Dutch Me Deadly

“The guy tripped and fell. Have you seen the stairs in this place? They’re enough to scare the climbers who scaled Everest. One misstep, and splat!”

I winced. “But what about—”

“When Pete dive-bombed at you, was he wearing the kind of look that screamed, ‘Holy shit! Someone just pushed me?’”

I regarded her blandly. “I don’t know how he looked. I mean, I didn’t see his face. It all happened too quickly.”

“My point exactly. These stairs are killers.” She recapped her lip gloss and brush and stuffed them back in her bag. “Look, Em, if it’ll make you feel any better, the police seem to be treating Pete’s death as an accident. These guys are very thorough interrogators, so trust me, if Mike McManus had entertained even a fleeting thought about shoving Pete down the stairs, they would know. Their interrogation techniques are brilliant. You wouldn’t believe what they were able to get out of me.”

“Like what?”

She gave her eyelashes a demure flutter. “Like, I had written a novel that can still be purchased on Amazon from select sellers.”

Oh, right. Who knew what sordid threats they’d had to make to get that out of her?

The restroom door swung open.

“Thank God,” Jackie gushed as Beth Ann crossed the threshold. “Could you please do me a colossal favor and convince Emily she didn’t kill Pete Finnegan?”

Beth Ann did a double-take. “Pardon me?”

“Go ahead.” She made a scooting motion with her hand. “Tell her what you saw just before Pete fell down the stairs.”

“Uh—he was hanging out by the stairs, waiting for the queue to Peter Van Pels’ room to shorten, and the next thing I knew, I heard a series of thumps, a scream, and poof. He wasn’t there anymore.”

My heart did a little stutter step. “Was he doing anything unusual while he was waiting? Talking to anyone? Looking at anything?”

“The last time I saw him, he was checking out the ceiling beams. Did you notice them, Jackie? The dark wood added so much warmth and character to the room. I wish they could have displayed some of the original furniture. My dad’s house was full of antique fixtures and furniture, so I have a real appreciation for period pieces.”

“So, Pete was … looking up when he probably should have been looking down?” I persisted.

Beth Ann nodded. “He seemed mesmerized by those beams. Kind of like a bricklayer would be mesmerized by the craftsmanship of a really intricate chimney.”

Was this what Pete’s mishap boiled down to? One inattentive step in the wrong direction? “Did the police find it likely that Pete’s accident might have been caused by nothing more than a misstep?”

She shrugged. “They didn’t comment one way or the other. They just took down my account and told me I could leave.”

“See?” Jackie gave my shoulder an “I told you so” poke. “No one pushed him. He fell.”

Beth Ann’s cheeks flushed with exuberance. “This whole experience has been so exciting. I’ve never been questioned by the authorities before.” She flashed Jackie a breathless smile. “Have you ever thought of writing a police procedural novel?”

My pulse slowed to a more natural rhythm. Calm leavened my guilt. Reason replaced paranoia. Why did I do this to myself ? Why did I always leap to conclusions, rush to judgment, see everyone as a suspect? I needed to get a grip. But more than that, I needed to stop thinking that I, Emily Andrew Miceli, knew more than the police.

I propped my hip against the edge of the vanity, feeling my adrenalin high start to fade. “So I guess neither one of you got to see Peter Van Pels room,” I said in a less frenzied voice.

“The queue was ridiculous,” said Beth Ann. “And the people who were waiting to jump in line were all clustered around me, which was great for eavesdropping, but bad for touring.”

“I hope you heard more than I did.” Jackie primped in the mirror. “I was surrounded by duds.”

Beth Ann referred to her notebook, which suddenly seemed affixed to her hand like a tattoo. “Ricky Hennessy was complaining to Chip Soucy about his bad knees and the prospect of total knee replacements in the near future. Mindy was staring at the floor, looking bored. Gary and Sheila Bouchard were standing close to the wall, saying nothing, but looking very uncomfortable. Laura LaPierre and Mary Lou McManus had their heads together, talking, but they were speaking so softly, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Sorry.”

Jackie cocked her head like the Victrola dog peering into the phonograph speaker. “How do you know everyone’s name already?”

“Uhh—nametags?” Beth Ann regarded her wide-eyed. “Everyone’s wearing one. Haven’t you noticed?”

Jackie twitched her freshly glossed lips. “Good point. Anything else?”

“Mike McManus and Peewee were latecomers, so they were only there a couple of minutes, but I did overhear Mike ask Peewee if he’d been in school the day a few members of the football team let the air out of someone named Mr. Albert’s tires.”

“Wait a sec.” I held up my hand to slow her down. If she was saying what I think she was saying, then—“All the people you’ve just mentioned were a stone’s throw away from you, right?”

“Right.”

“And you were a stone’s throw away from Pete Finnegan?”

“Yeah.”

“So everyone was within a stone’s throw of Pete?”

Beth Ann looked a little cowed. “Yeaaah.” She dragged the word out as if it were caught in a slide flute.

My heart raced. My mouth went dry. I pressed my palms to my forehead and squeezed my eyelids shut. “They were all there,” I choked. “Mike. Peewee. Ricky. Watching him like hawks. How could the police think it was an accident?”

Beth Ann raised her eyebrows. “Do you suppose they never got the memo that Pete is the third person we’ve lost in two days? What if they don’t have police scanners over here? What if the officers who interrogated us didn’t know about Paula and Charlotte?”

I glanced from one to the other. “Neither of you mentioned Paula to the police?”

Jackie shot me the look. “Duh? You made us promise not to say a word to anyone. What do we look like? Stool pigeons?” But her expression registered slow enlightenment as she put two and two together. “OH, MY GOD! Pete didn’t fall. Someone pushed him!”

“Hel-looo?” I cried.

“Hello to you, too, dear,” said Nana, peeking over her shoulder as she scooted into the room. She pressed her back against the wall just inside the door and stood motionless for a moment, like a cat burglar waiting for the coast to clear. She offered us a placid smile as we stared across the room at her. “You girls go on with what you was talkin’ about. Just pretend like I’m not here.”

What in the world? “Let me guess,” I said impassively. “You’re trying to avoid someone.”

“Dang.” She pumped her fist. “What gave it away?”

“Who are you hiding from?”

Her eyes flickered with guilt. “Grace and Helen. I can’t take no more of them questions, so I’m goin’ rogue.”

“In the restroom?” I regarded the cold tile and harsh lighting. “You can’t find someplace more relaxing?”

“This’ll do. Especially since I don’t gotta haul water to flush the commode.”

I looked at Jackie, Jackie looked at Beth, Beth looked at me—our glances posing a silent question. What now?

I made an executive decision. “Nana, if I share something with you, will you promise to keep it under your hat until it’s officially made public later today?”

“You don’t even gotta ask, dear.” She locked her lips with an imaginary key and dropped it down her bosom.