“Can I help?”
I peered through the laddered back of the chair I was holding. Todd Rowley stood in the hall, the front door standing open behind him. “Yes, thanks. If you could close the door and then grab a couple of the chairs from the dining room, that would be great. I’m afraid there isn’t enough seating in the library for this evening’s book discussion.”
“Kelly will be along in few minutes. She forgot her notes for tonight and went back to the yacht for them.” Todd shut the front door before lifting a chair with each hand. “I’m surprised you expect a good crowd after last night. Honestly, one reason Kelly and I decided to join in was because we were afraid no one would show up.”
My hands still gripping the chair, I blew a lock of hair away from my eyes. “It is a bit surprising, but everyone except Jennifer and Tara agreed to attend. I guess they wanted something to take their minds off yesterday’s tragedy.”
“Or to check out the other guests, looking for any telltale signs that one of them is the murderer.” Todd strode past me, the chairs swinging in his grip. “Library, you said?”
“Yes, thanks. Just drop them anywhere. I’ll arrange the seating later,” I said, following him.
“I hope you don’t mind that we decided to move back to the yacht.” Todd set down the chairs and turned to face me. “It’s nothing against you or your hospitality.”
I set down my own chair before replying. “Don’t worry, I totally understand. Honestly, I think if I could stay somewhere else for a few days, I would.”
“It must have been quite a shock.” Todd’s gaze was as sympathetic as his tone.
“Yes, murders don’t occur here every day.” I offered him a wan smile.
“Ironic to have it happen during an event honoring a murder-mystery author.” Todd looked over my shoulder. “Oh hello, sweetheart. Find your notes?”
I turned toward the door, where Kelly Rowley stood, clutching a notebook to her chest.
“Yes, just where I left them. Hello, Charlotte. I hope you aren’t feeling too bad today. Yesterday was so horrible.”
Kelly’s honey-blonde hair was hanging loose, making her thin face look more angular than usual. I examined the younger woman, noticing her extreme pallor and chapped lips. Of course, I reasoned, that’s only natural. Not everyone has dealt with a shocking death before. “I hope you recovered your cloak in all the confusion. Your costume was so lovely. I’d hate to think you a lost part of it.”
Kelly blinked rapidly. “My cloak? Oh yes, I got it. Thanks.” She used both hands to sweep her hair behind her shoulders. “Anyway, as Todd may have told you, he and I decided to participate in any events you host this week.” Kelly moved to her husband’s side. “I mean, we really doubt that Mr. Delamont was killed by one of the staff or a guest. It could’ve just as easily been someone from the outside.”
Todd slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Yes, we talked about it, and the truth is, Delamont was at the carriage house, which is hidden from view if you’re in the main house or even on the patio. Anyone could’ve snuck into that section of the backyard without the rest of us noticing.” He tightened his arm around Kelly. “That’s partially why we were determined to be here tonight—to show that we don’t suspect any of the staff or guests.”
“Thanks for that. But I worry that a few others won’t be quite so understanding.” I tipped my head and looked over the entrepreneur and his wife. “I suppose you’ve heard Tara Delamont’s claim that I’m the killer?”
Todd waved his free hand as if shooing away a bothersome insect. “Yes, but we dismissed it as the ravings of a young girl who’d just received a terrible shock. I’m sure she’ll apologize once the investigation clears you.”
“I don’t even care about that. As you say, she was probably in shock.” I scooted one of the chairs across the floor and placed it at the edge of the Oriental rug that covered the center of the room. “I just hope the authorities discover what actually happened, sooner rather than later.”
“I’m sure they will,” Todd said.
Kelly turned aside, staring at one of the bookshelves. “I don’t know. Lots of murder cases go unsolved, you know. It’s not like in books.”
“Yes, life is never quite so neat and tidy.” I dusted off my hands. “Thanks again for the help, but I won’t keep you. I’m arranging the seating now just to have it done, but the discussion won’t start for”—I glanced at my wristwatch—“another hour and a half.”
The Rowleys offered further assistance with setting up the room, but I waved them off. “No, you’ve done enough. You are guests, after all. Please—feel free to stop by the kitchen if you’d like a drink of any kind. Alicia is putting together refreshments for later, but I’m sure she’d be happy to open a bottle of wine or whatever else you might like. If you just want to relax, the front-porch rockers are available, or you can use the parlor.”
