“Would you care for any coffee or tea while you work?” she asked.
“Coffee would be fine.”
“Cream? Sugar?”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat? I’m sure we have plenty.”
“No, thank you,” he repeated firmly.
Elsie nodded her head briskly. “Coffee it is then. Black. I’ll just be a moment. Whom shall I send in first?” Elsie’s solicitous tone and conversation seemed to catch Detective Grant off guard. As I’m sure Elsie intended.
Detective Grant squared his shoulders in an attempt to regain control of the conversation. “I’d like to talk to the young lady who discovered the body.” He flipped through his notebook and read, “Ms. Elizabeth Parker.”
At the sound of my name, my headache, which had started to subside, came back in full force. I stood up on shaky legs. “That’s me,” I said in a voice that was more of a squeak. Next to me, Peter grabbed my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Detective Grant’s eyes locked on mine. I had the sensation that he was searching my soul—and didn’t like what he’d found. As he had done with Chloe, his eyes quickly took in my outfit, touching briefly on my old flip-flops. Just as quickly, he looked away, as if offended by what he saw. There would be no nod of approval for me, I thought. After a brief pause, he gave a curt dip of his head and disappeared into the study. I took an unsteady step in his direction. Elsie reached out and grabbed my arm.
Leaning in close, she whispered fiercely, “Delay him all you can, Elizabeth. We’ve got to find Megan before that man realizes she’s missing!”
Delay him? Me? Was she kidding? I had been known to freeze up when a cute guy asked me what time it was. Did Elsie really think I had the wherewithal to battle wits with the likes of Detective Grant?
My ineffectual sputterings of reluctance were ignored. Still holding tightly on to my arm, she marched me toward the study. Rapping her knuckles briskly on the open door, she thrust me inside. “Here she is, Detective Grant,” she said brightly. “Now, I’ll just go and get that coffee.”
With one last meaningful look at me, she shut the door firmly behind her. I turned back to Detective Grant. His blunt features were bunched in a ferocious scowl. Not at me, but at the door where Elsie had just stood.
Outside, heavy rain splattered against the terrace doors. Thunder and lightning blasted across the black sky. The overhead chandelier flickered, sending dark shadows across Detective Grant’s unsmiling face.
And I was supposed to stay in this room with him as long as I could. The story of Daniel and the lions came to mind. All things being equal, I think I would have preferred the lions.
Chapter 9
Surprises are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable.
I sat down in the leather club chair opposite the desk. After a brief glance in my direction, Detective Grant turned his back to me and stared out the window. Neither of us spoke. The only sound came from the rain pelting the windows and the grandfather clock’s swinging pendulum.
Sadly enough, this wasn’t the first time I had been interviewed by a detective in a murder investigation. While I was visiting my Aunt Winnie’s B and B last New Year’s, one of her guests was murdered. I spent the majority of New Year’s Day being interrogated by a humorless detective by the name of Aloysius Stewart. That in and of itself says a great deal about the man. I mean, if you had been named after the teddy bear in
I watched Detective Grant warily from my chair. While this kind of interview wasn’t new to me, it was still nerve-racking. A thin sheen of sweat covered my palms, and the vein next to my left eye throbbed spasmodically. The only thing that could make my appearance any more suspicious would be the sudden manifestation of a facial tic.
After an interminable pause, Detective Grant turned back to face me. With rapid-fire intensity, he asked me all of the regular questions, my name, age, and relationship with the family. Finished, he strode around to the front of the heavy mahogany desk. Leaning back on its scalloped edge, he crossed his arms over his chest and simply said, “So, tell me about Megan.”
Shit. I felt a facial tic coming. Too late, I slapped my hand up to hide the twitching of my cheek. My heart jumped thickly in my chest. I’m quite sure I looked like a page in the police academy’s textbook training manual, the page labeled “example of a witness with something to hide.” Plus, I was wearing ratty flip-flops.
“Um,” I finally mumbled, “she’s Roni’s daughter.”
“And where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
He stared at me unblinkingly, his expression nonjudgmental. I wasn’t fooled. “I haven’t seen her since last night,” I went on, my voice unfortunately again beginning to squeak. “She never came to her bed last night.”
That made him blink. Reaching behind him, he picked up his leather notebook from the desk and, with a click of his gold-plated pen, scribbled something before turning his attention back to me. “How was her relationship with her mother?”
I didn’t want to answer that. Megan was already under suspicion because of her absence. I didn’t want to push her farther under the bus.
“Well... ” A roll of thunder sounded. If it was a sign from above on how I should continue, I missed it. Detective Grant waited patiently. “You know how teenagers can be,” I said feebly.
“Actually, I don’t,” he said curtly. “I don’t have kids. Enlighten me.”
Great. “Oh, you know, they all fight with their parents.”
“I see. And did Megan fight with her mother?”
Considering that Elsie asked me to stall this conversation for Megan’s sake, I was doing a doozy of a job. “Um, yeah, a little, I guess.” Megan’s enraged face last night as she spit out, “I hate you!” to Roni swam before my eyes. Why was I lying for a girl I hardly knew? But I already knew the answer. There was something about Megan that made me feel protective. Probably because she reminded me of myself at that age: overweight, insecure, and desperate to belong.
Detective Grant was watching me. From his expression, I wondered if he knew what I was thinking. I’ve never been very good at hiding my feelings. I’ve been told that my face gives me away every time. Running his blunt fingers through his short gray hair, he said only, “I see. Why don’t we come back to Megan later? Tell me about finding the body.”
Relieved not to have to rat out Megan any more, I launched into my tale, numbly reciting my quest for coffee, my assumption that the body was Megan’s, Mr. Big Arms, and telling Chloe to call the police. I briefly toyed with the idea of suggesting that Chloe might have something to hide but quickly dismissed the idea as childish—satisfying, but childish.
As I spoke, Detective Grant nodded and added, “Yes, well, that fits. The knife used is a standard kitchen knife. I doubt if we’ll ever be able to determine if it came from here.”
“Oh!” I said suddenly. “I almost forgot! I also found a key.”
Detective Grant’s head snapped up at this. “A key? What kind of key?”
Reaching into my pocket, I drew out the item. “This was lying next to Roni on the ground—” Detective Grant’s giant paw of a hand shot out and snatched it from me before I could finish.
His lips pulled down into a tight frown. “Where was this again, Ms. Parker?” he asked, his tone ominous.
I squirmed in the chair. “Um... by the body?” I said. Then, realizing that I sounded like a schoolgirl caught passing notes in class, I forced myself to sit up straighter. “It was by the body,” I repeated in a firmer voice. “That’s why I’m giving it to you. I think it’s obvious that it’s a clue and—”
Again he cut me off. “Why don’t you let
