Jax, uh—I—uh—I was calling you because—"
"Because you solved the case," Jackson finished for me.
"Yes, how did you know?" The initial shock of seeing him in the doorway was wearing off, and I was starting to collect myself.
He glanced around the room before zeroing in on the shirt on the floor. "You're standing in Evelyn's room."
"So you know she did it?" I asked.
"I have a strong feeling about it. Just need to find some concrete evidence." He strolled in with that annoyingly easy-going manner. I got a whiff of his aftershave as he walked past me. He stared down at the shirt on the floor. "Looks like you got to the evidence before me."
I looked back toward the doorway. "Where is Evelyn? Florence? Does anyone know yet?"
"Not yet. Evelyn is still busy with the television interview, and the others are either outside or helping in the dining room. I told Mrs. Rush I was going to be looking through all the rooms once more, but I really only needed to see this one. Looks like she packed up everything."
I was somewhat puzzled and surprised that he had zeroed in on Evelyn. "I guess you know about the secret door and the bloody apron?" I asked.
It always felt like a win when I knocked Mr. Confidence off his game. His face snapped my direction. "Secret door? Bloody apron?" His expression immediately fell into lecture mode. "Sunni, I told you not to get involved. It's dangerous and you're not supposed to be snooping around crime scenes."
I'd been a bit dizzy since he walked into the room, but his scolding cleared my head. "Well, someone had to uncover the incriminating evidence, or there would be no case," I said sharply.
There was just enough spark of anger in his eyes that I braced for a second scolding or worse. I half expected him to tell me to stay clear of him completely, both personally and professionally. He had every right to arrest me for obstructing justice by intruding on an investigation. I stood firmly waiting for one of those dreadful scenarios. Instead, his face dropped as he casually raked back his hair.
"You're right. The team was clumsy on this." I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when he looked at me again. "That doesn't make what you did right. I could haul you in for obstructing an investigation, tampering with evidence, and since I know you talked to Thad about his midnight excursion to Camille's room, I could add tampering with witnesses to that list."
"Guilty as charged." I held my hands out with my wrists together. "Guess you can haul me in, Detective Jackson. Only, in my defense, I didn't obstruct your investigation because that would imply that I somehow got in your way or kept you from doing your job. And I didn't tamper with a witness. I discovered a ripped piece of fabric, one that matched Thad's shirt, one that your team missed, on the rose trellis. When I asked him about it—"
His mouth tilted. "You mean when you broke into his room and went through his personal belongings."
"Well, yes, I suppose I did that, but he confessed the whole thing to me right then, so there was no tampering."
He rubbed his chin as he walked over to the window. "Yes, how do you do that?" he asked.
"Do what?"
"Get people to just pour everything out to you. You were in his room, where you had no right to be," he added with a pointed look, "and instead of telling you to get out, he just told you everything." His gaze landed on my face. One of those heated, tense moments ensued until he continued. "Must be something about that face of yours, just makes people feel like they need to tell you everything."
The way he said it sent a low thud through my chest. "Guess it's a skill I learned as a reporter," I said weakly.
"I suppose," he said. Another moment of silence overtook the room. We looked at each other and then both pretended to survey the room. It was basically neat as a pin with nothing seemingly out of place.
"Soo—" he said, turning the short word into something much longer. "Bloody apron? Secret door?"
"Yes, we need to go into Camille's room. But before we leave here take note of these dusty shoes and the cobwebs on the shoulders of Evelyn's t-shirt. They'll be significant in a few minutes." Even with the tension and layers of emotion between us, I was proud of my investigation. I'd done it on my own with no insider information. And it seemed I'd beat the police to the punch. Or had I? It occurred to me that Jackson hadn't told me how he figured out it was Evelyn.
We headed into the hallway. Florence was just walking out of her room wearing a rose colored dress for the dinner buffet. She looked in good spirits considering how disastrous the weekend had been. She had no idea the weekend was about to get much worse.
"Detective Jackson," she said cheerily, "please join us for the buffet. There is way too much food for just my family, even though I'm sure Thad and George will do their best to put a dent in it." She laughed merrily. The sound of it made my stomach knot up. Jackson had devastating news for the matriarch of the Davenport family, but it seemed he wasn't quite ready to dump it on her yet.
"Thank you for the offer, but I'll have to pass. Smells great though. I can smell it from here."
