I stood on the porch for a few minutes after Colin Murphy departed, mulling over what he’d said. I’d never even considered the possibility of two people working in tandem with each other, but . . . heck, it was possible. It even sounded plausible. My thoughts wandered briefly to who might have been watching us. One possibility came to mind: Natalie. I had to speak with her too, as soon as possible.
I retraced my steps back to the viewing room and saw a harried Leila still engaged in conversation with Jim Wantrobski. She caught my gaze over his shoulder and bounced both eyebrows, her usual signal for Help me. I moved swiftly over to where they stood and tapped Leila on the shoulder. “Hey, there you are,” I said cheerfully. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Jim Wantrobski smiled as he reached up to brush an errant blond lock of hair out of his eyes. “Sorry, my fault. The paper sent me to do a story on Littleton’s service, and since I’m a relatively new resident of Deer Park, I was just picking Leila’s brain about the local color.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “She’s all yours now,” he said, and there was no missing the reluctance in his tone. He tossed Leila an almost worshipful gaze. “Thanks for all your help.”
Leila flashed Jim a wide smile. “No problem,” she murmured. Her fingers dug into my arm as she propelled me toward the back of the room. We reached the large potted plant next to the podium, and she pulled me behind it. “About time you showed up! God, can that man talk.”
“I noticed. I also noticed he seems pretty interested in you.”
Leila’s expression turned horrified, and she waggled her finger to and fro. “In me? Oh, no, no, no. He’s just new, and he wants to make a good impression on Seth Warner—that’s his editor. He wanted to know stuff about Littleton, his business, what he did for the community, that sort of thing.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t ask the widow.”
“I think he tried to, but she blew him off—and then he got me in his sights.”
I shot her a sly grin. “It looked to me like he might have had you in his sights for quite a while. I got the feeling his questions weren’t entirely fueled by business. Take it from me—I think he’s got a crush on you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Great, just what I need. Another clingy male, like Jackson.”
I remembered Jackson Hornsby, Leila’s ex-boyfriend, and had to agree. He’d been extremely needy, the total opposite of my friend. I’d always wondered what she saw in him other than his movie-star good looks. Aloud, I said, “Your ex? No way. Jim Wantrobski didn’t seem clingy to me. He seemed kind of . . . sweet.”
Leila grimaced. “Yeah, well, he’s not my type. Anyway, what took you so long to rescue me? I kept looking around for you, but I couldn’t find you.”
“I followed Colin Murphy outside.”
“Ah, so you got your chance to talk with him. Learn anything?”
“Actually, I think I might have.” I hit the highlights of my conversation with Murphy, ending with his insinuation that Petra and her son might have jointly plotted Bridge’s demise. “What do you think?”
Leila tapped at her chin with her forefinger. “Not sure. I know Petra and her son are close, but plotting a murder together seems a bit over the top. Are you sure Murphy wasn’t just trying to blow smoke, maybe divert suspicion away from himself?”
“Well, he said the police checked out his alibi. It’s kind of hard to kill someone when you’re in a plane forty thousand feet above the ground. Besides, he’s right. Littleton’s death is more of an inconvenience for him than anything else. He doesn’t benefit at all that I can see.”
“But the widow definitely does,” Leila said. “His estate and an insurance policy! She’s rolling in it now.” She placed her hand on her hip. “So now what? Or are we done here?”
I glanced toward the front of the room. A slender man with dark hair dressed in a three-piece suit had taken the seat on Petra’s right. Their heads were bent close together, and I saw him slip a protective arm around her shoulders. “I see Trey has come to console his mother,” I whispered. “I’d sure like to have a little chat with one or both of them, if I could only think of a good reason.”
“How did you start things off with Colin Murphy?”
“I said I was sorry for his loss, then I introduced myself. He seemed to know who I was.” I stopped, frowning. “He even knew Kat had threatened Littleton.”
“Well, you said someone reported it to the police, right? Gossip spreads through this town like wildfire.” She reached out and grabbed my arm. “Oh, oh! Look who just came in.”
