which then slipped from my hands. The bag landed with a crash on the kitchen floor, sending tiny brown beans flying everywhere.
“Oh, crap, crap crap!” I said as I scrambled to clean up the mess. Seeing Ann’s stricken face, I joked, “Hey, look! The cops are here and I spilled the beans!”
Either Ann didn’t hear me or was politely ignoring me. It was probably the latter, because you have to admit, it
There was no answer as I scooped fresh beans into the grinder. “Ann?” I said, looking over my shoulder at her. She was still standing where I’d left her. Her head tipped back, she was rapidly draining the glass of wine. “Or you could just chug the wine,” I said. “Yeah, that’s a better idea. Why don’t you do that and I’ll get the cheese.”
Once the coffee was made and Ann had finished her liquid courage, we emerged from the kitchen, coffee and cheese and crackers in tow. Scarlett tagged right along and ran straight to Joe, who was sitting on one of the chairs, his coat off and neatly folded on his lap. He was wearing a blue suit that fit him like the proverbial glove. Scarlett plopped herself down directly in front of him and barked happily. Sergeant Beal stretched out her hand and attempted to pet Scarlett, but Scarlett ignored her. Scarlett, like her namesake, preferred the company of men. Joe reluctantly scratched Scarlett behind the ears.
I placed the crackers and cheese on the table while Ann poured the coffee. Nobody spoke. Finally, Joe pulled back from Scarlett and said, “Well, you know why we’re here. Michael Barrow’s body was discovered earlier this week under the foundation of the pool of the house your family used to own in St. Michaels. I don’t have the medical examiner’s final report yet, but it seems pretty clear that he died from blunt force trauma to the head.”
“Could he have fallen into the hole and struck his head?” Frances asked hopefully.
“As I said, I am still awaiting the medical examiner’s report,” came the reply. “I wondered if you all could tell me when you saw him last.”
“Are we under suspicion?” asked Scott.
“Right now, we’re just collecting information,” Joe replied. “Ms. Reynolds,” he said, turning to Reggie, “why don’t we start with you. I believe you were engaged to the deceased.”
Reggie smoothed out her dress and uncrossed her shapely legs. Sergeant Beal’s eyes narrowed, and I noticed she glanced at Joe to gauge his reaction. I wondered just how close Joe was with Sergeant Beal. “Actually,” said Reggie, “it’s Ms. Ames now.”
“I’m sorry.
Reggie responded promptly. “The last time any of us saw him was at my father’s Fourth of July party eight years ago. It was at that party that I told him I didn’t think we should go through with the marriage.”
“When was this, exactly?”
“Just after the fireworks ended. I told him and then I went to bed.”
“And what was the reason for the breakup, if you don’t mind me asking?” Joe asked.
Reggie shifted slightly. “His drinking, for one. It was getting completely out of hand.”
Joe nodded. “I see. And what was his reaction to your ending things?”
Reggie paused. “Well, he was upset, naturally. He begged me to reconsider. I told him to go to bed and sleep it off. I said that we could talk more in the morning, but by that time, he was gone. I assumed that his pride was hurt and he’d left for his house. When I didn’t hear from him, I figured that he was waiting for me to call. Of course, I didn’t.”
“And you didn’t wonder why you never heard from him?” Joe asked, with a dubious expression.
“Well, no. I just thought he was pouting, but within a week or so afterward, we discovered that Michael had embezzled almost a million dollars from Daddy. We all assumed that he had hightailed it somewhere. So no, I never wondered why I never heard from him,” said Reggie.
“Yes, I have the copy of the report your father submitted regarding the embezzlement,” said Joe. “Did anyone see Mr. Barrow after that Fourth of July party?”
We all shook our heads.
“Don’t forget, Joe,” said Frances, “you were at that party, too. With Ann,” she added unnecessarily. Beside me, Ann flushed crimson. Joe cleared his throat. Sergeant Beal shot Joe a searching look.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Phillips,” Joe said. Turning to Ann, he said, “An … excuse me, Miss Reynolds. It is still Miss Reynolds?” he asked. Ann gave a quick nod. Joe continued, “Did you have any contact with Mr. Barrow that might be relevant?”
Ann didn’t answer right away. I knew she was wondering if she should reveal Michael’s attempted attack on her. After a moment, she said, “He was extremely drunk. But I don’t really have any information other than that.”
Joe regarded her silently. At one time, Joe and Ann were so in tune with each other they could practically read each other’s minds. I found myself fervently hoping that Joe had lost that ability. After a brief pause, he said, “I see.” Clearing his throat, he continued, “Did any of you have any contact with Mr. Barrow at the party? Or notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“I had a couple of drinks with him,” Scott said cautiously.
Joe nodded at him encouragingly. “And…?”
Scott looked down at the carpet before answering. “And nothing, really. We had a few beers on the back patio and then … I went to bed. Michael was still outside when I went inside.”
“Any idea what time this conversation was?” Joe asked.
Scott shot Joe an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? It was eight years ago!”
“Fair enough. Was it a friendly conversation?”
Beside her husband, Frances stiffened. Scott paused. “Friendly enough, I guess. I don’t remember the details.” Frances shifted in her chair and glanced quickly at Scott and then at her lap. Was I missing something?
“You were staying at the house, I take it?” Joe said.
“Yes,” said Scott. “We all were.”
“Including Michael?”
Scott nodded. “Yes. Although I remember he wasn’t there in the morning. His car was gone. I just assumed that he’d already left.”
“When did you leave?”
“The next morning, the fifth. We all did,” Scott said, looking around the room. “Construction was to start on the pool and…” Scott abruptly stopped talking as he realized what must have happened.
Joe looked at the rest of us. “Did any of you see Mr. Barrow the next morning?”
We all shook our heads. “As I told you,” said Reggie, “no one saw Michael after that party.”
Joe leaned back in his chair, the barest of smiles on his lips. “Although my mother always told me never to argue with a lady, I think I’m going to have to disagree with you there.”
The doorbell rang, breaking the sudden tension Joe’s words caused. Ann jumped from her chair and hurried to open the door. Scarlett abandoned her post at Joe’s feet and ran after her. It was Miles and Laura Carswell. A former marine, Miles had stayed in excellent shape, so much so that those who met him thought him a good decade younger than his actual age of seventy-three. To me, he looked like Cary Grant in his later years: round pleasant face, snow-white hair, and black-framed glasses. Laura was an elegant woman with brown eyes and short brown hair that was flecked with gray (“You wouldn’t believe how much it costs to realistically ‘fleck’ one’s hair,” she once told me). Her clear complexion and high cheekbones gave her a more youthful appearance than her actual age of sixty-nine.
Scarlett’s yips of excitement increased upon seeing Miles. He bent to pet her while Laura focused on Ann. Seeing her flushed face, Laura stepped into the foyer, her brown eyes filled with concern. “Ann!” she said. “Are you all right?”
A noise from the living room alerted her to our presence. Turning our way, her eyes landed on Joe. Her mouth pulling into a faint frown, she said, “Good Lord. Is that Joe?”
