When Molly and Tony reached the bottom of the staircase, she heard muffled conversation and what sounded like sobbing. She exchanged a glance with Tony. “I guess George filled them in on the details.”
“Let’s get to it,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him into the dining room.
Elise had cleared the breakfast dishes, and only a coffeepot and a basket of muffins remained. George, Tracy, Nana, and the Chiassons sat around the table, half-full coffee cups in front of them. Their nervous chatter stopped as soon as Tony entered the room. Not seeing Lindsay, Molly turned to the adjoining parlor, where she sat in the farthest corner of the sofa, bent over, her hands covering her face. Her body rocked as she tried desperately to hold in the sobs, resulting in hiccoughs.
Molly sat beside her and rubbed her back, not exactly understanding the depths of Lindsay’s grief. She was wailing like Aubrey was her long-lost love. Could Lindsay be more than a fangirl?
Lindsay peeked through her fingers and hair, which had escaped from its clasp. “Is it true? Is he really d-d-dead?”
Molly nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” she said soothingly.
Lindsay let out a wail but muffled it as she clasped her hand over her mouth and then resumed rocking. Unsure of what else to do, Molly continued to rub her back.
“I’m so sorry, but the detective needs to talk to us now. Do you think you can listen for a minute?
Lindsay nodded. Molly helped her up, and they crossed the room to join the others. Lindsay sat in an empty chair and rested her hands in her lap, head bowed, tears spilling over her lower lids. Molly stood behind her grandmother, placing her hands on the back of Nana’s chair. Nana reached up and held Molly’s hand. Molly squeezed it in return. Glancing around the table, Molly caught Tracy staring at Lindsay, whose round cheeks were still wet with tears. Leaning back in the chair, Tracy crossed her arms, and Molly detected a slight eye roll.
What’s up with that? Molly wondered.
“As you’ve probably heard,” Tony said. “Miss Harrington found Mr. Rhodes deceased on the terrace this morning.”
“Do you think it was an accident?” Tracy asked, glancing at the others around the table. “Perhaps he fell and hit his head?”
“Unknown. I’ve called the coroner and the forensics team. They will be here shortly. I need to speak to each of you separately, and I need you all to remain in this room until I’ve interviewed you.” Tony nodded toward Elise and Kevin, standing at the entrance to the butler’s pantry. “I’m sure the chef will keep your coffee cups full. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Oh, my,” Diana Chiasson said as she reached for her husband’s hand. “I know this sounds extremely crass, and I’m so sorry for what happened to Mr. Rhodes, but do you all mind if I go first? I’m supposed to meet my sister at the hairdresser at eleven. Her wedding is this evening.”
“I don’t mind if you go first,” George Roark said. “I’ve canceled my appointment in Cincinnati. So, no rush for me.”
Tracy and Lindsay shook their heads.
“Can I call my boss as long as I stay in this room?” Tracy asked.
“I’d rather you wait until we notify Mr. Rhodes’s next of kin,” Tony said.
Tracy nodded. “Of course.”
Tony turned to Molly. “Is there someplace more private where I can interview the witnesses?”
“Yes, how about the library?”
Tony followed Molly across the entry hall into a smaller room at the front of the house. Nana was close behind.
“What is it, Nana?” Molly asked. “Are you all right?”
Nana pulled Molly aside, out of the detective’s earshot. “Vanessa is supposed to pick me up and take me to lunch. Will I be able to go?”
“I’m sure you can go after you give your statement.”
Nana gave Tony a scrutinizing glance and wrinkled her nose. He stood at the library threshold, making notes in his spiral notebook. “It’s hard for me to think of him as a big-shot detective. I’ve known that boy since he was in diapers.”
“I wouldn’t remind him of that. He does carry a gun, you know,” Molly teased.
“Well, he’s got his work cut out for him.” Nana shook her head, sending her gray curls bouncing. “It’s too bad about Aubrey, but he didn’t exactly create sunshine and happiness in his path. He was a little shit from the get-go.”
“Nana,” Molly said, checking to see if anyone was within earshot. In the past few years, Nana had lost all mental filters. Whatever passed through her mind came straight out of her mouth.
Tony looked up. “Everything all right, Mrs. Wells?”
Nana gave him a little wave. “Just going to the little girls’. Tell your mama I said hello. I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, following Molly into the library.
“Will this work?” Molly asked as she glanced around the room where, the night before, Betty McKelvey of River Crest Books and Gifts had set up a bookstore and conducted business at the vintage mahogany secretary’s desk. They had stacked boxes of books on the dark-blue-and-mauve Oriental rug while guests sat on the rolled-arm sofa, chatted with their friends and neighbors, and waited patiently for their turn to buy a book and get it signed. Aubrey had even donated an autographed book to Molly’s nearly full yet meticulously arranged wooden bookcases on the opposite wall.
Molly thought about the night before, when the air had been charged with excitement and the smell of new books delicately accented by the roses in the coffee table’s centerpiece and the felt-tip pen Aubrey had used to sign each book.
Last night seems like a dream, Molly thought as she rubbed her arms against a sudden chill.
“This will do fine,” Tony said, surveying the room.
The doorbell rang, Molly excused herself, and Tony followed her into the entry hall, where she opened the door to a uniformed officer.
He introduced himself to Molly and acknowledged Tony with a nod. “Sorry it took me so long. There was a big wreck out near the interstate. I got away as fast as I could.”
“No worries, Jeff,” Tony said. “Make sure the witnesses don’t leave the dining room or parlor except to go to the bathroom down that hallway.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “And please let me know when the crime scene techs arrive.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer nodded and took up his station by the front door.
“Molly, before I begin the interviews, do you have the list of current guests and their rooms?”
“Yes, I’ll write them down for you.”
Molly returned to the library and removed a sheet of Harrington House stationery from the center desk drawer. She wrote out the list and handed it to Tony.
Tony read over the list. “What’s that name? Che-ah-son?”
“It’s pronounced ‘Sha-sawn.’ It’s French. They’re from Louisiana.”
“She’s the one who wants to go first because she’s meeting her sister at the beauty parlor. Will you ask her to come in, please?”
Molly chuckled. “No one calls it a beauty parlor anymore. Her sister is getting married at St. Bridget’s tonight.”
“My mother does,” he said. “But first, I have a request. Please forward any photos you or Elise took at the event last night. I know you said that…” He scanned the list she’d provided. “…Ms. Luttrell posted a lot of social-media content, and I’m going to have someone comb all the platforms, but I’d like to see any unedited crowd shots.”
“Elise and I were so busy last night that I didn’t take many photos. I took a couple before the guests arrived and a few during, but that’s it. I’ll send you what I have and ask Elise about hers.”
“Thanks,” he said, handing her his business card. “This is my work email and cell phone number.” Then he pulled out the high-back Windsor desk chair. “Wow, there are lots of drawers in this desk.”
Molly laughed. “Supposedly, the desk has five secret compartments, but I’ve only found four.”
He sat down and glanced at a sepia-toned photograph of a young woman in a 1920s-era fringed dress and feathered headband. His eyes darted up to Molly and back to the photo. He picked up the filigree frame and took a closer look.
“Molly, who is this? She looks exactly like you.”
She chuckled. “That’s Elnora Harrington, my great-aunt. I suppose there’s a small resemblance.”
“Small resemblance? You’re the spitting image.” He shook his head and returned the photo to its place.
“By the way, she’s rumored to be the family ghost.” Molly nodded toward the dining room. “I’ll get Mrs. Chiasson.”