“You realize you’re going to have to talk to the police.”
She nodded. “I also realize I’ll be a suspect. I probably have as sound a reason as anyone to want Hamilton dead. That is why you must get the police to continue their investigation, Mr. Talbot. My father is innocent. . . innocent of everything he’s been accused of. More innocent than his own daughter. I have done some horrible things—things that altered lives forever. But take a life? That is something I did not do. I need help convincing your detective of that.”
Jeff studied the woman across from him. He couldn’t say why, but he was convinced. “We have to get Brookner to keep looking for some evidence.”
He called the island’s police department and was surprised to learn that Brookner was there. When the detective came on the line, Jeff asked if he’d made it over to the mainland the night before.
“Nah. Too much paperwork here, so I crashed in the holding cell.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. Before you stamp Case Closed on your box, I’ve got someone else for you to talk to.”
“Talbot, don’t you ever give up? By now the wires have picked up our story, and every Sunday paper worth reading is telling tourists that Mackinac Island is the safest place to visit this side of Disneyland.”
Jeff paused for effect. He also wanted to make sure he had Brookner’s attention. “I’ve got Edward Davenport’s daughter in my room.”
The silence that filled the phone wires was long enough to make Jeff wonder if the connection had been broken. Finally, Brookner said, “Is her last name Schreibtisch?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You see, Talbot? No coincidences.”
Jeff let him have that one.
Brookner asked, “Can you keep her there?”
“Not a problem. She wants to talk to you.”
“What does she want to do, confess?”
“To the murder? No.”
“Been practicing cryptic, Talbot?”
“Even if I told you, you’d have to hear it again from her. I have to catch a plane out of Pellston sometime today.”
“Well, God knows I don’t want you to miss it. Sometimes you make my ass twitch.”
“French Kiss.”
“What?”
“Sorry. I thought you were quoting a line from a movie.”
Brookner dropped it. “Give me five minutes. I’ll have Mel drive me up in the Explorer.”
“Good. I’d hate for a day to go by without my seeing a motorized vehicle up here.”
“Smart ass.” The phone clicked and blew Jeff a raspberry, as if to remind him he was still on Brookner’s turf.
Jeff told Ingrid that the detective was on his way. He then grabbed trousers and a blue oxford shirt from the closet and went into the bathroom to change.
He glanced in the mirror. His face looked like hell. He needed to shave, and the scratch on his cheek was now bright red, surrounded by a bruise that resembled a wine stain.
After escorting Ingrid to the interrogation room and introducing her to Brookner and Littlefield, Jeff made his way to the dining room.
The maitre d’ escorted him down the center aisle and seated him at a table for two near the bandstand. Jeff could only assume that they’d walked him back that far because they had more time to do so. In another fifteen minutes, the place would likely be buzzing with guests having breakfast and making arrangements to ferry back to the mainland.
Along with coffee, he ordered eggs Benedict and orange juice. He would need all the jolts they could offer: caffeine, protein, vitamin C. His nerves were on edge, knowing that he would have to leave the island in five hours—short hours if you were trying to squeeze in the last of a vacation; even shorter if you had a long list of murder suspects also preparing to leave. He didn’t have a single thread to grab onto.
He was so lost in his thoughts, going over every bit of information he had, that he hadn’t noticed others in the massive room.
When a waiter brought around more coffee, Jeff surfaced and looked around. Here and there were people he’d seen over the course of the Antiques Festival, ones that left about as much of an impression as milquetoast would have on the hotel’s elaborate menu. His gaze rested on the back of an old man seated near the entrance. As his mind worked its way around to his initial reason for being here, Jeff tried to determine if it was Pettigrew, the old man who had shown him the cabaret set.
A moment of panic gripped him. He checked his watch. Although it was early, he felt as if he were in some sort of time warp. The cabaret set was to be auctioned at ten. He’d felt that he somehow had missed the one thing he desired most from this trip: to acquire the royal tea set that had left Blanche’s possession nearly sixty years ago.
A member of the hotel staff approached the old man and handed him a cordless phone. He listened, nodded twice. Then he slouched, combed the long white nails of a trembling hand through his white hair. It was him. It was Curtis Pettigrew.
The staff member gingerly took the phone, then placed a palm against the old man’s back and said something. The old man nodded, rose from his chair and left the room.
Jeff wondered what that was about. It was obvious that he’d received some disturbing news. Was something up with the cabaret set? Did he need someone to be with him? Compelled to make sure the old man was all right, Jeff started toward the door.
He caught sight of Pettigrew going out of the building. He started to follow, but then held back, unsure of what he might say, of whether he would be intruding. He couldn’t just go up to him and say, “You seemed disturbed after your phone call in the dining room,” or, “Do you need help with anything?”
After debating the issue for a moment, he asked himself Why not? Why can’t I show concern? Earlier, after the old man had invited him in to see the cabaret set, Jeff had been aggravated with himself for being off his game. He’d checked back later, but the room was locked up. He’d knocked, but no one answered. Why hadn’t he thought to ask the basic questions a picker asks: How did you come about owning it? Why are you selling now? How long ago did you acquire it? Did you purchase it from a shop? An individual? Who? I must be losing my edge, he had thought.
Now, fate was giving him a second chance, and he was not about to let it get away.
He went out the Parlor doors and down the stairs. Pettigrew was nowhere in sight. He couldn’t have moved that fast. Jeff darted back up the stairs and checked the porch. The old man wasn’t there.
He started back down the stairs, more slowly this time.
“Do you need some assistance, sir?” A young man in red tails and top hat was standing behind a podium at ground level.
“An elderly gentleman just came out this way, but I’ve lost him.”
“Yes, I helped him down the stairs.” The young man nodded toward the almost-hidden staircase that led to the Tea Garden. “He started toward the Labyrinth.”