body, and poor Sarah Jacobs would have another autopsy to look forward to.
“You look awful, Annike.”
I looked up to find Adam hovering over me, contrition all over his face. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have been rattling on like this to you. You should go home. Need a ride?”
“I was going to call Aunt Gerda when we got here,” I said. In fact, Sarkisian and I had argued over whether he would take me home, where he said I ought to be, or go straight to the Still, where he was needed on official business. He’d only agreed to the latter when I’d promised faithfully to call for a ride as soon as we got here. That had been over three hours ago.
The metal stairs thudded with the sound of several people climbing back to our level, and the low murmur of men’s voices preceded their entry into the lobby. Sarkisian, looking even more disheveled than when I’d last seen him, strode into the room and came up short. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You promised to go home.”
“Been keeping Adam company,” I explained.
Sarkisian’s glare transferred to Fairfield. “Yeah,” he said after a minute. “That must have been a bit of a shock for you. How come no one else is working this afternoon?”
“Holiday,” Adam explained. “One of the techs came in to check the batches this morning, so there’s nothing else to be done until tomorrow. Hatter’s the night watchman, so he was alone.”
“What brought you in, then?” Sarkisian asked.
“I’m Hatter’s relief this weekend. He can’t stay on duty twenty-four hours a day, you know, even if he did need the overtime.” Adam’s mouth twisted. “I need it, too, so I volunteered to give him a break.”
Sarkisian sighed. “Too bad you didn’t come a little earlier.”
Adam nodded. “But Hatter knew when I was due. He must have planned to be dead long before then.”
“Oh, I doubt he planned anything,” the sheriff said.
Adam looked up. “An accident? You think Hatter got drunk, then decided to soak in brandy for the fun of it?”
“I think someone got him drunk and set the stage to look like suicide.”
“But…” I began, then broke off, feeling sick.
“Why?” Adam demanded. “Why would anyone kill the poor sod? He was about as inoffensive as a guy could get!”
“Well, we’ll know more tomorrow,” Sarkisian said with a note of finality. He looked at me for a long moment, then shook his head. “Not this time, Ms. McKinley. You’ve gone through too much already in the last twenty-four hours. I’ll take Jennifer.”
Conscience won out over self-preservation, and I shook my head. “She’ll need friends. Let’s take…” I hesitated. My aunt remained a suspect in one murder, and if this was another, and the two were connected- Lucy-no, she’d be at work. “Ida Graham,” I decided. That woman’s brisk, motherly cheerfulness might be exactly what Barbara Hatter would need.
Sarkisian placed the call from the reception desk, and Ida promised to meet us at the Hatters’s house in fifteen minutes. Adam went home, several deputy sheriffs took over the night watchman duties in what was now a crime scene rather than a business, and I accompanied Sarkisian out to the Honda.
“What makes you think it’s murder?” I asked as we started out the drive. Sarah Jacobs, in her little Toyota, followed us. It was my opinion, confided to the sheriff and endorsed by Sarah, that Barbara Hatter would need a sedative.
“Needle mark on the inside of his elbow.”
“But drugs would show up on an autopsy!” I exclaimed.
“I think whoever did it injected alcohol, probably enough to get him so drunk that more could be poured down his throat.”
“Then with Dave incapacitated, your killer set the stage, then what? Held Dave’s head under ‘til he drowned?” My stomach clenched. Oh, God, Sarkisian was right. I should never have gotten myself mixed up in the murder investigation. I’d give anything to pull out now, go home, forget any of this awful business ever happened. But life- and reality-didn’t work like that.
“Seems probable. The autopsy should clear up a few questions, but I think it must have gone something like that.”
The next hour went every bit as badly as I’d feared. As soon as Barbara opened the door to us, panic filled her face. Then when we got her inside and broke the news, she went into full-blown hysterics. Ida Graham, who arrived to find Sarah struggling to administer a sedative, took charge and swept the poor woman off to bed.
“She thought we’d come to tell her you’d arrested Dave for murder,” I said as we returned, shaken by the ordeal, to the Honda.
Sarkisian held the door for me, then closed it without answering. He went around to the other side and climbed in.
“At the breakfast the other day,” I went on after he’d started the engine, “she was afraid he was going to hurt himself. But I don’t think that was on her mind tonight.”
He looked at me. “Ever thought of becoming a psychologist?”
“If you’re going to insult me-”
“I’m not. I was just working around to that conclusion, myself. Something must have happened to make Dave Hatter feel better. To make his wife no longer think in terms of him killing himself.”
“He came into some money?” I suggested.
Sarkisian kept his gaze on the road. “Blackmail?”
“No, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to meet his victim at the Still with no one else around. I mean, no one could be that dumb!”
He shook his head. “You’d be surprised.” Silence settled between us, then abruptly he slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Damn, why couldn’t I have figured this out sooner! If I’d solved Brody’s murder, Hatter might still be alive!”
“If the murders are connected,” I pointed out in a vain attempt to relieve his guilt.
He cast me a withering glance. “What are the odds they aren’t?”
We’d reached the intersection of Fallen Tree Road and Last Gasp Hill. We had to turn right to get to Gerda’s. Abruptly, we swung left. “Where…?” I began.
“The office.” Anger sounded in his voice. “I’m drafting you again. The answer’s got to be somewhere in those damned ledgers or papers, and I’m going to find it before anyone else dies.”
Half an hour later, we settled in the small room given over to the Still’s financial books, armed with a pot of strong coffee and a plate of brownies fetched from a grocery store bakery by Jennifer.
“All right,” Sarkisian heaped sugar and cream into his mug, “how many bookkeeping or accounting cons can you think of?”
“You’re back to Peggy again,” I said. “And Peggy couldn’t have killed Dave! She was at the park, then we followed her to the homeless shelter.”
“Was she at the park the whole time? Could she have left for an hour without our noticing?”
She could, of course. Anyone could have. There was so much chaos, and people racing off to get things they’d forgotten. And if I protested too much, he might go back to the theory that Gerda and Peggy were pulling this off together. And Gerda would have had time to kill Dave, no matter how much I couldn’t believe it possible.
“And don’t forget Tony Carerras,” Sarkisian stuck in.
My head came up. “None of this might have anything to do with Peggy, at all! Tony might…”
“Does he have access to a key to your aunt’s house?”
That stopped me, but only for a moment. “He might.”
“Okay, let’s look at Tony. Why would he kill Brody at that particular time and place?”
I swallowed. The only link between the two was that they both worked for the Still. Tony had no involvement in the financial matters.
“Unless,” Sarkisian went on with ruthless determination, “he did it to protect Ms. O’Shaughnessy.”
“And Dave?” It was time to get Sarkisian’s thoughts running along another line. “Why would he kill Dave?”
“Same reason, I suppose. To protect Ms. O’Shaughnessy.”
That seemed all too possible, but I forged ahead. “Peggy could-must-be completely innocent. Maybe Tony just
