puzzled expression on her face told me that she was equally dumbfounded.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
Before I could answer, Colin hurried into the room. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Mom and Dad said to tell you... ” He pulled up short when he saw the necklace. “Is that... ?”
“Yes,” said Bridget.
“... Roni’s necklace?” he finished unnecessarily. “Where did you find it?”
Bridget jerked her head in my direction. “Someone put it in Elizabeth’s bureau.”
My stomach lurched and my legs morphed into jelly. I sank heavily onto the bed and stared at the floor. My headache returned in spectacular fashion. First I had found the key. Then I stumbled upon Roni’s body. Now her necklace had been tucked in among my possessions. It was nothing more than a sick coincidence. Unfortunately, Detective Grant didn’t strike me as a man who believed in coincidences—sick or healthy.
I looked up at Colin and Bridget. Bridget still held the necklace in her outstretched hand; its pendulous movement had slowed to a standstill. So, too, had my brain. How had the necklace gotten here—with my underwear, of all places?
Bridget spoke. “We’ll just say that we found it... on the floor. There’s no need to say that we found it in your bureau.”
The barest wisp of my mental fog lifted and I shook my head. “No, Bridget. That won’t work and you know it. Where are we going to say that we found it, anyway? The hall? Too many people can contradict that.” Pointing at the necklace, I said, “There’s no way that anyone would have missed
Bridget opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her short. “No,” I said, pulling myself up to a standing position. “We have to tell Detective Grant the truth and hope that he has enough sense to realize that I didn’t have anything to do with Roni’s murder.” I grabbed the necklace from Bridget’s hand. As I felt its cool weight, my confidence wavered. People had killed for far less than what I now cradled in my palm. Before my cowardly side could overtake me, I squared my shoulders, turned, and marched out of the room. Bridget and Colin followed close on my heels.
In the living room, the family was still in attendance. Elsie stood with her back to the room, looking out the windows at the terrace. Anna lay curled at her feet. Blythe and Graham occupied two of the overstuffed chairs, leaning their heads close together to converse quietly. Megan sat alone on the couch, staring into space. Someone had started a fire in the fireplace. The gold-and-blue flames crackled and danced in the cobalt-and-white-tiled hearth.
It looked like a normal family tableau, but I eyed them again critically. Could one of these people have slipped that necklace into my bureau? And if so, why? To my far left was Detective Grant. My step faltered. The reason for this misstep, however, was not the sight of Detective Grant’s dour face, although that was a reason in and of itself to fall to the ground and assume the fetal position. No, the reason for my stumble was the sight
A surge of anger overtook me. Perfect. Someone stuffs a $200,000 bauble in my drawer—a bauble stolen from a dead woman, no less—and where is my shining knight when I need him most? Chatting up the gorgeous blonde in the $2,000 suit.
Although I wasn’t aware of having made any noise, Chloe abruptly pivoted in my direction, the sudden movement causing her ponytail to swing out behind her like a silken rope. It reminded me of a snake, a beautiful but deadly snake that you’d see featured on the Nature Channel. The kind that makes you cheer when a grizzly trods upon it.
Something in my expression must have alerted Peter to my mood, because his brows pulled together and he moved my way. Giving him what I hoped was a look of icy disdain, I marched over to Detective Grant and thrust out my hand. The necklace caught the firelight and glittered forth like a loop of flames. Around me, I heard gasps. The only discernible reaction in Detective Grant was an instant shrinking of his pupils into hard, cold dots of black. It took every ounce of courage not to throw the necklace at his feet and make a mad break for the door. Peter stood next to me and wrapped an arm protectively around my shoulder. I was torn between leaning into his warm strength and angrily slapping his hand away.
“This was in my bureau,” I said loudly. “We just found it.”
Detective Grant stepped forward and took the necklace from me. I was glad to let it go. Holding it up so that it hung in one shining rope, he shifted his gaze from it to me and asked simply, “Who, may I ask, is ‘we’?”
“Bridget.” I pointed in her direction.
Detective Grant’s gaze slid to Bridget. “Which of you found it?”
“I did,” said Bridget, with a nervous glance in my direction.
“I see,” he intoned. He dipped his large hand into his suit pocket and retrieved a plastic bag. Slipping the necklace inside, he then took out his notebook and pen. “Tell me how.”
“Elizabeth and I were in her room talking when I noticed something shiny in the top drawer of her bureau. I looked inside and saw the necklace.”
“I see. And what was Ms. Parker’s reaction to this?”
Bridget lifted her chin. “Elizabeth took the necklace from me and immediately came down to give it to you, of course! I can’t imagine what
Detective Grant seemed unimpressed by this assertion of my good character and resumed his stony-eyed appraisal of me.
“Detective Grant, I’m not sure I like where you’re going with this,” said Peter. “Elizabeth is an honest person. To state otherwise is ridiculous.”
“Mr. McGowan, I’m sure your loyalty does you credit, but I don’t believe that I’ve officially stated anything, ridiculous or otherwise.”
Peter tensed in anger, while I tried not to scoff at Detective Grant’s use of the word
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence... ” I sputtered.
This was greeted with a tight smile. “Well, now that’s something we can agree on, because neither do I. Who shares that room with you?”
My eyes flew to Megan. She was still sitting on the couch. Before I could answer, she stood up on trembling legs and said, “I do. I share the room.”
When he saw her pale face and large frightened eyes, Detective Grant’s hard expression softened. “When did you last see your mother’s necklace?”
“Last night,” said Megan. “She was wearing it during the reception.”
“Did you know that it was in your room?”
“No, of course not!” Her hands shook and she swayed slightly. Looking wildly around, she cried out, “I didn’t kill my mother! And I didn’t take her necklace! I swear I didn’t!” Her voice was unsteady and her eyes looked glassy. I peered closer at her, wondering if she’d already been smoking this morning.
In two quick moves Detective Grant was at her side. Gently taking her hand, he helped her back onto the couch. While I appreciated Detective Grant’s sensitive treatment of Megan, I briefly wondered why I didn’t warrant the same handling. After all, I was upset, too. Before my mind could provide the obvious answer, I forced it to focus on something else.
Seeing Megan’s dazed face, a wave of protectiveness overcame me. If she had been smoking, she’d probably still reek of it. The last thing she needed was for Detective Grant to smell it. I cleared my throat and said, “Detective Grant, perhaps you should continue the rest of your interview with me in private.”
He turned to face me. I couldn’t read his expression, but instinct assured me that it wasn’t good.
“Yes,” he said, with a sidelong glance at Megan. “Perhaps that would be best—”
Before he could finish, Claire and David entered the room. Claire entered first and David shuffled in behind her, warily eyeing the rest of us.