After Todd and Kelly left, I took a moment to lean against the desk, taking a deep breath to shake off a surge of panic. Every time I spoke to any the guests, my mind questioned their innocence, and although it seemed unlikely that either of the Rowleys could’ve been involved, I still couldn’t strike them off my suspect list. Which made talking about the murder with them unnerving.
The hardest person to contemplate as a killer was Julie, of course. I really couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea of my friend harming anyone, but I was worried that the authorities would view her motive as more compelling than most. Which just made me more determined to discover the actual murderer, sooner rather than later. Or, barring that, I hoped to at least clear Julie’s name before her relationship with Lincoln became public knowledge.
When I’d arranged the chairs in a wide circle, I checked my watch again. With an hour to spare before the book discussion, I decided to retreat to my room. I wanted some time alone before facing my guests again.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I absently picked up the framed picture of Isabella I’d placed on the nightstand. It was a black-and-white photo, showing a young Isabella arm in arm with her older sister, my Grandma Ruth.
“What exactly did you get up to?” I examined Isabella’s face, with its classic features, arresting eyes, and well-shaped brows. She’d been a lovely young woman. Not as tall as her lanky sister but more voluptuous, she’d been blessed with masses of wavy brown hair and deep-set dark eyes. In the photo, her hair was swept back from her broad forehead by a pale velvet headband, giving her the look of an older Alice Liddell. “So, Isabella, what rabbit hole or mirror did you fall into after you left that estate? And what treasure did you find, or steal, there?”
Of course, I received no reply. I placed the photo back on the nightstand with a sigh. Having known my great-aunt only when she was older, I’d never given much thought to Isabella’s younger years. I drummed my fingers against the nightstand. Perhaps because they’d never been a topic of conversation at family gatherings. Any discussions involving Isabella had focused solely on her life in Beaufort.
Almost as if she didn’t exist before then, I thought, rising and crossing to my dresser. I picked up a silver-plated hairbrush that had once belonged to Isabella and ran its soft bristles through my own hair. Or maybe the older members of my family did know about some scandal in her past and were careful to avoid conversations that touched on that subject.
Knowing my Grandma Ruth’s outlook on life, I could imagine her refusing to entertain any notion that her sister might’ve had a lover, especially if the man had been married. While Grandma was tolerant enough not to cut Isabella out of her life over such a thing, she wouldn’t have publicly acknowledged the possibility. Definitely not to anyone else in the family, much less strangers.
Which doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I tapped the back of the brush against my palm and considered the alternative, which was much less pleasant. If Isabella had actually been a con artist or thief …
No, I decided, I definitely prefer the sugar-daddy option. I laid down the brush and resolved to search the attic again. Digging through some of the papers and photographs stored there might reveal the truth.
But not today. As I peered into the mirror hanging above the dresser, I realized I looked almost as pinched and drained as Kelly Rowley.
Dashing into my attached bathroom, I slapped on another coat of lipstick and a swipe of blush before heading out to join Alicia in the kitchen.
If I have to face a murderer, I thought grimly, I’d better look less like death.
Todd and Kelly were waiting in the library when I carried in the first tray of hors d’oeuvres. They were both clutching empty wineglasses, so I hurried back to the kitchen to grab some chardonnay.
“Is this okay, or do you prefer the red?” I asked when I returned with a bottle.
“No, white is fine,” Todd said, and Kelly nodded her agreement. “Better for this warm weather.”
I refilled their glasses before making several trips to the kitchen to collect more snacks and additional bottles of wine, along with the requisite glasses and a few nonalcoholic drink options.
The Sandberg sisters were the next to arrive. They bustled into the library like pigeons flocking toward a pile of bread crumbs, greeting the Rowleys in tones that held friendliness and suspicion in equal measure. They were followed by Pete and Sandy Nelson, who both clutched white paper bags.
“Thought you might appreciate some extra food.” Pete held up the bag. “I’ve got lettuce wraps, and Sandy’s toting some homemade veggie chips.”
“Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that.” In their matching Dancing Dolphin logo T-shirts and khaki shorts, the café owners looked both ordinary and innocent. I couldn’t imagine either one of them plunging a knife into Lincoln Delamont, but … someone had.
“Just leftovers from the lunch rush,” Sandy said. “You want these in the kitchen?”
“Yes, thanks. Ask Alicia to find a serving platter for you.”
“No problem.” Sandy grabbed the other bag from Pete’s hand and headed into the hall.
