If Kate hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn they were standing in an actual cellar. Only steps from the caterer’s kitchen, the Duvals’ wine cave lived up to the name. The walls were plaster, the floor stone. The room was crafted with the kind of roughhewn handiwork that required piles of money to achieve. And it was cavernous. Truly a cave. Kate estimated at least a dozen guests, yet it didn’t seem crowded in the least.
Wooden racks loaded with bottles lined the walls. Some were actually set into the walls. And while the wood glowed with polish and care, many of the bottles bore a light blanket of dust.
The air was chilly. The climate control that Maxi had mentioned? And there wasn’t a single window. The only thing missing from a true cellar was a set of stairs.
Even with the abundant size of the room, Kate felt the same tingle of claustrophobia that had always shadowed her in Jeanine’s dusty basement.
Fake it till I make it, fake it till I make it, she chanted silently in her mind as she took another sip of wine.
“Kate, this is Sunny Eisenberg,” Maxi said. “She runs the yoga studio just off Main Street.”
“We met at the bakery,” Sunny said, clasping Kate’s hand genially. “But you still haven’t accepted my offer of a free class.”
“Be careful,” Maxi warned. “If anybody can get you hooked on yoga, it’s Sunny. I drop in a couple of times a week.”
“One of my prize pupils,” Sunny said with a grin. “Horrible about the bakery. Word around town is they’ve arrested Sam? What on earth are they thinking? That man’s no more a murderer than I am.”
“We feel the same way,” Maxi said, nodding. “In fact, we’ve promised to help him keep the bakery going until this mess gets straightened out.”
“Good for you girls! Just let me know when you reopen; I’ll stop by to pick up some goodies. Don’t tell anyone, but I think Sam’s yeast rolls are the real reason people show up for my six a.m. class. I put out a little spread afterward with local jam and butter. The students think I don’t hear them, but they call it Stretch and Starch. And they pick the platters clean.”
“Can a pastry chef make yeast rolls?” Maxi stage-whispered as Sunny moved out of earshot.
“Yeah, although I’m going to need to run a few practice batches of my breads. It’s a lot more humid here.”
“That matters? I thought that was—what’s the phrase?—an old wives’ tale.”
“It matters like you wouldn’t believe. But I know how to adjust. I’ll just need a few run-throughs.”
“My kitchen is at your command.” Maxi giggled. “And I call dibs on any flop cakes. Oh, good. Rosie and Andre are here. You’ll love them. They run an antique store. There are a couple in Coral Cay, but theirs is the best. As Time Goes By. Some really expensive stuff, but some bargains, too. Beautiful things you can really use. Not old tchotchkes. Oh, and some very nice jewelry.”
Kate looked across the room and spied a handsome couple. Both looked to be in their mid-thirties. She was willowy and beautiful, with mocha-colored skin, close-cropped hair, and—at least to Kate’s eyes—not a hint of makeup. Her husband was just as tall, olive skinned with a stocky build and a dark, slightly receding hairline. Each with a glass in hand, they leaned toward each other, laughing. A private joke. An intimate moment.
Kate smiled. “Do they know Sam?”
“Everyone here knows Sam. But yeah, they like him. And he’s helped them out a couple of times. You’ve met Carl Ivers, right?” Maxi said, eyeing the ex-cop talking with Amos Tully and a statuesque African-American woman in a yellow watered-silk dress.
“Yeah, he changed the locks on Sam’s doors after the break-in. Is that his wife?”
“Minette. She’s a hoot. And a great cook. If you’re lucky, they’ll invite you for dinner. She brought a mac-and-cheese dish tonight that will make you cry. She crumbles crispy bacon over the top. And there’s another flavor I can’t place. It’s the best. Anyway, Carl is gonna be primo for our mission. If we can get him on our side…,” Maxi added, letting the thought hang in the air.
“For what it’s worth, he was decidedly unimpressed with Kyle’s investigation of the break-in.”
