SEVENTEEN

“Mer-oow!”

I yawned and winked one eye open. Nick was sprawled on my chest, his golden eyes wide. “Merow,” he said again.

“Yeah, and good morning to you, too,” I grumbled. After texting Hank, I’d immediately gone to bed and crashed, fully intending to get about two hours of shut-eye before going downstairs to open up Hot Bread. I turned my head slightly and glanced at the clock on my bedside table and nearly had a stroke. It was eleven-thirty!

“Gosh Nick,” I cried. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?” Usually my feline wants his breakfast first thing, regardless of how late I may have stayed up the night before, and he makes his feelings known by knocking off every article on my dresser. “Why didn’t you get me up?”

“Probably because I fed him very early.”

I glanced toward my doorway. Chantal stood there, dangling the house key I’d given her in the air. “Both Samms and Daniel called me and told me to watch out for you today. I also straightened up a lot of the mess.”

“How nice of them, but I’m fine . . . ow!” I gave Nick a gentle push off my tummy and threw off the comforter. My whole body felt as if I’d been run over by a steamroller. “Ooh, dammit. The doctor said the soreness should have worn off by now.”

Chantal eyed me. “You didn’t get much sleep, did you?”

I rubbed at my back. “I got more than I intended.” I cast my friend a sideways glance. “Say, if you’re up here—who’s minding the store? Mollie had the day off.”

Chantal came over and perched herself on the edge of the bed. “Do not get mad, chérie. I made an executive decision. I closed Hot Bread for the day.”

I struggled to sit up. “You what?”

“You heard me.” Both of Chantal’s hands flew up in the air. “Ach, chérie, sometimes you can be so stubborn! How do you expect to get back into shape if you do not get proper rest?”

My lips twisted in a rueful grin. “As we both know, I stink at resting. I’m better off when I’m active.”

“This is true, but you’ve been through a lot. Your customers will understand.”

“Yeah, the Java Nut will be happy,” I grumbled. “They’ll get all the fallout business.”

“And after going there, your customers will appreciate your good cooking all the more.” Chantal gave me a little push into a chair. “Sit back, relax, and I will make you a nice breakfast. Or a lunch. Whichever you prefer.”

Both my eyebrows wafted skyward. “You who hate to cook will make me breakfast? Did I hear right?”

“For you I would make the ultimate sacrifice.” She put a finger to her chin, tapped it lightly. “How about some scrambled eggs?”

I stared at her. “When did you learn to make scrambled eggs?”

“I haven’t,” she responded cheerfully. “But I have seen you and Remy make them. How hard can it be?”

I couldn’t help but be touched by her offer. For Chantal, standing over a hot stove was tantamount to having one’s nails ripped out. “I appreciate the gesture, but I can do it.” I held up my hand as my friend started to protest. “After all, I’d planned on opening up today anyway. It doesn’t take much to whip up omelets, and I promise I’ll just sit and relax with you after I make breakfast.”

“Deal.” She tossed me a wink over her shoulder as she started for the door. “Besides, you owe me details of all that happened last night. I am anxious to hear about your near brush with death.”

“It wasn’t a near brush; it was just a little accident.”

“Oh, I’d hardly call it that,” came a voice from the hallway.

I looked sharply at my friend. “Oh no. Is that who I think it is?”

“Samms. Yes. Daniel is here, too,” Chantal said with a sheepish grin. “I told them to wait in the living room and I would see if you were up to visitors.”

I sighed. Knowing Samms and Daniel, I was positive that both of them would camp out in my apartment until I was able to talk to them. I sucked in my breath and swung my feet to the floor.

“Fine. Show ’em into the kitchen. Guess it’s Spanish omelets for four.”

Twenty minutes later Samms and Daniel were settled at my kitchen table, both pairs of eyes trained on me as I cracked eggs into a large mixing bowl and added a splash of milk. I whisked them thoroughly, then walked over to the stove where I’d put the skillet on low. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning visit, might I ask?”

Daniel’s sharp gaze raked me head to toe. “You still look bushed. Did you get any rest at all, or were those brain cells firing up all night long?” he asked.

“I got some sleep,” I admitted. “You two really didn’t have to come over here to check up on me.”

“That’s not the only reason for our visit,” said Daniel. “We have things to discuss.”

I had put peppers, onions, scallions, and ham into the skillet while we were talking and now added the beaten eggs. “Okay. Like what?”

“Like if you’ve got any idea who might have been behind that attempt on your life last night,” Samms said.

My head jerked up. “We don’t know for sure that it was an attempt on my life.”

“True,” Daniel said slowly, “but it appears logical, considering you were attacked twice in one night.”

