Chloe nodded, her mouth turned up into what I considered an obsequious smile. “Yes. I saw Mrs. Matthews come downstairs around then. I was in the kitchen getting everything ready for the brunch.”
“You work late hours,” Detective Grant said with a note of admiration in his voice.
Chloe tipped her glossy head in acknowledgment. “I do whatever it takes to ensure that my events run smoothly,” she replied, feigning modesy. Honestly, I wanted to smack her.
Detective Grant turned back to Claire. “So you went to talk to your brother but decided not to wake him after all. What did you do then?”
“I heard a thump. It sounded like it came from upstairs. I rushed back upstairs, worried that David had... had fallen,” Claire finished diplomatically.
Detective Grant looked at David. “Had you fallen, Mr. Cook?”
“Of course not! I can’t imagine why anyone would think I would have,” David replied indignantly.
Detective Grant made no response. Turning again to Claire, he asked, “Did you go back upstairs through the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
Detective Grant turned his head to Chloe for her to verify this, but Chloe only shrugged her graceful shoulders. “I didn’t see her, Detective.” An uncomfortable pause followed as we all struggled with the implication that Claire might be lying. Perhaps sensing the impact of her words, Chloe hurried on. “But I was also moving back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, so I could have easily missed her. For what it’s worth, I also heard a thump.”
Detective Grant stared down at his notebook, tapping it lightly with his pen. He read a few pages before raising his eyes to where Megan sat slumped in her chair. “I’d like to go back to your night, Miss Matthews,” he said. “You say that you and Bobby went to the summerhouse. What time was that?”
“I’m not sure. It was late.”
“Did you see anyone? Did anyone see you?”
“I thought I saw someone on the terrace. To be honest, I was trying not to be seen. I... I really wasn’t up for my family just then.”
What? I sat up straighter in my chair. Megan had seen someone on the terrace? Had she seen Roni or Roni’s killer? An airless silence filled the room and we all stared bug-eyed at Megan. Detective Grant took a small step forward. “Who did you see on the terrace, Miss Mathews?” His voice was bland but his expression was not. His jaw was tense, the muscle twitching.
“I don’t know. It was dark. But... ”
“Yes? Who did you see on the terrace?”
Her eyes flickered to the expansive couch where David, Claire, Elsie, and Harry sat. “I... I don’t know,” she said. “I just saw a figure.”
“A man or a woman?”
“A man... I think. I don’t know. I really couldn’t say one way or another.”
Detective Grant gripped his pen so hard his fingers showed white. “What was this figure doing?”
“Standing by one of the patio chairs.”
Somebody gasped. Megan looked at us with confused eyes. We hadn’t told her yet that Roni’s body had been found on one of the patio chairs. Her eyes widened as she made the obvious connection.
“I’m going to ask you again, Miss Matthews,” Detective Grant said in a low voice. “This is very important. Do you have any idea who it was that you saw?”
Megan’s eyes flickered toward the window. She paused a little too long before answering. “No,” she said in a firm voice. “It was too dark. I’m sorry.”
“What time was this again? Think carefully.”
Megan considered before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I didn’t think to look at my watch.”
I could see from Detective Grant’s expression that we were thinking exactly the same thing.
Megan was lying.
A uniformed policeman entered the room from the terrace. Rain dripped off his black plastic parka, leaving tiny pools of water in his wake. Elsie glared at him. “Young man! I would ask that you please not drip water all over my carpet.”
The policeman, a young man with flaming red hair and no discernible chin, ducked his head. “Yes, ma’am,” he said politely. He carefully skirted the perimeter of the room where the carpet did not reach, until he stood next to Detective Grant. Having watched this progress with an expression of bemusement mixed with annoyance, Detective Grant gave an audible sigh. “Yes, Johnson?”
Officer Johnson leaned forward in an attempt to keep his message private and muttered in Detective Grant’s ear.
Elsie rapped her cane sharply on the floor. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s not polite to whisper?” she burst out.
With deliberate slowness, Detective Grant turned his head to face Elsie. He reminded me of a sleek panther about to spring. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong?” he retorted.
Elsie’s chin jutted out. “Not to my face.”
“Then consider this the first time.”
Elsie’s eyes narrowed. “Inasmuch as a murder has taken place in my house, I think I have a right to know what is going on.”
“Correction. You have the right to know what
Avery’s face sagged. He gave a feeble nod.
“If you’ll follow me, sir,” Detective Grant said, gesturing toward the terrace. Avery exited the room, heading toward the makeshift tent erected by the police. Millie followed him at a respectful distance. Turning back, Detective Grant looked at Megan. “Miss Matthews, would you like a moment as well?”
Megan did not immediately respond. Raising her head, she met Detective Grant’s eyes. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t think I can do that.”
Detective Grant nodded and stepped out onto the terrace, shutting the door behind him.
There was a two-second pause before all hell broke loose.
Elsie led the charge. “You ridiculous buffoon!” she hissed at David. “I knew you were a wretched person, but I didn’t know
“Me? I’m the bad guy?” David spit out indignantly. “
“Have something to hide, do you, David?” said Graham from his chair.
“Me? Hiding something? Don’t be stupid,” David snapped back.
“I don’t know. You seemed in a pretty big rush to direct the detective’s attention to Harry. Why is that?” Graham’s voice was deceptively calm. If you ever wanted a read on Graham’s emotions, you watched his eyebrows. They were a barometer of his emotions. Right now they were bristling. When Bridget and I were little, bristling eyebrows meant it was time to run for cover.
David’s own brows pulled together ominously and he aggressively shifted his shoulders. “I’m not trying to direct anything. I’m only trying to help.”
In a deceivingly casual move, Graham stretched his long legs out in front of him and stood up. Next to him, Blythe tensed. “Graham... ” she warned.
“No, I’m interested in hearing about how David wants to help.” He crossed the room and stood directly in front of David’s chair. Graham moved so quickly that David had no time to react. He sat pressed against the back of his chair, forced to stare up into Graham’s face.
“For instance,” Graham went on, “when you get blind stinking drunk, how are you helping? When you verbally abuse my sister, how exactly are you helping?”
“Graham, please,” said Claire.
“Now listen here,” David barked, but Graham wasn’t listening.
“And when you stupidly try and pin this tragedy on Harry, how the