I turned. Grace Topping and Devon McIntyre were both framed in the doorway. Grace made a beeline for the podium and the guest book while Devon hung back on the fringe of the room, her eyes darting to and fro. Devon’s gaze fell on me, and her eyes widened slightly. She spun on her heel and hurried back into the hallway. Before I could make a move to follow her, I heard a sharp gasp and then Grace’s voice: “Sydney? For goodness’ sake, what are you doing hiding behind that plant?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Leila glide off in the direction Devon had gone. I turned to Grace with a smile. “I’m not hiding. I just—ah—wanted a quiet moment.”
Grace looked toward the front of the viewing room, and a small sigh escaped her lips. “It will be strange, looking at him lying there. Bridge was always so full of vitality and life.” Her gaze fell on the front row and the two people seated there, and her brow furrowed. “I see Petra is playing the grieving widow to the hilt. Sitting there, dabbing at her eyes as if Bridge meant something to her. I doubt they ever really loved each other in the truest sense of the word.”
I was surprised at the vehemence with which Grace spoke. Perhaps their “friendship” hadn’t been as platonic as Grace wanted me to believe.
I smiled at her. “You didn’t see Natalie anywhere around, did you?”
Grace nodded. “She was just leaving as I came in.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose I’d best say my final good-bye and offer my condolences to the family.” She reached out and gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Take care, dear.”
“Grace!” I caught her arm. “I spoke with Colin Murphy earlier. He said something to the effect that Trey had two hundred fifty thousand reasons to hate Littleton.”
“Did he?” she said thoughtfully. “Well, I could easily see Trey owing his stepfather such a large sum. It would explain why he was so bitter about having to pay it back.” She glanced around and then leaned closer to me. “Trey has—had, rather—a bit of a gambling problem. But he’s getting help.”
With that little bombshell, Grace turned and walked away.
I watched her glide down the aisle toward the casket and then made a beeline for the hallway. As I stepped over the threshold, I ran smack into Leila. “Hey, where’s the fire?” she asked.
“Did you see where Devon went?”
“Oh, yeah. She went outside on the veranda. Stood there for a couple minutes, and then she got a call and whipped her cell out of her bag.”
“Did you hear who she was talking to?”
“I heard her say, ‘Why are you calling me now?’ and then she was quiet for a minute, and then she said, ‘You know why I had to come here. I had to make sure’ . . . and then that was it.”
“That was all she said?”
“No, all I heard. I was trying to get a bit closer when I saw Wantrobski coming out the door. Thank God I ducked back into the shadows before he saw me. He went into the parking lot, but when I looked around for Devon, she was gone.”
“Curious. I’d love to know who she was talking to.”
“Me too. I’m sorry I couldn’t hear more. Did you learn anything from Grace?”
“Actually, I did,” I began, but I stopped cold as I felt a hand drop on my shoulder. I saw the myriad expressions that ran across my friend’s face, and I knew who was behind me even before he spoke.
“Well, Syd and Leila. Fancy meeting you here, of all places.”
I turned. Will Worthington stood there, looking very handsome in a dark-gray jacket and pants, crisp white shirt, and gray-and-black-striped tie. Leila turned her triple-wattage smile on him and leaned forward to envelop him in a hug. “Hey, Will. I heard you’d come home.” She stepped back and surveyed him, her head cocked. “You look fantastic!”
“Thanks. I understand you’re a reporter now. You’re not covering this, are you?”
“Oh, God, no!” Leila waved her hand in the air. “That would be Jim Wantrobski’s misfortune. My beat is fashion shows and garden parties, with the occasional dog show—and cat shelter event—thrown in.”
His gaze wandered back to me, and I made a point of looking first right, then left. “Where’s your charming partner? Don’t tell me he decided not to attend and harass these people in their hour of grief.”
“Bennington couldn’t make it.” Will arched a brow at me. “I do sincerely hope that you just came here to offer condolences, Syd. That you didn’t have anything else in mind.”
I widened my eyes. “Why else would I be here?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you thought it’d be a good opportunity to ask a few discreet questions?”
