He read from his notes, his face stolid: “‘…bright red poppies in a field…sharp light and a magnifying glass…’ Would you have any explanation for this passage?”
Alison’s face folded in a puzzled frown. “I didn’t take mention of the painting—I’m sure that was the Metcalf painting—to mean much of anything. I thought the seance was a bunch of nonsense until Laverne claimed somebody pushed Jack Hume. That pretty well drove everything out of my mind. Of course, everyone was upset and most of them were angry. I don’t blame them. If it was my family, I would have been mad, too. I suppose I was pretty harsh. I said it was all nonsense. I left as soon as I could. None of it had anything to do with me. As for the magnifying glass, I supposed it had something to do with Evelyn, but I can’t imagine what.”
Chief Cobb’s tone was avuncular. “You have been closely connected to the Hume family for many years. I would appreciate your insights as to who might have killed Jack Hume.”
Her face drew down in dismay. Slowly, she shook her head. “If I knew anything that I felt would be helpful, I would tell you. But we are talking about people’s lives here. I’m not willing to play guess-the-murderer.”
Cobb was somber. “We are indeed talking about people’s lives, Ms. Gregory.”
He waited.
She gave a slight shake of her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Very well.” He started to rise, then reached for the shiny black case. “We are requesting those who attended last night’s seance to provide fingerprints.”
Although she looked startled, she managed a smile. “That’s the easiest question you’ve asked. I’ll be happy to do that.”
Chief Cobb cleared his throat. “I’ll carry the sack.”
“I could appear.” I know I sounded wistful. Wistful usually has a lovely effect upon manly men such as the chief.
“Somebody would see us. Then I’d be asked about the good-looking redhead with me at the lake.”
“Oh.” Well, if I couldn’t appear, a compliment was the next best thing. “How about sitting on the pier?” The forest preserve next to St. Mildred’s Church was one of Adelaide’s loveliest and coolest places on a summer day.
We found a shady spot a few feet from shore and settled on the wooden flooring, our feet dangling over the edge. The only fishermen were on the other side of the lake in a boat.
Sam—I do think of him as Sam—swiped his face with his handkerchief.
I carefully split the sack, placed it on the dock for a makeshift place mat. I picked up a cheeseburger.
He summarized what he felt were the important points:
“One. Evelyn Hume was ostensibly cooperative, but her only revelation concerned a man who was dead. The photograph of Ryan Dunham was found hidden in a coffee-table book in the Phillipses’ suite. Ronald’s fingerprints were on the print.
“Two. Diane Hume was quick to accuse Margo, but she revealed that she herself was well aware where the gun was kept.
“Three. Margo insisted neither she nor Shannon left the house last night. I think she was lying.
“Four. Shannon Taylor knows something she isn’t telling.
“Five. Jimmy Hume implicated Clint Dunham, but he also implicated himself. He could have been outside to place the cocker in the tool room.
“Six. I think Gwen Dunham lied when she said her husband knew nothing about Jack Hume’s claim that Ryan was his son.
“Seven. Clint Dunham stonewalled me. He knows something he isn’t telling. But he didn’t show shock when I asked him whether he knew Ryan was Jack’s son.
“Eight. Alison Gregory did not repeat Jack Hume’s comment about his sister’s anger toward him. Alison admitted she destroyed evidence about the vase’s fall.”
I added more salt to the French fries.
The chief chided me: “Salt’s not good for high blood pressure.” He stopped, a French fry midway to his lips. “Oh. Yeah. You don’t have to worry. You know, it would be kind of interesting if—”
I felt a tap on the back of my hand.
For an instant I was startled. How had Wiggins known where I was? Oh. Of course. He saw the French fry in the air. I waggled my French fry in reply. Surely Wiggins was pleased that I wasn’t, so to speak, here. However, I understood his instructions. To head off any discussion of the Hereafter, I broke in quickly, “That’s an excellent summing-up. Cogent, clear, concise.” Praise is always a good diversion. “Compelling,” I concluded with vigor.
Chief Cobb wiped his hand on a paper napkin. “Thanks. But I don’t see a direct link to Ronald Phillips and the murderer.” He sounded discouraged. “We have plenty of people with motive and opportunity and not a single fact to tie one of them to the crime.”
A growly whisper in one ear caught my attention.
“If I had time, I would remonstrate. Conversing with your charge is one thing: discourse with Chief Cobb is definitely another. But, alas, I am needed.” As suddenly as he had come, I knew Wiggins had departed.
Hopefully, the diffident emissary in Patagonia required Wiggins’s attention posthaste. Certainly no one could accuse me of indecisiveness. Not, of course, that I am being prideful. Heaven forfend.
Chief Cobb made a disgruntled sound in his throat.
