I waved a dismissive hand. “That’s old hat. I enjoy being.” I glimpsed my silk georgette blouse in the mirror. It was truly lovely. “And I’m parched.”
“Mine but to serve,” Kay murmured, but she popped up and moved to the wet bar.
“Club soda, please.” I settled in a comfortable easy chair by the coffee table.
The club soda fizzed as Kay poured it into a tall tumbler filled with ice. She selected a Coke from the refrigerator for herself. She turned from the wet bar and carried the glasses to a clear glass coffee table, then brought a bowl of cashews.
“Thank you.” I reached for the glass. Plain club soda was always my drink of choice, bright, fresh, and not a trace of sweet. I selected five cashews, ate them slowly, felt a pop of energy. I pushed a cushion behind my back and stretched to admire my sandals. Perhaps they’d be even prettier with a green trim. Oh, yes. I nodded approval.
Kay retrieved her notebook and pen and sat in a webbed leather chair on the other side of the table. A shaft of late-afternoon sunlight through the west windows of Jack’s sitting room revealed the fine lines that feathered from her eyes and lips, reflecting a life filled with humor and thought and adventure and empathy.
I spoke rapidly. “I talked to Diane, Jimmy, Shannon, Margo, and Gwen. Diane thinks Jack was murdered…” And I concluded, “…Someone is trying to blackmail Gwen.”
Kay looked up from her notebook as I finished. “How’s this for a summary? Diane’s terrified that Jimmy pushed Jack. Jimmy admitted he intended to confront Jack, but claimed he found the balcony empty. Shannon heard Gwen Dunham say she wished Jack was dead. Margo refused to answer any questions and you believe she pushed Ryan’s picture beneath Jack’s door.” Kay’s expression softened. “And there’s Gwen Dunham. Poor woman.”
Kay’s gaze swung toward the windows to look at the hedge between The Castle and the Dunham house. “I have two sons.” The sentence was filled with understanding and compassion. “I wouldn’t trade my years watching Kyle and Connor grow up for anything in the world.” She tapped her pen on the notebook. “Gwen Dunham had the most to lose.”
“The dog barked.”
Kay looked bewildered.
I was following my own line of thought. “Gwen Dunham was not the only person who was threatened by revelations about Ryan. Friday night, Shannon followed Jack to the gazebo, where he met Gwen. Shannon tried to get near enough to hear, but Diane’s cocker started barking. Gwen said she slipped from the house, leaving her husband asleep. Was he asleep? Did he follow her? Did the cocker bark at him or at Shannon? How upset would Clint Dunham be if he thought the son he loved would learn Clint wasn’t his father? Clint had a motive for murder. Or was someone else out there? Ronald Phillips has a talent for slipping around unseen. He may be planning to blackmail Gwen.”
“There are too many possibilities.” Kay sounded discouraged. “How can we figure out who is guilty?”
“Which one was capable of murder? Was Paul helpful?”
Kay looked at me unhappily. “I feel like I took advantage of him. These people are his friends. He thinks I wanted his perspective so that I could more effectively interview them.”
“Jack was Paul’s quarterback.”
Some of the tension eased from her face. “Thank you.” Her glance said more than her words. Paul’s admiration and respect mattered hugely to her. Someday, if Kay revealed the truth about Jack’s death, Paul would understand.
“I believe Paul’s view of them is as honest a picture as we will find. So”—she was brisk—“Gwen seems an unlikely suspect. He describes her as gentle, self-effacing, unwilling to cause controversy. She loves Adelaide. Clint had a chance some years ago to go with Travelers Insurance in Dallas. Gwen didn’t want to leave Adelaide.”
I looked back over years, considering how Gwen had dealt with a once-in-a-lifetime chance for love. “Jack wanted her to come to Africa. She wouldn’t—or couldn’t—break out of the mold of her life. Keeping the status quo mattered more to her than passion. If she clung to a kind of life that had barely begun, what would she do if something occurred which threatened to destroy her long-established, secure world?”
“Gwen hated him that night in the gazebo.” Kay’s eyes narrowed. “Shannon heard her: ‘I wish you were dead.’”
I cautioned, “We have no proof of what Gwen said. Shannon may have lied.”
“Why?” Kay sipped the soft drink.
“You are forgetting one small matter.”
Kay raised a questioning eyebrow.
“The vase.”
“Oh. Of course. The murderer is quite sure questions from you or me have nothing to do with a book and will take every opportunity to direct suspicion elsewhere. That means the response of one of them has to be filtered through the possibility of guilt. Clever of you.” She gave me an admiring glance. “You aren’t as ditzy as you look.”
Every time Kay and I seemed to be forging a bond, she said something tactless. I suppose pique was evident in my expression. I stiffened. Had I heard a faint chuckle? I looked around the room. If Wiggins was here, he remained, of course, unseen.
He whirled into being behind Kay, visible only to me, chestnut hair burnished in a stream of sunlight from the window, broad genial face equable, mustache quivering in amusement. He gave me a thumbs-up, pointed into the distance, and disappeared.
I was swept by elation. Despite my continued appearances, Wiggins had clearly awarded me the Department of Good Intentions Seal of Approval. If Wiggins didn’t have a seal, I’d be happy to help design one. Perhaps a dear sea lion perched astride bright red (of course) letters trumpeting: YES! For an instant, tears of joy filmed my eyes.
