“How am I going to find out where Jason Whiteley was earlier that morning or the night before?” Isobel asked Delphi.
“I hate to break it to you, but that isn’t your job,” Delphi said, striding ahead of her. “Hurry up! I don’t want to be late.”
Isobel jogged to keep up, trying to avoid the patches on the sidewalk that had iced over from the sleet the night before. “But the police have dropped the case, and it doesn’t make any sense that it was Angus.”
By the time she caught up, Delphi was ringing the buzzer for Graham’s studio. Isobel was beginning to wish she hadn’t committed her Saturday to helping paint set pieces for King John, but Delphi had roped in Sunil, too. She and Delphi squeezed into the tiny, old elevator, which creaked upwards with a disconcerting rattle as it passed each floor.
“And the more I think about it, the more I think Jason was acting not just tired, but downright woozy when he showed up at the office,” Isobel continued.
“I hate this friggin’ thing,” muttered Delphi, her eyes closed.
“You okay?”
“Just a little claustrophobic.”
They emerged onto the sixth floor, and Delphi relaxed visibly. With renewed energy, she led the way to Graham’s studio. It was freezing, despite the space heaters arranged optimistically around the outer edges. There were flats in various stages of decoration, and a few hardy souls were trying to hold onto their needles as they basted hems on skirts that would have paired nicely with Delphi’s blouse du jour. Sunil was there already, on his knees, painting an arch. He sat back and dipped his brush in turpentine as they came in.
“‘When shall we three meet again?’” Sunil quoted in welcome.
Delphi blanched, and Sunil’s fellow painters gasped and stared at him in horror.
“What?” He looked around, bewildered. “It’s Macbeth.”
Gary Stinson shrieked and clutched his chest.
“Out!” hollered Delphi, pointing an accusatory finger at Sunil.
He jumped to his feet. “Oh, come on! And I got here before you!”
Delphi put her hands on Sunil’s shoulders and steered him out of the room. Isobel followed, while the others murmured frantically behind them.
When they reached the hall, Sunil folded his arms, and gave his annoyance full rein. “You better have a good reason for this.”
“How can you not know?” Delphi fairly wheezed. “It’s bad luck to quote from the Scottish play unless you’re in rehearsal for it. And you’re not supposed to say the actual name in a theater. It’s terrible luck!”
“Last I checked we were in a studio.”
“It doesn’t matter! We’re performing here, so for all practical purposes it’s a theater. Don’t you see? You’ve cursed our play, and we open on Thursday!”
Sunil threw a pleading glance at Isobel. “This is crazy. Tell her this is crazy!”
Isobel shrugged helplessly. “A lot of actors take this stuff seriously.”
“You have to turn around three times, spit, curse, and then knock on the door and ask to be allowed back in,” Delphi said.
Sunil snorted. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Do it!” Delphi demanded.
She pulled Isobel back into the studio and slammed the door in Sunil’s face.
Everyone in the room, including Graham, stared expectantly at the closed door. After a moment, there was a knock.
“What do you want?” asked Delphi.
Sunil’s answer was muffled through the thick metal, so Delphi opened the door a crack.
“May I come back in now?”
“Did you do what I asked?”
“Yes.”
Delphi looked at the others for approval. Heads nodded solemnly, and she let Sunil back in.
“I thought you’d be impressed,” Sunil said dolefully, as they returned to their paints.
“Not with that quote,” Delphi said.
Sunil gave an exaggerated sigh. “There’s no pleasing some people.”
Before the conversation could devolve further, Isobel reintroduced the question of Jason Whiteley’s whereabouts the night before his death, filling in Sunil, who grasped the new topic gratefully.
“There’s no reason to think Jason was spending time with anyone from Dove & Flight after hours,” he said. “Especially if he was going to see them all the next day.”
“We already know he was at Starbucks with Angus. The idea in and of itself isn’t farfetched,” Isobel pointed out.
“Big difference between a cup of coffee before work and a slumber party,” Delphi said, reaching across Sunil to add a dash of gold to his arch. “There, that’s much better.”
“I get what you’re saying,” Isobel said, “but there are at least two other people I can think of that he had reason to see outside of work. Kit Blanchard was related to Jason by marriage.” She swallowed. “And then there’s Katrina.”
“Kit and Kat. There’s a recipe for confusion,” Sunil said. “Maybe you’ll find a recording of Jason gasping a name while choking on a cocktail, and you’ll get the wrong one arrested.”
“Isn’t Katrina your friend from college?” Delphi asked.
“Fair weather, but yes.” Isobel cleared her throat. “James says she and Jason were dating, but I don’t know if I believe him.”
Sunil gave her a shrewd look. “I thought you trusted James absolutely. I believe those were your exact words. Or is that only when you like what he has to say?”
Isobel’s face grew hot. “I’m just saying maybe his information is bad.”
“Why would you think that?” Delphi asked.
Isobel dipped her brush in a can of red paint and swirled it around. “Partly because it came from Jayla, but mostly because Katrina never mentioned it to me.”
“Why should she? Especially since you’re obviously so hot to make a connection to the murder,” said Delphi. “If she didn’t kill him, it’s none of your business. And if she did? Well, then it’s really none of your business!”
“I still don’t understand why you’re so determined to tie Jason’s murder back to Dove & Flight,” Sunil said.
“Instinct. Detective O’Connor said it’s rule number two of police work. Follow your instincts.”
“What’s rule number one?” Sunil asked.
“I forget.”
Delphi shoved her with her booted foot. “You do not.”
“It’s not relevant,” Isobel said curtly. “There’s something about the way it all happened, the timing, that makes it seem like whoever did it wanted him to be found in the office for some reason.”
“The most likely reason is to mess up the takeover, right?” asked Sunil.
“And the only person who really had a stake in that died of natural causes,” Delphi said. “So there’s a dead end, pardon the pun.”
“But is it?” Isobel raised her brush and let the excess drip back into the can. “What if James is telling the truth about Katrina and Jason? It wouldn’t be her first lie. I’m pretty sure she lied to me about some emails she sent about a client in Brazil.”
Delphi stood and stretched her legs. “Lying doesn’t make a person capable of murder.” She rattled her empty paint can. “Be right back.”
“She’s right,” Sunil whispered. “I lied before about cursing outside the door and all that stuff, and I’m no murderer.”
Isobel gasped. “If Delphi ever finds out, she’ll become one!”
“Come on, you don’t really believe that crap, do you?” He gave a sharp laugh, then his dark features grew pensive. “Do you?”
“It’s foolish to tempt fate.”
“Is that rule number one of police work?”
“No. Rule number one is ‘Don’t assume.’”
They regarded each other thoughtfully for a moment. Delphi plopped down next to them with a fresh can of gold paint.
“You know,” she said, “Katrina does have a couple of good motives packed in there. And she and Jason could have seen each other the night before. Or that morning if they spent the night together.”
“There’s something else, too,” Isobel said, chewing her lip. “I kind of brushed it off at the time, but it’s something Liz said. About Barnaby having a ‘thing’ for Katrina.”
“What do you think that means?” Delphi asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m betting it’s more professional than romantic. Maybe Barnaby sees Katrina as his key to future success. If he thinks she’s on his side, and he finds out she’s actively opposing him…” Isobel looked up. “I don’t think Barnaby’s the kind of person who deals well with betrayal.”
Delphi sat back on her heels. “Wait. Now I’m confused. Are you concerned about Katrina or for her?”
“Until I find out what she’s hiding from me—both.”