"Yes, the caterer did a wonderful job. If you change your mind, we're going to be gathered in the dining room for our last meal in this house. It's a lovely place, but as I'm sure you can imagine, we're all anxious to leave in the morning."
Jackson nodded. "I appreciate all of you staying through the weekend and cooperating with the investigation."
"Sure. Naturally, we want you to find whoever did this. It's frightening to think a murderer is just running around out there somewhere." She waved her arm and fluttered her fingers.
Or right here in the manor, I thought wryly.
"Enjoy your dinner," Jackson said. "I've asked Mrs. Rush for permission to walk through the rooms and hallways again."
She couldn't stop a slight eye roll. "Of course, but it's such a waste of time. You should be out there looking for the killer, the person who snuck across the grounds at midnight. That's the person you need to find," she said with a confident dusting of her shoulder. "I won't get in your way." She clacked away purposefully on short, squat heels.
We headed to Camille's room. I glanced back to make sure Florence had already gone down the stairs. "If you didn't know anything about the bloody apron or the secret passage," I said as he opened the door and we walked inside. "Then how did you know it was Evelyn?"
"A few things Florence told me started my suspicions. Florence insisted she never sent Camille an invitation. She said Evelyn was the one who mailed the invitations."
"So you've seen Camille's invitation?" I headed straight to the vanity and pulled the invite free from its hiding spot.
He released a sigh as he stopped to look at me. "No." He rubbed his forehead. "I'm going to need to talk to Officer Reed and her evidence team. Seems like they did a shabby job in this room." He stared at the envelope. "Although, not sure if this helps the case at all," he added. He turned it back and forth and pulled the invitation out. "Florence showed me an invitation. This one looks pretty much the same."
I reached over and pointed to the special dog stamp. "Evelyn is a—"
"Dog trainer," he finished. "Good detective work, Bluebird."
I was trying not to read much into him calling me by the nickname again, but it somehow made things more relaxed between us. It was almost easy to imagine that nothing had happened, and we were the happy couple once again. But I knew that wasn't the case.
"You still haven't told me what led you to Evelyn," I reminded him.
"Motive. Sometimes when the evidence is sparse I focus on motives. Florence had one. She despised Camille and she worried her arrival would ruin the party. But killing the woman caused it to be cancelled entirely, so it just wouldn't make sense for Florence to murder Camille. Alexa could have had a jealousy motive, the good ole' ex-wife and new wife motive, but she just never really landed on my list. She's a mother of two young boys, and she seemed happy with her marriage. Thad was my other suspect."
"Me too," I said.
He smiled faintly at me. "But you exposed what he was up to. At the same time, you wiped out the midnight intruder theory, a theory that Evelyn hammered home in every interview. But my real break came when I went back to the station and pulled out Camille's phone. I'd been so focused on recent text messages, I didn't go far enough back in her contact list. And what a list that was. She had some very famous people in her phone, and there must have been five hundred people in her contact list."
"Makes sense," I said. "Also makes me sad about my pathetically short contact list. Did you find messages between Evelyn and Camille?" I asked. "Like the ones where Camille told Evelyn she should give up on her dream of getting into show business because she had no talent."
Jackson tilted his head slightly. "You sure know how to ruin a guy's big reveal. So not only did you find the important evidence, but you also uncovered the motive," he said. "I guess I was really off my game this weekend." He gazed at me. "Must have something to do with my heart being snapped in two."
I was just about to say that the heartbreak had come from his side when someone turned the doorknob. Jackson pressed his finger to his mouth to keep me quiet and we stooped down behind the bed.
Jackson dropped to his stomach to spy on her from beneath the bed. Just as I predicted, Evelyn crossed the floor to the closet. She disappeared inside. Our impromptu game of hide and seek went on for about a minute. (It was much more fun than the version I played as a kid.)
He smiled and winked at me as we lay silently behind the bed, waiting to jump out and yell surprise. And it certainly was going to be a surprise.
I could only guess about why Evelyn had gone into the passage, but something told me, with her family downstairs enjoying the buffet, she had finally found time to get rid of the evidence. The bloody apron would obliterate her favorite conspiracy about the midnight visitor. But now, she had put herself squarely in the middle of the crime. It was the second best thing to a confession.
Her footsteps echoed lightly in the narrow passage. Jackson pushed to his feet and lowered his hand to help me to mine. Evelyn emerged from the closet with a paper grocery bag in her hand. It was packed full with the apron. She closed the closet door and still hadn't taken the time to glance across the room.