“How about our real murder mystery? It’s the wildest thing I’ve been involved in, I must say.” Ophelia Sandberg sank down into one of the room’s leather armchairs, fanning her face with a sheaf of handwritten notes.
“Not me.” Bernadette slumped into the library’s other armchair. “I was a nurse in ’Nam. Nothing was, or ever will be, crazier than that. Or more tragic,” she added, staring down at her broad, blunt-nailed hands.
Pete sat in one the hard-backed dining room chairs. “I guess after that, nothing shocks you anymore.” He patted the chair next to him as Sandy reentered the room. “Sit here, dear.”
“Yes, very little surprises me.” Bernadette looked up. “Hello, Julie. Ready to discuss murder?”
I turned toward the hall, where Julie had paused, one hand braced against the door frame. “Hi, Jules. Glad you could join us.”
“I thought I’d better, or you guys would probably label me as the killer.” Despite her bright smile, tension edged Julie’s voice. She stepped into the room but stopped short beside the desk, which had been converted into a serving table by the addition of a white linen tablecloth.
I noticed that Julie had also chosen to wear more blush and lipstick than normal, and that her long black hair was twisted into a messy ponytail. This was unusual. Julie was typically very particular about her appearance.
Of course, if she’s only recently stabbed her lying lover to death … I shook my head as my friend poured herself a full glass of wine. No, that wasn’t any way to think. The haunted expression in Julie’s chestnut-brown eyes could just as easily be due to the one-two punch of discovering that her boyfriend was still quite married right before he was also suddenly found quite dead.
“Excuse me while I see if Alicia needs any help in the kitchen.” I motioned toward the desk. “Please, help yourselves to the hors d’oeuvres and drinks. And go ahead and start the discussion if you want. I won’t be long.”
As I left the room, I reached out and patted Julie’s rigid arm. “Glad you’re here.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Thought I’d better be. I know how people would talk otherwise.”
I opened my mouth to say something about no one thinking Julie was a murderer, but clamped my lips shut instead. I might not believe she was guilty, but I knew others could be eyeing her as the culprit. All the more reason for me to keep looking for evidence that will point the finger elsewhere, I thought.
In the kitchen, I conferred with Alicia about any additional food for the event before stepping out the back door. A little fresh air sounded like the perfect antidote for the headache throbbing behind my eyes.
A police officer was no longer stationed at the back door. But there was still one officer monitoring the area around the carriage house. I strolled over to the perimeter established by yellow caution tape. “Everything quiet out here?” I asked the woman.
“No sign of trouble so far.” The officer shifted from one leg to the other.
It had to be uncomfortable to wear a full uniform, including a gun holster, in the June heat. “Can I get you some water?” I asked, allowing my gaze to sweep over the carriage house. Police activity had torn up the grass around the building, but at least the azaleas that flanked the front door had remained undamaged.
“Why sure, water would be great,” the officer replied, pushing her hat back so she could wipe her damp forehead with her hand. “Pretty hot out here tonight.”
“Yes, it is. I’ll grab you a bottle, or at least have one brought out to you.” As I considered whether I could spare the time to carry out the water myself or would need to ask Alicia’s help, my attention was captured by a flash of purple in one of the azalea bushes. It wasn’t a blossom, as those were already faded and, anyway, they had been pale pink. This looked like sunlight bouncing off a small, faceted object …
“Hold it. There’s something caught up there, next to the door.” I pointed toward the azaleas.
The officer turned to examine the shrub. “Yes, there is. Wonder how the investigators missed that.” She pulled a pair of evidence gloves from an inside pocket of her jacket and slipped them on.
“It was dark out, even with the patio floodlights. They probably couldn’t see that little thing buried in all that thick foliage.”
“Likely so.” The officer reached into the azalea and plucked out the object. Gripping it between her thumb and forefinger, she held it up to the light. “Looks like some sort of costume jewelry.”
A swear word escaped my lips.
The officer, shaking out the small evidence bag she’d taken from her pocket, narrowed her eyes. “You recognize it?”
“Yes.” I audibly swallowed before speaking again. “That looks like one of the fake gems I noticed last night at the party. It was glued to a costume.”
“Worn by?” The officer dropped the bit of purple plastic into the evidence bag before focusing her intense gaze on my face.
“The victim’s daughter,” I said reluctantly. “Tara Delamont.”