’s body, I’m afraid.”
“Oh my.” Harriet sank back into her pillow. “How lurid. Whoever would do such a thing?”
“Miss Harriet,” Carter persisted, “I understand Mr. Deale was going to kick you off your lease. Is that correct?”
“He had no right to do that,” Harriet replied. “I have a contract. If he breaks the lease without cause, I can sue him.”
“Is it true that you accused him of...?” Carter whispered in her ear. Harriet turned red.
“I accused no one,” she fumed. “That man was the one who made those indecent suggestions. I certainly haven’t been spreading it around. Who told you all that anyway?”
“Adam Sampson.”
“Well now, someone’s been putting ideas into that boy’s head,” Harriet said. “I’ll bet it was Mr. Deale who put him up to coming by my shop last night.”
“It wasn’t last night,” Carter said. “It was Monday afternoon.”
“Oh. What day is it now?” Harriet asked.
“Thursday,” Carter said.
“Thursday? Well now, that doesn’t seem right. Are you sure?”
Carter nodded.
“I understand there was an incident at that time. Why don’t you give me your version of events?”
“Well, Adam Sampson came by my shop after it was closed, and I guess Gertie and them thought he was a burglar. In fact...” Harriet’s face brightened. “I remember, that’s when they told me to leave town.”
Carter reddened.
“They told you to leave town?”
“Why yes!” Harriet seemed delighted at her newly-recovered memory. “They figured Mr. Deale was behind it, and they told me I should go visit my mother until he cooled off. I’d hurt his pride, you see, and he’d sent Adam over to try to get me in trouble somehow. You see, Adam was...was...”
Here her memory stumbled, and her puzzled expression returned.
“Adam must’ve done something bad,” she said vaguely. “Because he ran away. I do recall that.”
“Do you know anyone who had a grudge against Mr. Deale?”
“Well I imagine his ex didn’t like him much,” she said. “And I don’t believe Regina liked working for him. Although I suppose if she really hated it she could’ve quit. Regina’s his receptionist.”
“What about his bookkeeper, Florentin Menard?”
“Florentin would never kill anyone,” she insisted. “I will swear to that.”
“Miss Harriet—”
“Sheriff, if you’re going to go around making wild accusations, I don’t see the point in continuing this conversation.”
“Miss Harriet, does Florentin Menard have a key to your apartment?”
Instead of answering, Harriet jabbed the call button, and within seconds a nurse appeared to shoo Carter away. It was all the answer he needed.
“Miss Harriet,” he called over his shoulder as he put his hat back on, “Menard could be a killer. Be careful.”