“See? That’s a good sign.”
“I hesitate to even ask, but is Kyle Hardy a member of your group?”
“Uh-uh. We have a strict ‘no bobo’ rule. Written right into the bylaws. Seriously, I don’t think that boy is much of a reader. Ben drops by sometimes, when he can. But with everything going on in town, I don’t think we’re gonna see him for a while. And I’m kinda relieved.”
“How come?”
“I don’t think he’s happy with Kyle, either. But he’s very loyal. And he might feel he has to stand by the department. Whether he agrees or not.”
“Who’s the man talking with Harp?”
“That’s Dr. Patel. Rakesh Patel. He’s our town G.P. It would really help to get him on our side, too. He’s super logical. What’s the word Peter used?… ‘Methodical.’ And see the woman adjusting the dishes on the buffet table? That’s Annie Kim. Her parents own the drugstore, and she joined them as the pharmacist a couple of years ago. She’s also killer on a surfboard. That girl can dance on waves. She’s won a couple of competitions. Huge Agatha Christie fan. In fact, she suggested tonight’s book. It was Christie’s very first.”
“That’s why it sounded familiar. I know I’ve read it. But it’s been years.”
Across the room, Harp smiled and raised his glass to them.
“Uh-oh, somebody likes you,” Maxi said under her breath.
“He’s married. And that’s definitely not my type.”
“I’m not saying he’d actually try anything,” Maxi intoned, barely above a whisper. “But in the kitchen? He was looking at you like you were one of those bottles of red wine he likes so much.”
“No, I think he was just being a good host,” Kate protested. But the knot in her gut told her otherwise.
Harp was handsome. And he definitely had charisma. But the notion filled Kate with dread.
Truth be told, she still loved Evan. She’d left him. She’d put fourteen hundred miles between them. And she wasn’t going back. But she still loved him.
Besides, the last thing she needed was another playboy.
“Who’s that?” she asked, inclining her chin toward the buffet table, where Annie was chatting with a solidly built woman with short salt-and-pepper hair.
“That’s Barb Showalter. She owns the bookstore. Coral Cay Books. This club is her baby. Even though Harp is the host, she’s the leader. La presidenta. And that young couple over there talking with Gabe? You definitely want to meet them. They run a really popular local pub. Right on Main Street. Oy and Begorra. One of Sam’s biggest clients.”
Gabe spotted Kate and Maxi and waved. Kate smiled and returned the gesture.
“Oy and Begorra?” Kate asked.
Maxi noticed her friend’s puzzled expression. “Bridget O’Hanlon and Andy Levy. Newlyweds. Their restaurant is great. Like a real Irish pub and a great Jewish deli. All rolled into one. Peter and I eat there all the time. The brisket melts in your mouth. And it’s affordable. Not like those places in resort town. The coffee’s good, too. Not as good as mine. But close.”
Kate took a deep breath, trying to release the tension she felt. What if they couldn’t do this? What would happen to Sam?
She followed up with a small sip of wine.
Maxi patted her arm and smiled. “It’s gonna be OK. These people are friends. We’re just gonna share some good food and chat.”
Kate nodded, repeating the mantra in her head.
“All right, ladies and gentleman,” Harp intoned to the group. “The buffet line is officially open. Please help yourselves to this delicious repast.” He held a half-empty carafe aloft. “And as you undoubtedly know already, around here the bar is never closed.”
There were titters from the guests. Maxi and Kate exchanged a knowing look.
As the club members milled around the buffet table, Kate stepped back and appraised it from a food professional’s point of view. The selection was dazzling. At least four kinds of meats and an equal array of imported cheeses shared space with a bountiful selection of chutneys, mustards, relishes, and pickles. Guests had also loaded the table with offerings, including Minette Ivers’ famous mac and cheese, two different kinds of quiche, and an enormous pan of fragrant lasagna. There was also a variety of potato salads, cold salads, and slaws. A drinks table sagged under the weight of pitchers of lemonade, iced tea, and sangria and several bottles of wine. An ice chest beside it on the floor held a treasure trove of imported beer.
