After copying the estate sale information from his notebook, Jeff found Officer Mel Littlefield, gave her the slip of paper, then checked his watch. It was 8:30, so he made his way to the dining room for breakfast.
The huge room was animated, filled with the metallic tinkle of silver against china, the clatter of cup against saucer, the chatter of people making plans for the day. Many didn’t even seem to be aware of what they were eating, so intent were they upon finishing so they could move on. Jeff refused to sit down to a meal with that agenda. Sheila had instilled in him the desire to savor a meal for its own merits, not rush through it without an appreciative and conscious nod to the chef who had created it.
The dining room was busy, and Jeff stood just inside the entrance, scanning the room and waiting for the return of the maitre d’, when Ben caught his eye and motioned him over to the table where he was sitting. Jennifer was there, too, along with Edward Davenport.
As Jeff walked toward the trio, he picked up pieces of conversation about the body that had been found earlier on the premises. Speculation, mostly. Observation. Some were complaining about their newfound knowledge that there were motorized vehicles on the island, saying it ruined the ambience, while others voiced relief that emergency services were available. They touted that one never knew when one might need an ambulance.
Jennifer laughed in response to something Davenport was saying. The auctioneer was rather jovial, quite different from the night before. Jeff figured him to be a morning person. He would be, too, just as soon as he’d had another pot of coffee.
“Good morning,” Jeff said. “Everyone here seems to be in high spirits.” He accepted the waiter’s offer of coffee, grateful that he’d come around so quickly, then ordered a frittata and orange juice.
“Aren’t you?” Jennifer passed him a basket of assorted pastries. “It’s going to be a perfect day. Lots of sun, lots of antiques.”
“If I can get that sort of day jump-started, sure. I’ve spent the last couple hours with detectives and dead men.”
“You’re kidding,” Ben said. “Why?”
“That’s how an investigation tends to go when you’re the one who finds the body.”
Jennifer almost choked on her orange juice. “You found him?”
“I’m afraid so. And, as it turns out, I know him—rather, I know who he is. Was. God, I’ll never get used to that. He’s from Seattle.”
Ben spoke up. “So you know who it was. We’ve been trying to find out, but no one will give us a straight answer.”
“Maybe you knew him, although I’m not sure whether he’d attended this festival before. His name was Frank Hamilton.”
Jeff watched his companions as he spoke, but all three had bowed their heads slightly, as if concentrating, trying to find the name in their memory banks. Jeff thought how difficult it was to read someone when you couldn’t look into their eyes.
One by one, the three stated that they didn’t know the man.
Ben added, “I might know him if I saw him. But we talk to so many people at these things. . . . The name doesn’t ring any bells.”
“You said you knew him. What kind of person was he?” asked Jennifer.
“Well, he wasn’t easy to get along with, but that could describe a lot of people. It’s not a motive for murder, though.”
It was Davenport’s turn to choke. He set his cup down hard, splashing coffee onto the white linen tablecloth. “Murder? I heard he slipped on the wet grass and split his head on the ledge of the fountain.”
“He slipped, all right. But it looks like he had some help from behind.”
Davenport’s happy mood faded. “The next thing the bobbies will want is alibis. And the only way I could have an alibi for the night is if I had employed the company of a woman—which I most certainly did not” He eyed Jeff. “You’re here alone, too, aren’t you, Talbot?”
“Afraid so. It’s not always wise to be alone in one’s room, is it?”
“At least we’ve got that covered,” Ben announced with a smile and no small amount of relief in his tone.
“That’s right,” Jennifer responded. “It helps to be inseparable, doesn’t it?” She leaned over and lightly kissed her husband’s cheek.
“Except around midnight,” Jeff said.
The couple’s eyes widened.
“Are you telling us that you were with Jennifer last night?” Davenport winked, obviously trying to lighten the mood again.
Jeff ignored him and addressed Jennifer. “You left the bar before Ben, remember? You were going to make a stop in the ladies’ room, then meet Ben in your room.”
“Well, yes. But it was only for something like three minutes. Who on earth could have gotten from the Cupola Bar to the Tea Garden that quickly? Not to mention have some sort of confrontation with someone you know—I assume the victim knew the killer, since the police said the man’s wallet was still on him.”
“Who told you about the wallet? The police?”
“No, but I heard one of the other guests mention it earlier. Everyone’s talking about it, you know. At any rate, Ben says they’ll have to interview all the guests. He and I were together all evening. I don’t see what difference two or three minutes can make.”
Jeff listened for any sign of nervousness while Jennifer spoke, but found none.
“Ben?” Jeff prompted, surprised that the young man hadn’t offered any sort of explanation.
Ben shrugged his shoulders. “She’s right. We met back in the room. Matter of fact, she told me that she’d gone straight to the room. ‘Why stop at a ladies’ room, when our own room was so close?’ That’s what she said.”
“Ben, I feel like we’re being questioned now, don’t you?” Jennifer pushed chunks of melon around on her plate. “Jeff, are you working as an undercover cop or something?”
“I’m sorry.” Jeff didn’t want to have to explain his background unless he had to. “It’s just my curious nature, I guess. I like trying to fit puzzle pieces together.”
Davenport cleared his throat. “Well. I say we try and put this behind us. There is much to be done, and I think it would be better if we continued with our schedules until the police decide who they will—and won’t—be interrogating.” He checked his watch, gave the face a quick tap. “Ah, my seminar begins in ten. Will you all be attending?”
‘Wouldn’t miss it,” Ben said with a smile.
“Very well then.” Davenport stood. “I’ll see you there.” Jeff watched as the tall auctioneer hurried toward the exit.
Jennifer dabbed at the corners of her mouth, then stood and placed the napkin in her chair. “Ben, I’m going to powder my nose and pick up a pad and paper before Edward’s session.” She turned to Jeff. “Unless you think I shouldn’t go anywhere alone. Do my husband and I need to be joined at the hip?” She left without waiting for an answer.
Ben shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jeff. Jennifer goes on the defensive pretty quickly. Comes from having overprotective parents. I stopped trying to figure her out a long time ago. But, hell, there’s no need for her to get upset. We didn’t even know the guy.”
“No need to apologize.”
Ben stood. “I’d better be in the Terrace Room when she gets there. Are you coming?”
“Go ahead. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
After Ben left, Jeff accepted a coffee refill and thought about his conversation with Ben the night before. How long had they talked after Jennifer left the Cupola Bar? He and Ben had gotten caught up in reminiscing about their best antique finds. Both agreed: A best find didn’t necessarily have to be the most valuable one, monetarily speaking.
After Ben had mentioned his sports memorabilia, he’d talked about his gun collection and how he’d tracked down a musket that had belonged to one of his ancestors who’d fought in the American Revolution. Jeff had been so fascinated by the account, he had no way of pinpointing how long they’d talked before Ben had suddenly said that Jennifer would be out looking for him if he didn’t get to their room.
The whole thing bothered him, but he wasn’t sure why. If the Hursts had known Hamilton, it would’ve been different. Still, Jennifer Hurst didn’t have an alibi. Not only had Jeff seen her in a large hat and black dress similar to those worn by the woman in the garden, but also she had several minutes unaccounted for.
Right now, that was the least of Jeff’s worries. He wasn’t fooled by Detective Brookner’s friendly attitude toward him. Some detectives came on like avenging angels, others plied you with fellowship and good humor while they secretly spun a web around you. Jeff was no unsuspecting fly. Until a better suspect surfaced, he knew that Brookner’s list had only one name: Jeffrey Talbot.