So much for that. Even my sexy sweater hadn’t made a difference. I consoled myself with the thought that maybe he did murder his wife. “There are a few things I should tell you. I should have done it earlier but well, I took off too soon,” he continued. A chilly breeze penetrated my sweater. In spite of his obvious inattraction to me, my heart raced. I was afraid of what he was going to say.
“You were probably right about the turkey trophy being the murder weapon. We found traces of blood on the tail, as you said, and according to the medical examiner it’s consistent with Simon’s injury.” I stood up a little straighter. I’d been vindicated on one tiny item but it felt good. At least he knew I didn’t make it up.
“What about the soup?” I asked.
“We found the poison in only one soup bowl. That doesn’t clear you or implicate you.”
“Wolf, I’ve been wondering about blood spatter. You interviewed all of us right away. If one of us had been the killer, wouldn’t he have had blood spatter on his clothes?”
Wolf’s head jerked back. Apparently my question surprised him.
“I’m always underestimating you, Sophie. But it’s not unusual for blood spatter to be absent in cases where the victim is killed by a single blow to the head. That’s what we think happened to Simon.”
But I hadn’t known that and the killer might not have, either. He might have worn a dark shirt and rushed to wash it—just in case.
“We’ve been a little slow processing everything because of the holiday. I’m sure they’ll get to your clothes next week.”
I’d forgotten all about them. “How about my car? My folks will be going home soon and I’ll need transportation for work.”
“Better rent one. I doubt they’ll turn it over to you until the perpetrator is in custody.” He focused on the door of the inn and said softly, “And that could be a while. What are you doing here?”
“Asking questions.”
“Suspect everyone, trust no one,” said Wolf.
“That’s a terrible attitude. Your suspects are my family and friends. I’m not turning on them.”
Wolf flexed his fingers while he thought. “Sophie, this would be so much easier for everyone if you would tell me what you’re hiding.”
The same old tune again. “I don’t have any secrets. Believe me, Mars did not hire Otis to have me tailed and I’m not in a relationship with Humphrey.”
“Look, Sophie, I’ve seen the tapes from the grocery store—”
“Then you know I didn’t do anything.”
He studied me in silence before saying, “I know that Otis approached you in the parking lot and that you waved your hands at him and ran away, into the store.”
“Because he was trying to pawn Mochie off on me.”
“And I know that when you came out, you scanned the parking lot like you were looking for him.”
“Because of Mochie. I changed my mind while I was shopping. I wanted to take him to Nina to be sure he’d get a decent home.”
“That’s not how it looks on the tapes.”
This was ridiculous. “I can’t help that. What about the film in the rear of the store? Doesn’t it show the killer?”
“There aren’t any cameras on the rear of the store. All we know is that you ran from Otis and then looked for him nervously when you left. Did he threaten you?”
“Only with a kitten.” I flung open the door and stalked back into the pub. There was no point in subjecting myself to more of that nonsense. Wolf obviously didn’t want to believe me.
I wondered if I’d said too much. I couldn’t incriminate myself because I hadn’t done anything, but Mars and my dad were probably right about getting a lawyer. I should have done that from the beginning. I’d wanted to cooperate with Wolf because I found him attractive. How stupid of me.
“Let’s go.” I said to Nina and Humphrey, as I picked up my coat and put it on.
Humphrey jumped to his feet. “Did he work you over? Are you all right? I should have come with you.”
I didn’t have the patience to deal with him. My temper flared, partly out of disappointment over Wolf and partly because I’d hoped the tapes would vindicate me. I ignored Humphrey and charged through the crowded pub.
Standing by the doorway, Wolf watched me, but I didn’t care. I shoved by him and burst out the door. Outside, I gulped cold air and waited for Nina and Humphrey. It didn’t take them long.
“We stopped to tell Bernie we were leaving,” said Nina.
I calmed down while we walked home. As we approached my house, I realized I should have asked Humphrey where he parked so we could have walked him to his car and I wouldn’t have to pretend to be polite and invite him in. Maybe it wasn’t too late to try. I stopped on the sidewalk in front of my house and was about to address Humphrey when Nina hissed, “Stalker. In the bushes in front of your house.”
TWENTY-FIVE
From
Live with Natasha
:
In the summer, I love to harvest fresh raspberries and other fruits, like peaches and black currants, from my garden to make liquors. It’s surprisingly easy to do using fruit, sugar, and vodka. The liquor needs to sit for a few months so the flavor can develop, which means it’s ready just in time for those blustery winter nights. Delicious over homemade ice cream or straight in a cordial glass. Add a festive bow to the bottle and it makes a very thoughtful one-of-a-kind gift.
I was in no mood to deal with any more of this nonsense. But at that moment the last thing I wanted was to call the police and face Wolf again. The lantern by my front door lit enough of the bushes to reveal movement in the branches. If I yelled, the lurker would probably take off running.
“What do we do?” I whispered to Humphrey and Nina.
Nina whipped out her cell phone.
I reached for it and snapped it shut. “We have to find out who it is. Nina, you block him on the right, Humphrey . . .” I doubted Humphrey could stop a flea but he was all I had. “You take the left. I’ll act like I’m saying good night to you and walk straight to the door.”
“Are you insane?” Humphrey whispered in a higher pitch than I’d have thought possible.
I didn’t give him a chance to argue. Projecting my voice, I called out “Good night! See you tomorrow,” and headed for my front door. Keeping my eyes on the bushes, I tried to hold my head straight so the man in hiding wouldn’t know we were on to him. When I was almost at the stoop, Mars stepped out of the shadows.
“Are you trying to scare us to death?” My heart raced. “Why are you lurking outside the house?”
