CHAPTER

forty-three

I ARRIVED WITH THE cats before the requisite time at Marina’s townhouse. Using gloves, I retrieved the perfume bottle from the chest, opened it, and let Nimbus sniff. She arched her back in response.

“It’s definitely the source of the funny smell on Helen—the poison,” Marshmallow said.

I placed the bottle of perfume behind me and removed my gloves. Marshmallow and Nimbus stationed themselves beside me on each side, like guardian foo statues.

Marshmallow unsheathed his claws. “I’m ready for the showdown.”

The doorbell rang right on time. I made him sweat it out, fiddling with my phone and clicking the mute button, before calling out, “It’s open.”

Scott Reed marched in with confident steps. He wore his usual suit, accessorized with a diamond-patterned scarf loosely knotted around his neck.

I gave my head a sad shake. “So, it was you all along.”

He checked his watch. “How long will Helen’s roommate be gone?”

I shrugged. “Marina told me before where she keeps the spare key, and she usually works mornings at the antique shop, so we’ve got time.”

He looped the scarf around his neck. “Where did you put the evidence, Mimi?”

“All in due course.”

His eyes swiveled around the room, but he wouldn’t know where to even begin. “How did you figure it out anyway?” he said. “Know it was me?”`

“By the bottom of the bottle.”

He nodded. “The foreign script stamped on by the manufacturing company.”

I pointed to Nimbus. “Plus, this little kitty sniffed it out. She’d smelled something fishy on Helen and also acted odd when I draped her with that shawl you gave me from the memorial service. The one that’s vibrant red from mercury—”

“Actually, it’s cinnabar. Makes the bright color.” His mouth twitched. “But mercury can be extracted from the ore. The manufacturer I own also added an extra catalyst to boost the poison and speed up its effects.”

My voice came out scratchy. “How could you kill your own flesh and blood? You even tried to frame Helen’s fiancé as the murderer. Left a package at the door supposedly from him. It was addressed to ‘My little surfer girl.’”

“Such an easy trick. I mean, he mentioned his cutesy nickname for Helen all the time in his whiny e-mails to me begging for money.”

“I really don’t get it.” My throat seemed to close up.

He ran a hand through his light brown hair but didn’t say a word.

“Quid pro quo,” I said, using a term I’d heard Josh toss around. “Tell me why, and I’ll let you know where I put the bottle.”

His lips flattened into a thin line, but he said, “Deal.”

“Spill it.”

“Helen forced me to do this. I did right by her, raised her up as a single father even though her mother had been killed by her being born.” A vein throbbed in his forehead. “I provided Helen with an amazing education.”

Her time with Pixie. “The boarding school,” I murmured.

“Helen was an ungrateful little girl. But I figured she’d grow out of her adolescent moodiness, especially when she turned eighteen. I’d really hoped she’d buckle down and focus on the family business after her first trust fund kicked in.”

I tugged my earlobe. “That’s right. She was a ‘double trust kid.’” Pixie had nicknamed Helen that.

“Yes, the second trust would follow whenever she got married.” He looked at me without flinching. “I needed the money I’d trapped under her name. My business would’ve collapsed without the extra financial boost.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re not doing well financially? I thought you ran a lucrative international business.”

He made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat. “I can see the writing on the wall. No one wants to buy the merchandise I sell anymore.”

“But I saw customers at your booth during the crafts bazaar . . .” Which was an annual event. The pet toy vendor there had said Scott attended every year. How long had Helen’s father been plotting her murder?

Scott didn’t notice my internal dread. He said, “The customers at the bazaar wanted to know if I offered any dye-free materials. Everyone wants eco-friendly accessories with dull, ugly colors.”

Huh. Isn’t that what Indira had told me when she’d given me her latest versions of the doggie pouches? And the hues on those carriers had been more muted than her typical designs. “Couldn’t you just have borrowed the money from Helen?”

“I practically groveled for it, but she wouldn’t budge, even though I bailed her out last year with the school.” His voice came out as a snarl. “And I couldn’t alter the irrevocable trusts. She would get even more of my hard-earned money once she married.”

Marshmallow growled from beside me as I said, “So you killed her before that could happen.”

Scott started loosening the knot on his scarf. “I thought I’d thwarted the proposal by not lending Brandon any money, but they still got engaged. Helen even bragged about how she’d be married in Vegas. I had to act quickly.”

Too bad Scott hadn’t known the marriage would be phony, a fake ceremony planned by Helen to push his buttons.

“They’d even booked some vacation plans to a cozy Fiji resort,” Scott said. “No doubt for their honeymoon.”

Guess Brandon hadn’t wanted to cancel their post pretend wedding plan even after Helen’s demise. Must have been the siren call of stellar surfing that his coworker had mentioned.

“I didn’t kill my daughter,” Scott said. “She did it to herself.”

I shivered. Is that how he could sleep at night—by changing the facts? “You gave her the poisoned perfume. Even primed her to wear it for Valentine’s Day by the label on the bottle. Be Mine and a heart shape?” That was subliminal messaging at its most devious.

He shrugged. “The police don’t suspect a thing. They never even checked the date of my plane ticket.” The officials had taken his word that he’d arrived after Helen’s death—just like I had. I’d bought his whole grieving father act with Principal Lewis at the Family and Friends Day hook, line, and sinker.

“I’d flown in earlier,” he said.

I gulped. “At the beginning of the month. I remember the owner of Angelic Suites telling me you’d gotten the discounted hotel rate for booking your room for the whole month.”

“Businessman to businesswoman,” Scott said, “let’s make a deal. If you don’t tell a soul”—he reached into his suit pocket and waved a rectangular paper in the air—“you’ll be able to cash this.”

“I’m listening.”

“I bet you could use an infusion into your banking account. Get even more clients with the latest grooming equipment.” He slipped me the check.

I gasped at the large amount of money written on it.

“Deal?” he repeated.

I mumbled something unintelligible.

“Mimi, I’ll be needing an answer.” His tone was light but held a hint of warning.

My eyes flickered upward before I answered. “Fine, I won’t say a word to the police.”

“I knew you’d see the light.” He played with the scarf loosely draped over his shoulders and smiled. “Now where’s the perfume?”

I stepped to the side and revealed the bottle sitting on the floor.

His eyes lit up in recognition. But he didn’t just grab the bottle like I’d anticipated.

Instead he lunged forward and whipped his scarf up at the same time. “Too bad you tied your scarf on so tight, Mimi.”

Before I could scream or even react, he’d looped the scarf around my neck and started tightening it.

I heard Marshmallow hiss with fury. Pinpricks of light appeared at the edges of my vision.