“The first time was a mistake,” I said. “I’m positive my attacker thought I was someone else. For that matter, how do we know that wasn’t the case with the car as well?”

Samms arched a brow. “We don’t. But we would like to know just what you were doing at that motel.”

I’ve always found the best defense against a direct question one does not want to answer is to regale one’s questioners with direct questions they might not want to answer. “Didn’t the police do their own sweep of Daisy’s room?” I asked.

“Of course, Broncelli sent a team out there. Unfortunately, too late to catch you doing your little B and E act.”

“I don’t believe you can call it a B and E when you have the key.”

“You can when the key isn’t obtained by legal means.”

I stared at Samms, my nostrils flaring; he stared back at me with equal fervor. This little contest might have continued had it not been for the spitting and crackling of my omelet. I whisked the pan off the stove and started dividing the fluffy mixture on four plates. Chantal had toasted English muffins and put on a pot of coffee while I was cooking, and we all sat down, breakfast in front of us. Only thing was, I had no appetite, and looking at the others’ faces, I doubted they did, either. Nick lofted his portly body up onto the counter, where he stretched out and lay, head lolling over the side, his gaze fixed on my two callers. The silence in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and then Daniel cleared his throat.

“Okay, Nora. Enough’s enough. We want to know why you decided to investigate Daisy’s motel room instead of going home as you promised you would.”

I traced the outline of the floral design on my tablecloth with the edge of my nail, wondering how long I could stall. Judging from the granite-hard expressions on the faces of my callers, not long indeed. “I don’t suppose pleading the Fifth will satisfy you two?”

Stony silence. Guess not.

“Okay, well.” I tapped the rim of my mug with my spoon. “I was just following my gut. I had a feeling Daisy wasn’t being completely honest when I questioned her and she said she didn’t know anything about . . . another matter.”

“You’re talking about your looking into Violet’s niece’s disappearance,” Samms said.

I turned to glare at Daniel. “You told him?”

“Yes, he told me. We’re partners, working together. That’s what partners do.” Samms leaned forward. “You seem to forget, you are not a licensed investigator. You’re not even an investigative reporter anymore. You’re a sandwich shop owner, Nora. Don’t you think you should start acting like one?”

I leaned forward. “Violet asked for my help. I didn’t just arbitrarily get involved. I don’t feel comfortable talking about it, not just because I promised Violet I’d keep a low profile but also because I really have no proof of anything. Just theories.”

Samms muttered something very ungentlemanly and sat back in his chair.

I turned to Daniel. “I didn’t say anything to you because there was no ID in the purse where I found the key, and I wasn’t even certain it was Daisy’s. And that’s the truth.” I waited a few seconds and when neither of them spoke, I continued. “The room was a mess when I got there. Clothes were strewn everywhere, drawers were pulled out, the mattress was upended . . .”

“We saw the photos,” Samms interrupted. “So there was nothing of interest?”

I hesitated only a brief moment before shaking my head. “No.”

Samms leaned forward. “As a former crime reporter, I’m certain you’re aware of the term spoliation of evidence?”

I certainly was. Spoliation of evidence referred to the intentional, reckless, or negligent withholding, hiding, altering, or destruction of evidence relevant to a legal proceeding. I looked Samms straight in the eye. “I am. I’m also aware that the theory of the spoliation inference is that when a party destroys or withholds evidence, it’s a reasonable assumption said party has a ‘consciousness of guilt’ or other motivation to tamper with said evidence.”

He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “So you’re basically claiming ignorance?”

“I’m saying that if I found anything, and I’m not saying that I did, but if that were the case, in order to be guilty of spoliation of evidence, I’d have to be positive that it was evidence of a crime.”

Samms leaned back. “Well said. When did you get a law degree?”

I opened my mouth, ready to let him have it but good, but Daniel laid a hand on my arm. “Okay you two. Lee’s right, Nora. You aren’t a trained investigator. You put yourself in danger with that fool stunt, and our investigation at risk.”

“And I am sorry. I was just trying to find some confirmation that she knew Alexa Martin a lot better than she claimed—that’s it. Believe me, if I thought that I knew anything that definitely pertained to Daisy’s murder, I wouldn’t hesitate to share it with you.” As a swift glance passed between them, I frowned. “Can I say the same for you? Are you keeping something from me?”

“Now how could the FBI keep something from Cruz’s own Nancy Drew?” sneered Samms.

I curled the fingers of my left hand around my right wrist, stifling the urge to slap him. Before they could steer the conversation back to what I did or didn’t find in Daisy’s room, I asked, “What happened with the grimoire last night, and don’t tell me nothing did. I saw the two of you and Broncelli and some other policemen huddled in front of that room right before I found Daisy’s body.”