“I wasn’t sure who was with you or who might be home. Hi, Nina. We need to talk, Soph—”
Humphrey charged from the left, a pale blur that intersected Mars at his knees.
Mars crumpled to the ground.
“Stop, Humphrey! It’s Mars. It’s okay,” I shouted.
I couldn’t tell which one moaned louder. Nina and I helped them stand. Humphrey rubbed his shoulder but forced a smile. “I always wanted to be a football hero.”
Mars grumbled, “I need a drink.”
“I should go.” Humphrey dusted himself off. “It’s been a most adventurous evening.” He leaned in for a kiss.
I evaded him by pulling away. I jammed the key into the lock and turned it. “Thanks for going with us, Humphrey.”
Mars staggered into the house. This was the third time he’d been by today. Did he really need to talk or was he making up excuses to come over and see me?
“I think everyone’s still out.” I motioned feverishly for Nina to come in. She hurried in after Mars, and I could tell she was pleased to be included. When I closed the door, Humphrey was limping toward the street.
Mars waited for Nina and me in the kitchen. “Sit.”
We draped our coats over a chair before taking seats at the kitchen table. Mars unzipped his new leather jacket, placed a package wrapped in plain brown paper on the table, then slammed down a photograph. The glossy enlargement showed Clyde, Simon’s driver and bodyguard. He stood casually, with one hand on his hip, and wore an embarrassed smile like he found it silly to pose for a photo.
“Too bad he’s so obnoxious; he’s not bad-looking,” said Nina.
Mars glared at her. “I found it in Natasha’s briefcase.”
“You were snooping?” said Nina.
“Yes, I was snooping. Somebody’s stalking her, somebody poisoned me, and she hired Otis for heaven knows what reason.” He paused and said in a hushed voice, “I was afraid Nat might be having an affair.”
“And you think this picture confirms that?” I asked.
Mars paced. “What else can I think? Fairly incriminating evidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“So she has this picture. It’s not like he’s nude or anything.” Nina craned her neck. “Where was this taken? It looks like the Jefferson Memorial.”
I examined it again. The round structure behind him didn’t leave much doubt about the location. “Pretty recent, too. He’s dressed for fall weather.”
Mars punched his fist into an open hand. “What do I do? Do I confront her? Do I leave her?” He paused and held the back of a chair. “Do I pretend nothing ever happened and just go on?”
I flipped the picture over, but the back side was plain white photographic stock. “Could Natasha have taken this picture?”
Nina and I bent over it.
“I don’t see any reflections.” Nina’s mouth twisted doubtfully. “There’s nothing incriminating about it. Mars, this picture alone isn’t evidence of an affair.”
“You two are a gas,” Nina continued. “How many other men would go to their ex-wives when they suspect their girlfriends of cheating?”
Mars sighed. “We’re divorced, Nina, not archenemies.”
“What’s in the package?” asked Nina.
“Don’t protest, Sophie, you need this,” said Mars as he slid the package toward me. “I got one for Nat, too.”
I unwrapped the brown paper to find a Taser.
“They’re not easy to buy, but a client of mine came through for me. It’s like a stun gun. It won’t kill an adult, but it’ll incapacitate one long enough for you to get away.”
Nina chirped up. “I want one, too. I’ll pay for it. Can you get me one?”
I didn’t like guns, but I’d decided long ago that I should carry mace in my car since I regularly came home late at night after events. This was another step in the direction of a gun.
“Sure. I think my source can procure one more. I want you to carry it with you, Sophie. Your folks will be going home soon and you’ll be here all by yourself. I don’t know what we’re up against, but strange things are happening around you and Nat. I knew neither of you would carry a gun. This is the best alternative I could come up with.”
As if on cue, the front door opened and a cold draft floated through the kitchen. Judging from the lively chatter, the theatergoers were returning and had enjoyed their evening.
Mars snatched the picture from the table and hid it in his jacket. “Don’t tell Mom. She already hates Nat.”
I glanced toward the foyer to be sure June wasn’t in earshot. “Natasha’s pushing to put her in a home.”
Mars couldn’t have looked more miserable. “She keeps telling me Mom can’t live alone anymore. That she’ll burn her own house down if I don’t have her put away.”
“I don’t suppose she could move in with you and Nat?” I asked, only half teasing.
He blanched. “I couldn’t take the two of them in the same house. Don’t you think there’ve been enough murders? C’mon, Nina. I’ll walk you out to be sure Humphrey doesn’t jump you.”
Mars paused to peck June on the cheek before leaving with Nina.
While the theatergoers changed clothes, I poured red wine and spices into a pot for a grog to warm them. On a baking sheet, I placed slices of Italian peasant bread and slid them into the oven to broil for a quick black bean bruschetta. Suspecting that June would like chocolate chip cookies, I prepared a tray of them from my freezer stash.
Bernie came home in time to share our midnight snack by the blazing fire in the kitchen. While the others discussed the play, I thought about Bernie and his stepfather and Mrs. Pulchinski, and eyed him surreptitiously. He was listening to the conversation, his expression as animated as if he’d been there. At one point he turned his blue eyes on me, and caught me watching him, but instead of shying away, he flashed me a dazzling smile.
I wanted to believe that someone with such easygoing charm couldn’t possibly kill anyone. That wasn’t true, of course. But by the time we turned in, I’d decided I didn’t need to worry. If Bernie intended to murder one of us, he’d had plenty of opportunities already.
I woke to the thundering of the door knocker. Daisy whined and pawed at me and Mochie stood on the edge of my bed, alert. Whoever was banging the thing must have been trying to wake us for some time. I glanced at the clock—two thirty in the morning. I didn’t bother with a robe and ran down the stairs in my single-girl flannel pajamas. The person outside tried again.