"Find something interesting in there?" Jackson asked.
Evelyn let out a sound that was halfway between a squeak and a scream. Her face turned a funny shade of ivory as her eyes darted back and forth between us. She forced a smile and put her hand to her chest. "Detective Jackson, you frightened me," she said airily with a laugh. She was a better actress than Camille gave her credit for.
Jackson kept his cool and motioned to the bag. "Looks like you were shopping in Miss Luxley's closet." We circled around the bed to where she was standing.
"This?" She lifted the bag and lowered it instantly. "Not shopping. I was just taking back something that was mine. I lent Camille a blouse. I nearly forgot all about it. I didn't want to leave it behind. It's a favorite of mine."
"But that closet is filled with designer clothes," I said. "Why would she need to borrow a blouse from you?"
Her airy smile was momentarily replaced with a scowl. "Because she liked mine better," she said abruptly.
Jackson stepped closer. Evelyn took an instinctive step back. "I need to get downstairs to dinner. My family will be waiting," she said on a shallow breath. She tried to sidle by Jackson, but he stepped coolly to the side to block her progress.
"I'm afraid I'm going to need to look inside that bag," he said.
The ivory color in her face faded to snow white. Even her lips lost color. I was sure she would faint. She didn't offer the bag, so Jackson reached forward and took it from her grasp.
Jackson looked inside for a second. "Evelyn Davenport, I'm arresting you for the murder of Camille Luxley." He read her her rights but she wasn't listening.
Evelyn stared at him for a long moment before dropping to her knees. "She was a terrible person. She glided around on her three thousand dollar pumps thinking she was the queen of Hollywood. She wasn't even good at her job." She sobbed into her hands then lifted her face. "She deserved it. I knew she would come. I sent the invitation because I knew she'd accept. I knew she wouldn't turn down a chance to torture my mom. And I was right," she boasted. "I was right." She laughed somewhat hysterically. "I admit my plan was somewhat incomplete at first. After she arrived, I had to figure out just how I could get the job done. I was going to wait until later in the weekend, but I decided it would be much easier with the house mostly empty. I surveyed her room, checked access and position and then I got lucky. I saw the secret door in the closet. I had an easy escape. I saw the candlestick in my mom's room, sharp, heavy, just what I needed to crush her hard, overblown head. I took her some tea. The candlestick looked like it was part of the tea set, so she didn't suspect a thing." She wiped her eyes. "As I lowered the tea set to the table, she had the audacity to laugh at me and tell me I would always be a pathetic loser." Evelyn sniffled once and looked up at both of us. "It made my task so much more satisfying. She turned away from me, and I followed with my candlestick. One blow and it was all over."
Jackson pulled his phone out. "Yeah, Jackson here, send a female officer. I'm making an arrest in the Luxley case."
Thirty minutes later, I was helping Lana pack her truck. Another disaster had wiped out the weekend event. Once the police arrived and word reached the family downstairs that Evelyn Davenport had murdered Camille Luxley chaos broke out. There were vehement denials and curses thrown at Detective Jackson for arresting the wrong person. Florence accused him of being too lazy to go after the real killer. Through it all, Evelyn sat quiet and pinch-faced inside the police car. Florence could protest all she wanted, but the killer had confessed. She was going to jail for a long time.
"Sunni," Jackson called from behind as I pushed a box of linen napkins into the truck.
"Go talk to him. I'll get the rest," Lana said.
I crossed the driveway to the bottom of the front steps where Jackson was standing. I pushed my hands into my pockets to try and look casual and aloof, but mostly, I was just hiding the slight tremble in my hands.
Jackson never had a hard time looking me straight in the eye, but today he was glancing around and occasionally staring down at the ground. "Even though you went against my order to stay out of the investigation, I need to thank you for your help. You found the evidence that will make this an open and shut case."
"You know how I love a good murder mystery," I said lightly. "I confess my motive was also selfish. Parker promised me a raise if I got the insider story on the Camille Luxley murder, and boy, did I get the insider story."
He nodded. "That you did." He looked around but I knew there was nothing new to see. "Sunni, I just—" He paused. "I feel like there's some big secret between us and I—"
"There is," I blurted before I could stop myself. "And it's something I want to tell you but I can't. Not now, anyhow."
He nodded. "I guess I'll give you your space then. Maybe someday we'll be able to be together without any secrets to get in the way."
My eyes ached as I felt the same darn pain of heartbreak all over again. "Someday," I said weakly.