“Isn’t that your job?” I asked sweetly. “Nine times out of ten, the murderer shows up at his victim’s viewing or funeral, right? And it seems to me most of the prime suspects are here, although if Colin Murphy is to be believed, he’s been eliminated from the pool.”
“Aha, I knew it! You’ve been asking questions.” Will jabbed a finger in the air. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Not when I know Bennington’s eyeing my sister for murder I can’t.”
“Excuse us for a moment, Leila.” Will grabbed my elbow and steered me toward the exit. We went out into the hall, down the archway, and back out onto the porch. No one else was out there, but Will marched me over to the far corner before he let go of my arm. “Look, Syd, I know you have a natural curiosity, and I know you’re trying to help, but . . . we are dealing with a murderer here. You could get hurt . . . or worse.”
I shook his arm free and took a step back. “I’m glad you called it my natural curiosity,” I said. “Some others might call it a penchant for snooping. Either way, I hope you realize that I can’t just sit by and do nothing, not when I know Bennington’s eyeing my sister as suspect number one.”
“We’re not eyeing anyone as the prime suspect yet,” Will said. “We’re still investigating.”
“I hope you’re investigating the widow,” I said. “I just found out that she’s the beneficiary on Littleton’s very large insurance policy.”
Will started. “How did you find that out?”
“I told you, I’ve got my sources. Money, as you well know, is an excellent motive for murder. Did you find out where Petra was the morning of Littleton’s death?”
“She gave us a statement. Said she was at the gym.”
Something in his tone made me raise both eyebrows. “She said she was at the gym—but you don’t believe her?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Look, Syd, I really shouldn’t be discussing details of an ongoing case with you, and especially not here.”
I grabbed at his arm. “So let’s go somewhere else and share information—off the record.”
“Even off the record, if Hank found out . . .”
“Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t.”
Will stared at me, and then his lips twitched upward in a half smile. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?” He took my arm and led me into a secluded alcove just outside the viewing room. “What I’m going to say stays between us,” he said. “You say nothing to Kat, or to Leila, or to anyone . . . not even your cat. Promise.”
I wasn’t particularly sure I could keep the part about not sharing with Toby, but Will didn’t have to know that. I made a crossing motion over my heart. “I promise. And anything I tell you is off the record. You don’t share with Bennington. Right?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Mrs. Littleton told us she was at the gym the morning of her husband’s death.”
I nodded. “That’s true. I parked next to her car.”
“She was scheduled for a Zumba class, but it was canceled at the last minute. She opted for a massage instead but felt ill and went outside for some fresh air.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Did anyone see her?”
“That’s what we’re still checking on. So far, we can’t find anyone to substantiate that part of her alibi. The masseuse said she looked flushed when she returned.”
I gripped Will’s arm. “Oh my God! It’s only about a five-minute walk from the gym to the gallery. She could have slipped away, injected her husband, and gone back. The brisk walk, as well as committing murder, could account for her flushed appearance.”
“First of all, ouch!” He gently disengaged my fingers from his arm. “Second, we’re aware of that. We’re not ruling Mrs. Littleton out as a suspect.”
I scowled at him. “But she’s not number one, is she? That honor belongs to Kat.”
“I can’t comment on that, but I can tell you this.” Will’s tone became a bit gentler as he added, “You’re forgetting one important thing, Syd.”
“Yeah? What might that be?”
“I know both you and Kat, and I know that neither one of you is capable of murder. Trust me. We’ll find the person who really did it, I promise. Have a little faith in me.”
“I do have faith in you. But if I were helping you, we might get to the bottom of this a lot sooner.” I smiled up at him and batted my eyelashes. Heck, Leila was right. It had always worked in high school.
Will sighed. “What else do you want to know?”
“I spoke to Colin Murphy. He said you’d checked out his alibi.”
“Yeah, kinda tough to commit murder when you’re thirty thousand feet above the ground.”
“What about Petra’s son? I heard he owed his stepfather a lot of money and resented having to pay it back.”
