Cobb cleared his throat. “Mrs. Clark, you were in the garden when the vase fell. Apparently, you narrowly escaped being crushed. Do you think it is likely the vase’s fall at that precise moment was a coincidence?”
Kay gave a cool smile and turned her hands palms up. “I wouldn’t know what else to think.”
“Really.” He drew out the word in a sardonic mimicry. “Mrs. Clark, why were you in the garden?”
She hesitated for an instant, then said smoothly. “I was meeting with my assistant, Francie de Sales. She’d just arrived in town.” Kay glanced at Evelyn. “Diane has very nicely invited Francie to stay at The Castle.”
“Oh?” Evelyn turned her milky gaze toward Kay.
Kay was suddenly voluble. “Francie and I met in the gazebo this morning. Diane stopped to visit and she saw at once that Francie and I could be in closer contact if Francie stayed here. I truly appreciate her generosity and yours.” She smiled at Chief Cobb. “Francie will be in and out.”
Uh-oh. I knew Chief Cobb well enough to be certain he would ask to talk to Francie. Kay had no way of knowing that the chief and I had met before, though he hadn’t known me as Francie de Sales. I thought fondly of my previous appearances as Officer M. Loy and family friend Jerrie Emiliani.
“Is Miss de Sales available? I’d like to speak with her.”
Kay looked uncertain. As well she might. “I’m not sure when she’ll be back. She went to get her luggage.”
On the spur of the moment, that wasn’t a bad ploy.
Cobb nodded. “Ask her to call me, please.”
Whew.
“I will.”
“Now, about your conference with her in the garden last night: Who knew about that meeting?”
“No one.” She sounded utterly confident. And believable.
Wiggins knew, of course. Oh well, she was speaking the truth as she understood it.
Cobb folded his arms. “I understand you are in Adelaide to write a book about Jack Hume. Has it occurred to you, Mrs. Clark, that someone might not want you to write that book?”
Her gaze was unfaltering, her voice convincing. “Chief Cobb, I’m quite sure no one pushed a vase from that pedestal because of the book.”
Again, she spoke the truth. A murderer pushed the vase to hide a crime.
“And”—she spoke brightly—“speaking of the book, it’s time I continued my research.” She turned and started down the steps.
Chief Cobb stared after her, eyes narrowed, face hard.
“I suppose this concludes your questions.” Evelyn spoke pleasantly, but firmly. “I consider the matter closed now. We won’t make a complaint. Further investigation isn’t necessary. The destruction of the vase may have been vandalism. But”—her tone was silky—“experts are often wrong. Thank you for your good efforts, Captain.” Evelyn, too, turned away and moved down the steps.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kay slid behind the wheel of a canary yellow Corvette convertible with the top down; her eyes flicked uneasily here and there.
I settled comfortably in the soft leather seat. “Are you looking for me?” It’s nice to be missed.
She stiffened. “You.”
“Me.”
She glared at the passenger seat. “I don’t know which is worse, seeing you or not seeing you.”
The chief’s car pulled around Kay’s. He gave her a half-angry, half-worried glare. I warned, “Let’s wait until the chief’s car is out of sight.”
Kay was surly. “I’m surprised you didn’t appear on the scene and tell him everything.”
I didn’t intend to share with Kay my determination to avoid the chief. He had seen enough of me on previous visits to suggest an otherworldly link. Wiggins had been upset. Wiggins would be proud of me if I avoided the chief.
“Don’t sound bitter, Kay. I’m going along with your plan.”
“I can’t stand hearing a voice out of nowhere.” Her tone was hot. “If you’re here, be here.”
Always happy to oblige, I swirled into being. In my new role as Kay’s assistant, I sought to appear more businesslike, a crisp white blouse with a flared collar, cream linen trousers, white leather flats. I pulled down the visor and glanced into the mirror. Ah, just the right amount of green eye shadow. Not, of course, that I am prideful about having green eyes. Green is as green does, but green does better with a little accent.
Kay reached out, tapped my sleeve with her forefinger. “Okay. I’m convinced. Diane saw you. But you come and go.” She spoke in a whisper. “I have my own personal ghost. Ghosts…” She had a faraway look. Abruptly, she sat up straight and turned to me. “All right. Level with me. Who killed Jack?”
It was the last question I’d expected. “How should I know?”
She was impatient. “Don’t play games. You hang around. You see things. You know things. Who pushed him?”