“Puts a Tudor monarch to shame, no?” Gabe said, handing her a white china plate. Today the mechanic was wearing a sky-blue Hawaiian shirt and pressed chinos. The reflective sunglasses were perched atop his head.
“I’ve never seen anything like it outside a restaurant or a hotel,” Kate admitted.
“Harp doesn’t do things halfway. And he uses these events to publicize products from his shop. That way, it’s a write-off, too,” he said, shrugging. “You settling in OK? I heard about the thing with Sam.”
“I’m fine. But I am worried about him. And he’s more concerned about the bakery than anything else. Maxi and I promised we’d run it for him temporarily.”
Gabe smiled. “That sounds like the Sam I know. And I’m glad you guys are keeping it going. In the interim,” he added quickly. “But you’ll have your work cut out for you replicating his sourdough. Oh, and by the way, Gwendolyn is just fine. Coming along nicely, in fact.”
It took Kate a few seconds to remember: Gwendolyn was what he’d nicknamed her ailing car.
“You’ve been working on it? Her?” She didn’t know whether to be grateful or horrified. She wanted her car. Needed it, in fact. But she had no money, and her only prospect for a paycheck was sitting in the local lockup.
“Nothing big. Just flushing some of the systems and removing a bit of the gunk. In my spare time and off the books. I can’t run a bakery. But I can help someone who’s helping a friend.”
“Wait, you already knew about that?”
He grinned. “This is a very small town. The cell service might be iffy, but we’re wired in other ways. Look, if I can assist Sam in any way, just say the word. That guy is like his sourdough: crusty on the outside, soft and warm on the inside. But I never said that.”
Kate relaxed. Maybe this would be all right after all.
She smelled the food and, for the first time all day, was genuinely famished. She recalled a foodie friend’s sage advice on buffets: Skip the bread basket and sample a tablespoon of everything. Then double back for seconds of the really good stuff.
Eyeing the table, Kate suspected it was all really good stuff.
When she caught up with Maxi, her friend had snagged seats next to the Armands.
“Rosie, Andre, this is Kate McGuire. Kate, this is Rosie and Andre Armand. They run As Time Goes By. Kate’s a pastry chef. She’s moving to Coral Cay, and she’s probably going to need to pick up a few things.”
“Oh, decorating a new place is always fun,” Rosie said, smiling. “Where are you moving from?”
“New York,” Kate said. “Manhattan.”
Andre smiled at his wife. “We’ve had some great buying trips in the five boroughs,” he said with a slight French accent. “Last year, we even got last-minute tickets to Hamilton. Have you seen it?”
“My fiancé and I—my ex-fiancé and I—went last spring. It was fantastic.” It had been a magical night, Kate remembered with a familiar pang. All the more luminous because she and Evan were just falling in love.
“So are you decorating a house or an apartment?” Rosie asked, slicing off a bite-sized piece of lasagna with her fork.
“A room, actually.”
“She’s bunking at the bakery until she can find a place,” Maxi explained. “Sam’s letting out a room upstairs.”
“We heard about the incident with Stewart Lord,” Andre said. “How is Sam?”
“About as well as you’d expect,” Maxi said. “He’s worried about the Cookie House. He asked us to keep it open. Just until he gets everything straightened out.”
“Good,” Rosie said emphatically. “There’s no way Sam would hurt anyone. Not even Lord Stewart Lord.”
“The man was a snake,” Andre said, his mild French accent catching on the last word. “He wanted to turn this town into some kind of vacation playground for the very rich. People who live and work here? He wants us gone. Zap! No place in his plans for the likes of us.”
Rosie patted her husband’s arm reassuringly. “One of our customers worked for him. Muriel Hopkins. Did you ever meet her?”
Maxi shook her head.
