There were now two security guards at the entrance to the Farrow Center. A TV reporter was doing a standup at the drive as Sadie chugged past. I expected the media would be here, which was why I’d instructed Caroline to wear a hat and sunglasses. Reporters would be swarming the facility, looking for any angle. I didn’t want them to see the sister of the man Angelica may or may not have killed coming to visit. Of course, if the reporters were savvy they’d trace my (Buzzy’s, actually) plates. That’s why I’d smeared mud on them while waiting for Caroline to get her sunglasses. I might not work for the CIA anymore, but I still had a few tricks up my sleeve.
I’d borrowed one of Buzzy’s Red Sox caps. I lowered my sunglasses to speak to the guard. “We’d like to see Miss Miguel, please.”
The media swarm had thinned the woman’s patience. “Sorry. No one’s allowed to see her.”
“I’m a friend,” I said. “Please call Jay, her assistant.”
Caroline took off her sunglasses and leaned toward my window. “Hi!”
The guard leaned toward the car, then smiled. “Oh hi. Caroline, right, from Udderly Delightful?”
“Yes, hi! I recognized you. My friend Riley here’s the one who found Angelica and saved her life.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the connection to the ice cream shop or my role in Angelica’s rescue, but the woman made a call and waved us through.
“Ice cream saves the day,” I said.
Another security guard waved me into a parking place and accompanied us to Angelica’s cottage. “I’ve seen prisons with less security.” I could imagine the security teams patrolling the woods and heard a far-off buzz that I thought might be a drone.
Jay opened the door, smiled, but cast a quick look behind us. “Nice to see you. Come in.”
The room was dark, the blinds closed. Our visit had taken Angelica by surprise. Her hair was matted, braided and tossed over one shoulder, and she wore a robe over wrinkled pajamas. She was still in a wheelchair, leg in a cast. Her bruises had yellowed and lightened, but still I felt a jolt of horror at what she’d been through.
Caroline gasped but quickly recovered, extending a quart of rocky road ice cream.
“Caroline! How are you?” Angelica took the ice cream. “Thanks. I needed a bright spot. Jay, please put this in the freezer.” He took it into the kitchenette.
Angelica waved to seats. “I know I look like I’ve gone three or four rounds with the heavyweight champion of the world. And I can’t go outside looking like this—well I can’t until they get a makeup artist out here. I can’t even go on the patio. I don’t want pics of me—like this—out there.”
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Stronger. But rehab’s hard work.”
I couldn’t help blurting out, “Have you spoken to the police?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes. The police are building a case against me. They kept asking if Mike and I fought. Then they asked if, I’m sorry, Caroline”—she lowered her eyes—“Mike had ever struck me.”
The words hit like a blow, and Caroline recoiled, her hand pressing her chest.
A horrible thought crept into my mind. The bruises were on the left side of Angelica’s face. I thought back to Mike throwing a football, something I’d seen him do a thousand times. Mike had been right-handed.
I shook my head, again seeing Mike’s face in the barn. He’d had no scratches or bruises, not on his face or his hands. If struck, this athletic, strong, passionate woman would’ve fought back, I was sure. “Your car crashed and fell onto its left side, the driver’s side. That would account for the bruising.”
Tears coursed down Caroline’s cheeks. No matter what, this was hard for her to hear.
Angelica’s eyes welled as she pressed Caroline’s hand. “I’m sorry, Caroline, to say things like this in front of you. Of course, Mike never struck me.”
Caroline sniffed. “It’s okay. I want to know everything.”
“One thing they kept asking: Did I take sleeping pills. I don’t, never have. Did Mike?”
Caroline shook her head. “I don’t know about now, but when he lived at home he always said he slept like a log.”
My mind jumped from question to question as I followed this thread. Mike had no defensive wounds. Angelica said she’d had a headache after drinking the wine. Had the killer slipped sleeping pills into the wine bottle?
Caroline and Angelica talked, their voices blurring as I remembered what I’d seen at the Love Nest. I suddenly realized what had bothered me about the wine bottle. I’d seen the trash. I’d seen the bottle and the glasses.
But there’d been no cork.
Mike hadn’t opened that bottle of wine. It had been waiting for them.
But who left it?
I pulled myself back to the conversation.
“Angelica, did you see Mike open the wine?”
She shook her head. “I remember him saying how nice it was that Caroline left wine for us and left it open to breathe.”
Caroline blanched. “But I didn’t leave any wine.”
My heart dropped. “Did you tell the police that?”
“Yes,” Angelica whispered. Her horrified expression told me that she’d come to the same realization I had. The police would think that Caroline had left the wine.
And her scarf in the barn.… I winced. We’d have another visit from Detective Voelker, but it wouldn’t be a friendly one.