They exchanged a quick look and then Daniel said, “We’re not sure what happened. The alarm went off, but when we went to the room, it didn’t seem as if anything was disturbed.”

“Everything was intact? Were the jewels in the cover?”

“Yes.” Samms picked up his knife, tapped it on the tablecloth. “Why are you so interested in the jewels?”

I shrugged. “Those stones are supposed to have this mystical power, right? They might be what a thief would want, and not the grimoire itself.”

“One would need the grimoire, though, for its spells,” Chantal piped up, and shut her mouth abruptly as I shot her a look over my shoulder.

“Spells would only be good if the thief were a witch, or a warlock,” I said. “And there are none of those around Cruz, or at least none we know of.”

“It’s a moot point,” Daniel said, a little too quickly, I thought. “The guard on duty left his post very briefly. He claimed he got a text from Broncelli telling him to meet him down the north corridor. He was gone less than five minutes. And, of course, Broncelli didn’t send the text.”

“Hm. Interesting.” I pushed my chair back, carried my mug to the sink. “And that was right around the time I found Daisy’s body, right?”

“More around the time you texted for help. We’re not entirely certain the two incidents are related,” Daniel said. He leaned forward and touched my arm. “Listen, Nora . . . Several people did say they saw you having some heated discussions with Daisy last night. So Broncelli . . .” He paused, looked at me, then at Samms. Samms gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Daniel finished. “Broncelli has you on a short list.”

For a second I just stared at them, and then I burst out laughing. “You’re kidding, right? Getting me back for not keeping my promise to stay home last night? Broncelli can’t possibly be serious?”

Daniel looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Yes and no.”

My legs were a bit wobbly and threatened to go out from under me, so I flopped back into my chair. “And just what does that mean?”

Daniel leaned forward and took both my hands in his. “It means that Broncelli doesn’t know you like we do. He’s just going by what he hears, and he’s got to go through the normal process. We’ve got to find people who might have had a motive for eliminating Daisy, and several witnesses said they saw you two arguing.”

“Daisy argued with other people, too,” I cried. “She argued with Reynaud, and Magda.”

“That is true.” Chantal nodded. “Even Nellie Blanchard was giving her dagger looks all night.” At Samms’s questioning look she added, “She’s a museum docent. She’s been there forever. She wanted that job as Violet’s admin, but Violet gave it to Daisy.”

Samms snorted, a clear indication he didn’t think very much of it. “Anyone else you can think of?”

I hesitated. “She did argue with someone else. That woman in the red costume, the one I called the Red Death. They had a pretty violent one in the kitchen, right before I was attacked.”

Daniel fixed me with his FBI stare. “And you have no idea at all who this ‘Red Death’ woman might be?”

I pursed my lips. “At the moment, no, I don’t.”

Daniel studied me a long minute, then looked at Samms. “We can go through the guest list with Nan Webb. She’s got a pretty good eye and knows most of the people who were there, so maybe she’ll be able to shed some light

I relaxed a bit. This would stall them for a while, or at least until they figured out the Red Death wasn’t on the guest list, which I was pretty positive she wasn’t. No doubt Daisy had snuck her in.

Samms’s voice broke into my thoughts. “So, Nora, care to tell us just what you and the victim were arguing about?”

Rats. “We weren’t arguing,” I said. “It was more like a spirited discussion. I wanted to find out what she knew about Alexa Martin, and she kept saying she didn’t know anything.”

“But you kept at her,” Samms persisted. “Why? Did you have some reason to think otherwise?”

I rubbed at the base of my neck, debating how best to answer, when a sudden thought occurred to me. “Did anyone ever find that other cat? The orange and white one that was in the basement with Nick?”

Daniel shook his head. “No. To be honest, we didn’t expect to. It was probably just a stray that wandered in, same as your cat, and it probably took off just as soon as it got a chance.”

“I think it might be Daisy’s cat—I found cat food in her motel room. Or rather, Nick found it.”

“Your cat went with you? I should have known,” Samms said with a grunt. “It’s a wonder the two of you didn’t find another corpse.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

Daniel rose. “Okay, we’re going to let you get some rest. But please, Nora, no more investigating on your own. If you should come into any information that’s germane to the case, I want you to come to either me or Lee, understood? If you try to pull any more stunts on your own, I can’t promise you that Lee or I will be able to protect you.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

I walked them both to the door, and was just about to shut it behind them when Samms paused.

“Oh, and Red? This goes without saying but . . . don’t leave town. You’re on the suspect list, remember.”

I couldn’t help it. I stuck my tongue out and let the door slam . . . hard.