“We checked him out right away. Turns out he’d gone to stay with some friends in South Carolina, and they were about to tee off on the golf course at around that same time.”
“Convenient. Maybe too much so,” I muttered.
He shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets. “We’re looking into every angle, trust me. I won’t let Kat get railroaded for something she didn’t do.”
“That’s a very nice sentiment, Will, but you and I both know that happens to innocent people more than you’d think.”
His expression was grim. “True, but it won’t happen here. I won’t let it. Oh, and before I forget.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little baggie and pressed it into my hand. “Your note. It was just as I thought. There was too much cat saliva to retrieve any useful fingerprints or DNA from it.”
“Great,” I said. I took the baggie and turned it over in my hand. “What about the name? Did you find any connection to Littleton?”
“Not yet. We’re still working on it.” He reached out, chucked his thumb under my chin, and raised my face to his. “Now do me a favor. Go inside, get Leila, and go home before Hank gets here.” As I hesitated, he said in a stern tone, “Or do I have to arrest you?”
The twinkle in his eye told me the last remark wasn’t serious, so I managed to bark out a laugh. “No, I guess we’re done here for tonight.”
“And mum’s the word?”
I made a gesture of locking my lips and throwing away a key. I started to walk away, but he reached out again and caught my arm. “Say, once this is all over . . . maybe you and I . . . maybe we . . .”
I smiled at bit at his discomfiture. “Maybe we can get reacquainted?”
He grinned. “Something like that.”
“Well, how about this. Get Kat off the hook, and I’ll make you a nice home-cooked meal. How does that sound?”
He shook his head, eyes twinkling. “I’d rather take you out for a nice dinner. I remember your cooking, Syd, and I’ve got an idea it hasn’t improved over the years.”
“Smart decision,” I flung over my shoulder as I headed back inside to find Leila. “It hasn’t.”
* * *
Leila and I got back home a little after ten. Toby greeted me at the door with a soft merow and wound his furry body around my legs, then pranced off in the direction of the kitchen, his tail held high.
“Your bud must be hungry.” Leila put her fingers to her lips to stifle a yawn. “Go on, feed him. I’m going to bed. Got a big day tomorrow. Fashion show in Derry—woo-hoo.”
Leila went upstairs to her bedroom, and I followed Toby into the kitchen. The cat twined himself around my ankles, purring and glancing over at his food bowl. I spooned out some of the wet food I’d purchased, then sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and propped my chin in my hands, watching as the cat attacked the food hungrily.
“This is a real puzzle, Toby. In all the mysteries I’ve read, the detective’s rule of thumb is ‘follow the money.’ Nine times out of ten, the killer is usually the person who stands to gain the most from the victim’s death. In this case, that answer’s pretty obvious. It would be Petra, right? She got it all, but she wouldn’t if Littleton had managed to divorce her, would she? I wonder who else would have benefitted from his death. Maybe Colin Murphy, somehow? Darn, I’d love to be a fly on the wall when that will is read.”
Toby glanced up from his bowl. “Ow-owr?”
“Yes, speaking of Colin Murphy—just what were these improvements he wanted to make to the gallery that Littleton was so against? According to Grace, Littleton thought they’d be very detrimental—or should I even worry about it, considering the guy was up in an airplane at the time of the murder?
“Maybe I should concentrate on another strong motivator: jealousy. That might put Devon back into play—and maybe Grace, too. Devon got a suspicious phone call tonight, and Grace . . . well, let’s just say Grace’s feelings for Littleton might run deeper than she let on. Maybe that ‘woman scorned’ aspect Grace mentioned applies to her and not Devon after all. Or who knows? Maybe this mysterious Kahn Lee is a suspect too. If only we knew who he—or she—is.”
Toby padded over, rubbed against my ankles. I got up and started for my bedroom, Toby following right behind me.
It would seem, as far as suspects were concerned, that I was back to square one. There wasn’t one, so far, with a clear-cut motive. Still lots of work to do in that area, but . . . something had to give. And I was hoping for sooner rather than later.