I stared at Scott, my mouth working while no sound emerged from my lips. “I have ice in the trunk,” I finally said, as if that ordinary statement could erase what had happened.
Scott shook his head. “I should stay here. I’ve already called 911, so someone will be here soon.”
“Sure, okay.” I drew in a shuddery breath. “You stay, and don’t let anyone else get too close. I’ll take these bags inside.”
Scott’s stare was unfocused, as if he was seeing something other than the scene in front of him. “I was out at another engagement. Just got back. Door was open when I got here.”
I thought about Alicia’s missing key. “Of course.” I grabbed the two remaining bags of ice, slamming down the trunk lid with my other hand. “I can come back if you want.”
Scott leaned against the wood siding of the carriage house. “No, I’m fine. You go on inside.”
Clutching the ice bags in one hand and several folds of my gown in the other, I ran to the back door, the damp plastic soaking one side of my raised skirts.
Alicia took the dripping bags from my hands as soon as I entered the kitchen. “What in the world? Looks like you just saw a ghost.”
A bubble of nervous laughter burst from my trembling lips. “Not exactly,” I said when I got my voice under control. “But prepare yourself for a visit from the police.”
Alicia tossed the bags of ice in the sink. “Why, in heaven’s name?”
“It’s Lincoln Delamont.”
“Is he fighting with his wife again?” As Alicia turned away to dry her hands on a tea towel, I realized she had removed the full apron she typically wore over her plain black work dress. “I saw him making eyes at your friend Julie over dinner. Wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Delamont noticed that too.”
“Uh, no. He’s not doing anything,” I said, echoing Scott. “He’s dead.”
Alicia kept her back turned, her hands twisting the towel into a fabric rope. “Heart attack?”
“No, stabbed.” My gaze flitted to the wooden knife holder on a nearby counter. The empty slot for one of the larger kitchen knives gaped like a wound.
Alicia’s gaze followed. “You aren’t thinking our knife was used …” She looked back at me, lines furrowing her brow. “Do we have to tell the police about that?”
“I think so,” I said, yanking my drooping sleeve back up over my shoulder. “Don’t you?”
Alicia looked away again. “It might get Damian in trouble, that’s all.”
I narrowed my eyes. That was odd. Alicia was not Damian Carr’s biggest fan. There was no reason for her to protect him, unless …
Unless she’s actually protecting herself. Alicia had been devoted to Isabella Harrington. She might’ve decided to silence Lincoln Delamont before he could besmirch the good name of her former boss and friend.
Then there’s all the guests … I had no way of knowing where they’d all been while I was off getting ice. I shivered—any one of them, including Scott, could’ve stabbed Lincoln Delamont while I was gone. Not to mention Damian, who’d stormed off earlier but lived in a converted garage apartment nearby.
Close enough to walk back again, I thought. And then there’s still Alicia. Who knows where that key is kept and could’ve easily snatched a knife from the kitchen. I stared at the housekeeper’s broad back. She might’ve mentioned the missing knife and key simply to establish an alibi.
I shook my head, reminding myself that this wasn’t one of my favorite mystery novels. I wasn’t Miss Marple, or Inspector Gamache, or even Nancy Drew. I couldn’t try to solve this mystery—I needed to clear my head and calmly inform my guests that there was an emergency that required them to come inside.
“Alicia,” I said, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically as my brain conjured scenes from Clue or The Mousetrap. “Could you please wait in the parlor? I’ll get the others and join you in a few minutes.”
Alicia cast me a sharp glance. “All right, although I’ve got a lot of cleanup to do. But if you think it’s necessary …”
“I do.” I waited until Alicia exited the room before heading out the back door to collect the others.
Including Lincoln’s wife and daughter. I stiffened my spine as I marched onto the patio, determined to deal with the situation without breaking into tears.
I could do it. I’d handled worse news before.
I managed to herd the guests into the parlor, despite their protests and several demands that they be allowed to change out of their costumes. Ignoring my request to remain as they were, Pete Nelson had already whipped off his monk’s robe, revealing a plain T-shirt and shorts. After briefly explaining to the entire group that there had been a suspicious death in the carriage house, I told Pete to be prepared to hand over the costume to the authorities, while assuring Kelly Rowley, who’d obviously shed her cloak, that anything left on the patio would be collected in due time.
At least I was spared the onerous duty of informing Jennifer and Tara about Lincoln’s death. Even in the small town of Beaufort, the authorities sent enough officers to swarm the backyard and the house, as well as two detectives, who immediately separated the staff and guests so they could interview each person individually. I didn’t even see Jennifer or Tara, who’d apparently been whisked away as soon as the police arrived.
After an ambulance had taken away Lincoln’s body, I slumped down into one of the library’s worn leather armchairs. I could barely remember what I’d told the investigator, a tall, regal, woman whose name was Detective Johnson. I just hoped I’d included all the pertinent facts.