“Let’s just say she shared a few stories,” Rosie drawled. “That man was an ogre. The way he treated his employees? Forget humane. He wasn’t even human.”
“Have you talked with her in the last few days?” Kate asked. “I’m curious what happens to his big plans now.” And who inherits his fortune, she thought.
Andre shook his head sadly. “She is dead,” he said simply. “Last month. A heart attack. She was not terribly old, but she had always the bad heart.”
“It was stress, pure and simple,” Rosie added. “That man worked her to death. He expected her to be at his beck and call twenty-four-seven. Whatever crazy thing he wanted, whenever he wanted it. And half the time, he’d change his mind at the last minute and demand something else. I think the coullion did it on purpose.”
“That’s awful,” Maxi said.
“Coullion?” Kate asked simultaneously.
Andre laughed heartily, his face turning pink. He nudged his wife’s shoulder with his own.
“Sorry, that just slipped out,” Rosie said with a rueful smile. “French slang. Let’s just say if we were talking about a bull, it’s the part you probably wouldn’t eat. I’m sorry, but if they want mourners at that man’s funeral they’re going to have to rent them by the hour.”
Maxi, finishing a bite of mac and cheese, nodded.
“We don’t think Sam did it,” Kate said. “But Stewart Lord did have a lot of enemies. We were hoping that maybe the Coral Cay Irregulars could take a look at it. And figure out what really happened.”
“Solve an actual mystery?” Rosie asked.
“Why not?” Maxi said. “It happened in our town. And they’re saying one of our own did it. It’s like the puzzles in the books we read. It happened in a closed bakery kitchen. But Sam was the only one in there. And we know it wasn’t him—”
“A mystery in a locked room!” Andre exclaimed.
“Exactly,” Kate said. “So who’s the real culprit, and how was it done?”
Rosie and Andre exchanged a look and both smiled in unison. “Count us in,” she said.
Kate did a quick count in her head. With Gabe and Sunny, that made five—plus herself. Out of fourteen Irregulars. They still had a ways to go to win over the group. And Maxi was right: Dr. Patel and Carl Ivers would be crucial. Having Harp or Barb on their side wouldn’t hurt, either.
“So how do Sam and Barb get along?” Kate asked softly as Rosie and Andre hit the buffet line for seconds.
“Cats and dogs,” Maxi said. “They never agree on anything. Except Stewart Lord. And Cookie. Barb and Cookie were friends. Honestly, I don’t think Cookie ever met a stranger.”
“What did she do before they came here?”
“Cookie was a teacher. Elementary school. And she was great with kids. Even my boys were on their best behavior around her. Kinda like they are with you.”
Kate grinned. “They’ll get sick of me soon enough. Or sick of sleeping in the living room. Do you think Barb will support Sam?”
Maxi smiled. “She went to visit him this morning. Took him a bag of books and magazines to pass the time.”
“I’m surprised he accepted them,” Kate said.
“She told him they were overstocks and she either had to throw them out or pay to send them back. At least, that’s the story I heard.”
“It sounds like she’s in his corner.”
“Barb is practical,” said Maxi. “Whether she believes Sam’s innocent or not, she’s happy Lord is gone.”
“Who isn’t?” Kate said quietly. “That suspect list is getting longer by the minute. I’d love to know what happens with Lord’s plans for downtown now that he’s out of the picture. I don’t suppose there’s been anything on the Coral Cay grapevine about that?”
“All kinds of theories. No real news. Not yet.”
In spite of themselves, Kate and Maxi hit the buffet line again. Kate carved a few slices of Harp’s smoked turkey and dropped them onto one of the scallion pancakes. She followed up with a healthy slice of caramelized onion quiche, while Maxi dove into the lasagna.
“Nutmeg,” Kate whispered to her friend as they split what little was left of Minette’s mac and cheese.
“What?” Maxi asked, mystified.
“The subtle flavor you couldn’t quite place. Minette uses a dash of nutmeg. It brings out the sweetness of the cheese.”
