seventeen

After Deborah left, I turned to Marcy. “What do you think?”

She shook her head. “Nic, you know I can’t get into this with you right now.”

I smiled and shrugged. “Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess. Speaking of which, did you notice the wineglasses by the sink? They’ve been rinsed, but not very well. Looks like there’s some lipstick on one of them.”

Marcy glanced over toward the sink. “Brian?” she said. “You want to bag those glasses for me?”

Brian nodded and went in search of an evidence bag. Once he’d bagged the glasses, he went outside to give them to the Forensics team.

“Any chance I can take a look at the bedroom?” I asked. “I won’t touch a thing. I promise.”

Marcy sighed. “Fine. But be quick. Brian is going to give me hell for you being here as it is.”

I nodded my thanks and headed for the bedroom. Nigel trailed behind me. Marcy stood in the doorway and watched us, her arms crossed against her chest. There was a queen bed in the center of the far wall flanked by twin nightstands. The sheets were rumpled and the black comforter hung off to one side. A medium-size chest of drawers was pushed up against the right wall. Pushed against the left wall was a desk, a laptop computer, and small filing cabinet. To the left of the manuscript sat a glass decanter. Nigel walked over to it and eyed the amber fluid curiously. “Can I open this?” he asked Marcy after a minute.

“Nigel, I get that you enjoy your scotch and all, but really?” Marcy replied, her nose wrinkling in annoyance.

Nigel rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to drink it, Marcy. I just want to smell it.” He glanced back at the decanter.

“Why, what’s wrong with it?” I asked.

Nigel tilted his head. “I don’t know. The color is off or something. It doesn’t look right.”

“Well, you would certainly know,” I said to Nigel as I shot Marcy a questioning look.

Marcy uncrossed her arms and crossed over to the desk. Slipping on a pair of blue latex gloves, she gingerly lifted up the glass topper. Nigel moved his head down toward the now open decanter but Marcy held up a hand to stop him. “Ladies first, if you don’t mind, Nigel. Or rather, detectives first,” she said. Bringing her nose up close to the opening, Marcy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. After a moment she inhaled again. She opened her eyes and peered at the liquid and then glanced up at Nigel. “I don’t smell anything odd,” she admitted, “but then, I don’t drink the stuff.”

She stood up and moved away from the desk, waving Nigel in to her vacated spot as she did. Leaning over the decanter, Nigel briefly inhaled. His nose twitched in distaste and stood up quickly.

“Well?” Marcy asked.

“It’s not right,” Nigel said, staring down at the liquid.

Marcy raised an eyebrow. “And you can tell that just by sniffing it?”

Nigel tilted his head and shot her a level look. “Is that a serious question?” he asked.

“Right,” she acknowledged with a small sigh. “Of course you can.”

“Marcy? Are you in here?” Brian suddenly called out from the other room. A second later his dark head popped into view from around the doorjamb. His eyebrows drew together in obvious irritation at the sight of Nigel and me in the bedroom. “What the hell are they doing in here, Marcy?” he barked at her. “Jesus. The Captain will have our asses if he finds out about this.”

“He won’t if it helps us solve this case faster,” Marcy said. “I can’t imagine that he’s going to enjoy the press’s reaction to the probable murder of a well-known theater critic. The sooner we solve this, the better it will be for everyone.”

“Meaning what exactly?” Brian asked.

“Meaning that I want this decanter taken in for testing,” Marcy answered. “I have it on good authority that there’s something off with the scotch.”

Brian looked from Marcy to Nigel. Nigel winked. “Make that very good authority,” he said.