The knife from the kitchen, the missing key, Damian Carr’s angry exit, the argument between Tara and her mother, Scott standing so close to the murder scene, and that snippet of conversation between Lincoln and Julie … I massaged the throbbing pain above my right eye with one finger. Had I told the detective all of that? I couldn’t remember. All I knew was that I hadn’t mentioned one other suspicious fact—Lincoln’s earlier hints that he had collected some dirt on Isabella Harrington.
I knew I probably should’ve said something, but somehow the idea that the investigation might expose my great-aunt’s secrets had silenced me. I needed to know more before opening that Pandora’s box.
I leaned into the chair’s high back and stared up at the web of fine cracks in the plaster ceiling. Detective Johnson had informed me that the guests would need to stay in town for at least a week. With the Big Rock tournament filling up all the local lodging, I knew they’d probably need to stay on at Chapters, even though that would undoubtedly be uncomfortable for Jennifer and Tara Delamont.
Not like it’s going to be a fun week for anyone, I thought. A fog of suspicion would undoubtedly envelop the entire party. Detective Johnson had promised to post a few officers near the carriage house and the house, so help would only be a quick call or a shout away, but still … I massaged my temples. If one of my guests had killed Lincoln, I’d be sharing my home with a murderer.
I jumped to my feet when Detective Johnson strode back into the room. “Our interviews are done. We’ll leave you and your guests in peace for now. Of course, we’ll continue our work out back. There’ll be a perimeter established around the carriage house, staffed with an officer, for at least a few days.”
I locked my knees to stiffen my wobbly legs. “I guess the locals can head home?”
The detective examined me. “Yes, but I’m afraid you do have to host the other guests for the remainder of the week. I made some calls, and there’s no place for them to go.”
“It’s fine. They’ve already paid, so at least it won’t cost them anything extra.”
Detective Johnson tapped her computer tablet with a stylus. “You will lose two guests. The Rowleys are going to stay on their yacht. Not surprising, given the circumstances. Of course, they’ve been warned not to leave the area until we finish our questioning.”
“And Mr. Kepler?”
“He said he wants to stay, but of course not in the carriage house. I suppose you can put him up in one of your rooms?”
“That won’t be a problem.”
“Good. One of my officers will collect Mr. Kepler’s personal items from the carriage house. We need to ensure that the scene isn’t disturbed.”
And give your officers time to search the area. I nodded instead of voicing this thought.
Detective Johnson tipped her head. “Is there something else you wish to share with me, Ms. Reed?”
I swallowed the ball of bile lodged in my throat. “No.”
“I just thought you seemed to have something else on your mind when we talked. But if you say there’s nothing …” The detective slipped her tablet into an inside pocket of her tailored jacket.
“I can’t think of anything right now,” I said, fighting my urge to blurt out Lincoln Delamont’s hints about a scandal in my great-aunt’s past. “But I promise, if I remember anything else, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head back out to the scene. I suggest locking up after Mr. Kepler comes in, but don’t worry—my officers will keep watch tonight. If anything suspicious occurs later, anything at all, just remember that help will be standing right outside your back door.”
I bobbed my head. “Thanks, that’s comforting. But I’m not really worried.” I was surprised to admit that this was true. Although Alicia was still on my suspect list, along with everyone else at the party, I didn’t feel personally threatened. If Alicia had murdered Lincoln Delamont, it would’ve been done to silence him before he could reveal salacious information about Isabella, not because she was some crazed serial killer.
Same with the others, I realized. Whoever had killed Lincoln had obviously wanted him dead for a very specific reason. The murderer probably had no inclination to kill anyone else. I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. Hopefully.
“Good. If it makes you feel better, I can say that at this point we have no evidence to suggest that anyone at the party is a prime suspect,” Detective Johnson said. “Although of course we will continue to investigate every angle, including the possibility that it could’ve been a random attack, or an unknown individual with a vendetta against Mr. Delamont who had tracked him here.”
“I’ve also wondered if it could’ve been an outsider.” I forgave myself for the lie because, while I hadn’t actually considered that angle, it was definitely another logical option. “I can’t imagine anyone who was at Chapters tonight wanting to kill …”
“Liar!” Tara Delamont stormed into the room, followed closely by her distraught mother, who, except for the scarf covering her hair, was now wearing her street clothes. I assumed the police had allowed her to change once they’d questioned her.
But Tara was still in costume. One of her thin braids had slipped free of her carefully arranged hairdo, and she tossed it behind her shoulder before rubbing the back of one hand over her mascara-stained cheek. “She’s the one you should lock up.”
While Detective Johnson looked on with interest, Tara stabbed her forefinger at me. “I bet she killed him, and I know exactly why.”