Maxi sampled a forkful from her own plate and sighed happily. “Mmmm, that’s it. So good. Well, at least we solved one mystery.”
As they polished off brunch, Kate realized Maxi had been right. While the resort meals had been first-rate, she’d never eaten better in her life than the past couple of days. Between her friend’s house and the book club spread, Coral Cay—the real Coral Cay—was a foodie paradise.
Good thing she didn’t have a car. A little extra walking would burn the calories.
When Barb Showalter stepped to the front of the room, Maxi and Kate exchanged a nod.
“OK, people, now that we’ve cleaned our plates and drained poor Harp’s wine collection, time to discuss the real reason we’re all here—one of the classics from the Queen of Crime herself—”
The florist raised her hand.
“Maxi, something to add? You’ve got the floor.”
She stood. “Ye-es, but it’s not about the book. You all live here, so you’ve all heard the news. Sam Hepplewhite is a friend of ours. He’s a kind, gentle man, not a killer. He and Cookie have helped a lot of us over the years. With money, with time, with advice. Sam’s a big part of Coral Cay. And a big part of our downtown community, too. So instead of talking about a murder mystery in a book, I say we talk about the real murder mystery that happened right here in our own town.”
Barb’s eyebrows went up, and she scanned the room. Some members seemed equally baffled. Others nodded in agreement with Maxi.
“OK, let’s do this right,” the club leader said. “How about we put it to a vote? All those in favor of devoting part of this meeting to the Stewart Lord murder, raise your hands.”
Kate looked around anxiously. Every hand in the room shot up. Except one.
Carl Ivers.
Minette elbowed him in the ribs. He put a hand shoulder high. A low wave.
“All right, it’s unanimous,” Barb concluded. “We have a topic. Who wants to share first?”
Carl fully extended his arm. Barb nodded.
“Look folks, crime—real crime—is a whole different animal. I’ve been a cop and a detective for most of my working life. It’s not what you read in books or see on TV. The clues don’t always line up flush. We don’t have whiz-bang, Dick Tracy forensics. And murderers aren’t always monsters. Sometimes they’re just regular folks who get pushed too far.”
“Who’s Dick Tracy?” Kate heard Bridget ask Andy. He shrugged.
“What I’m sayin’,” the retired cop concluded, “is that this is one time when you want to leave the work to the trained professionals. It’s not like painting your living room or changing out a bathroom faucet. Trust me, when it comes to police work, you don’t want DIY.”
“What if the professionals have arrested the wrong man?” Sunny challenged.
Minette nodded, glaring at her husband.
There was a general grumble of agreement.
“That’s what the courts are for,” Carl said from his seat. “They’ll hear all the facts. If Sam’s innocent, he’ll go free. Maxi, you’re married to an assistant state attorney. You know that’s true.”
“But sometimes mistakes happen,” Maxi countered. “And sometimes people—real people—fall through the cracks. I’m not saying everyone should grab a magnifying glass and crawl through the bushes. I’m just saying that, in this room, we have the eyes and ears of Coral Cay. Kinda like those security cameras they have all over London? Only with people. We can share what we know. And if we come up with anything, we take it to Ben.”
Carl nodded.
“OK, when you put it that way, that could actually be helpful. But remember, we’re witnesses. Not detectives.”
He said that last part gently to Minette, who scowled at him, then turned her head.
“Hang on, I’ve got something that might help,” said Harp, ducking out of the “cellar” and leaving the door open behind him.
He returned lugging a large A-frame chalkboard. “I got this for signage in the shop. But it might come in handy for this. I can jot down what we learn.”
“A very logical approach,” Dr. Patel said, nodding.
“I’ve got a question,” Barb said brusquely. “Everyone says Sam was alone in the bakery when he made those rolls. But he wasn’t. You were there,” she said, pointing at Kate. “So how do we know you didn’t do it?”
“Now, Barb—” Harp started.
“No, she’s right,” Kate said, standing. “And that’s a fair question. First, Sam hired me strictly as counter help. Even though I’m a pastry chef, he never let me bake. That wasn’t what he needed. Second, he checked my references and my credentials thoroughly. I mean he called nearly everybody I’ve worked with in the past eight years. Along with several of my instructors at the culinary institute. He didn’t even care about my pastry skills or my degree. He wanted to verify that I’m honest and trustworthy. And he did that. Last, and maybe most important, he was alone in the kitchen baking all that morning. I was working the counter. When Stewart Lord came into the shop, Sam stepped out carrying the finished rolls and asked me to leave the room. So you have Sam’s word—and mine—that I was never alone with those cinnamon buns.”
“And all of that’s in the police report,” Carl added, nodding.
“What the police report doesn’t say is that I moved here from Manhattan about a week ago. Sam gave me a temporary job and was letting me live upstairs until I found a rental. And a permanent gig at one of the resorts. That morning was the first and only time I ever met Stewart Lord. I’d never even heard of him before. But I know Sam is a good guy. And I know he didn’t do this. I just don’t know who did. And neither does Sam. He’s as baffled by all of this as the rest of us.”
When Kate finished, her knees buckled, dumping her into the chair. Maxi smiled over encouragingly.
Barb nodded, apparently satisfied. And Harp gave her a small smile.
“OK, so what do we know?” he asked, chalk at the ready.
“Lord treated his workers very poorly,” Andre said. “We knew his assistant. We would talk. Some of the stories…” He shook his head.
“OK, Lord was a bad boss,” Harp said, neatly printing “employees” with “bad boss” in parenthesis next to it on the board. “That means his workers might have a motive. This assistant, has she talked to the police?”
“Muriel Hopkins died last month,” Rosie said. “She’d been ill for years. Heart condition.”
Harp nodded.
“But the truth is, Stewart Lord worked her to death,” Rosie blurted. “Bullied her to death.”
“What about all the owners of homes and shops he bought out on the cheap after every storm?” Amos Tully asked. “There was a rumor he was making deals with some of the insurance companies to drag out the claims process. So folks didn’t have a choice if they wanted to survive. They had to take Lord’s lowball offers. He’d get land on the cheap. Insurance companies got to skate on payouts. Win-win for everybody but the property owners. That was me, it’d make my blood boil.”
“OK, so we put ‘former landowners’ on the list,” Harp said. “But given the scale of the man’s business dealings, we’re going to need a much bigger board.”
“Shorthand it for now,” Barb said. “Let the police sort it out.”
“Fair enough.”
“If that’s really true, any of the insurance people in on the deal might have a motive, too,” Andy said. “Especially if a reporter or regulator suspected what was going on.”
“Lord would be a loose end,” his bride agreed.
Harp printed “insurance execs” with two question marks.
“Since Lord was a successful businessman, a money motive would make sense,” said Dr. Patel. “Did Sam have anything to gain financially from his demise?”
“He didn’t,” Gabe said. “Lord had made a couple of lowball offers on Sam’s shop. Even though I think Sam was seriously considering unloading the bakery, he was adamant he’d never sell it to Lord. He didn’t even want to turn the place over to someone who’d possibly sell out to Lord. And, from a practical standpoint, Sam would have gotten a lot more money from just about anyone else.”
Off to the right side of the board, Harp wrote: “Sam ≠ selling to SL.” Under that, he printed: “Sam ≠ $.”
Kate remembered listening to Sam and Lord from the kitchen. The taunting. The threats. No way she was sharing that.
“Sí,” Maxi added. “Sam warned me about Lord, too. He was afraid the guy would try to buy Flowers Maximus for much less than it was worth. Like we’d ever sell.”
“Who inherits Lord’s money and business now that he’s gone?” Minette asked.
Carl Ivers folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.
“He wasn’t married,” Rosie said. “We learned that from Muriel. And his parents were gone.”
“In Christie’s books, there’s always a long-lost relative,” said Annie. “And yeah, I understand this is real life. But Lord could have a sibling or a cousin we know nothing about. It would be nice to learn more about his family. And if he has a will.”
“Hundo P!” Andy exclaimed. “A couple of bad cinnamon rolls and somebody’s gonna get filthy rich.”
“And you can bet that skunk won’t be leaving a nickel to charity,” Tully said.
“So we put down ‘family’ with a question mark,” Harp said. “And I’m writing ‘will’ in all caps. I’d like to get a look at that myself.”
“I, as well,” said Dr. Patel, inclining his head slightly. “‘Follow the money,’ as the journalists say.”
“We need to know more about the women in his life,” said Sunny. “After all, poison is often a woman’s weapon.”
“Or a sneak’s,” said Kate. “Another reason it wasn’t Sam. He’s not a sneak.”
“And he’d have never used Cookie’s bakery to kill someone,” Maxi added. “He loved her too much.”
“That’s actually a pretty good point,” Barb conceded.
“Unless he just saw red and did it on impulse,” said Tully.
“The police haven’t released the name of the poison that was used, but judging by the effects, it wasn’t some everyday household chemical,” Annie argued. “Most likely a drug of some sort. And not a common one. Not something you just have lying around. That kind of murder takes planning.”
“Another reason poison is favored by women,” Sunny concluded.
Harp added “poison = planning” to the list on the right.
“You said his assistant died last month?” Bridget asked.
Rosie and Andre nodded.
“Did he replace her?
“I have not heard,” Andre said. “We knew Muriel because she came into our shop. She loved antiques. And she was charmed by Coral Cay. She talked about buying a little house and settling here when she retired.”
“A new assistant would have access to him,” Bridget said. “And his food. Maybe she didn’t want to end up like her predecessor, so she wrote a new script.”
Sunny smiled, clapping her well-manicured hands. “Girl power.”
Harp wrote “new assistant” with a question mark.
“There wasn’t any assistant with him that morning,” said Tully. “I saw him in that stretch limo he always swans around in. But he had a driver. Did the chauffeur go into the bakery?”
Kate shook her head. “No, he waited outside. Lord ate one of the rolls in front of Sam and took the rest with him. So the driver could have gotten his hands on them later.”
Harp wrote “driver” on the chalkboard.
“Did Muriel have any relatives?” Gabe queried. “Someone who’s angry about her death? Maybe wanted to get even?”
“Family vengeance?” Kate asked.
“An ancient and time-honored motive,” Gabe replied. “Look at the Iliad.”
“I don’t think Muriel had much in the way of family,” Rosie said.
“She had a cat,” Andre supplied helpfully.
“And a job that took up seventy hours a week,” Rosie finished. “That’s why it was such a special occasion when she had a few hours to come out here.”
“Sam may have had the opportunity, but it doesn’t look like he had a motive,” Harp said, studying the chalkboard.
“Depending on the poison, he may not have had the means, either,” Annie said. “I’d love to see the forensic report.” She looked at Carl. “Is that possible?”
He shrugged. “That’s up to Ben. Or Kyle. And the state attorney’s office.”
Kate looked at Maxi, who gave an infinitesimal nod.
“Mmmm-hmmm, not exactly the slam-dunk case we keep hearing about,” Minette announced to no one in particular.
“Shall we put it to a vote?” Harp asked Barb. “To see where we stand?”
She nodded decisively.
“OK, just based on what we’ve learned so far,” he said to the room, “who thinks Sam is innocent?”
Fourteen arms shot up.
“Who thinks the case needs more evidence—one way or the other?”
Carl Ivers raised a lone hand.
“And who’s convinced that Sam Hepplewhite killed Stewart Lord?”
They all looked around the room. Kate’s face relaxed into a smile. Maxi bounced excitedly in her seat.
Not a single hand.