Liz broke into their moment. “Charlotte, we’ll be willing to go over everything we have learned, if you’ll let us in on a few things you’ve learned, as well.” In all fairness, when Agent Pearson and Liz had first met, she’d been introduced by her first name.
Agent Pearson’s lips turned slightly upward. “‘Us’? Well, I see one thing on your list for suspect number one I can clear up right now—nothing was self-inflicted. But I’m not at liberty to share anything more. And the two of you”—she gave Fenton a chastising nod—“must report anything you know about this matter, or you could be charged with interfering in our investigation.” She took a step closer to a now whimpering Iris. “Perhaps later, I might be willing to sit down with you and your father, but only if you’re forthright with me beforehand.”
Aunt Amelia moved to go with them, but Fenton held her back. Agent Pearson put her hand on Iris’s elbow and guided her into the hallway. Liz heard the squeaking of the housekeeper’s shoes as she scuffled away.
“Stay with Liz,” Fenton said to Amelia. “I want to be there when they bring Iris in. Why do you think she’s innocent, and what is she being charged with?”
Aunt Amelia sat on the sofa and fingered the iridescent beads around her neck. “They say she pawned one of Regina Harrington-Worth’s missing earrings. They have her signature at the pawnshop and even have camera footage of her coming in with an earring and a cat collar with diamonds on it. Iris said the earring was lying on the carpet next to the collar when she went into Regina’s bedroom and found her dead. Iris grabbed them both, knowing that whoever killed Regina would be blamed for the theft rather than her.”
“Did she say any of this in front of Charlotte?” Fenton asked.
Aunt Amelia rubbed her hands in worry. “Yes. Was that a bad thing?”
“Not a good thing, that’s for sure.” He walked into his office and grabbed his briefcase from the floor next to his desk. He turned back before going out the door. “Auntie, did Iris say anything else to Agent Pearson I should know about?”
“Yes. She swore she didn’t murder Mrs. Worth. She said she took the earring and collar to get enough money to help her mother get an operation. And I believe her.”
As strange as it seemed, Liz tended to believe Iris, too.
Chapter 33
On the way to the emporium, Liz saw Captain Netherton pull out of the Indialantic’s parking lot in his Ford Explorer, most likely heading to the police station where Agent Pearson had taken Iris. He was Iris’s alibi for the night of the murder and vice versa. Liz thought of Greta Kimball waiting for her daughter to come through with the money so she could have her operation and leave the Sundowner Retirement Home. She understood Iris’s in-the-moment temptation to grab the earring to help her destitute mother. However, Liz recalled when she’d pricked her finger on one the prongs on Venus’s collar and noticed a missing stone. Had Iris been the one who had pried off a stone to verify whether it was a real diamond? Then a vision of the champagne bottle and the two flutes she’d seen in Iris’s sitting room the day before the murder popped into her head. There was definitely someone else in Iris’s life. As soon as her father came back from the courthouse, Liz planned to ask him to call the security company for a copy of the footage for the night before Regina’s death, to see whether he could find Iris’s champagne-sharing guest. The feed on his laptop was only good for seventy-two hours. Liz would also share everything she’d written in her notes involving Iris. She didn’t know if the information would help or hurt Iris’s case, but as Iris’s attorney, he needed to know everything. As for David Worth, his wound wasn’t self-inflicted, sliding him down near the bottom of the list.
After parking the Caddy, Liz walked to the emporium and stepped inside. Kate sat on the bench by the window, whispering into a book. The tips of Bronte’s ears crowned from the basket next to her, and a huge shopping bag rested on the floor by Kate’s feet. As Liz stepped closer, she heard Kate say to How to Care for and Nurture Your New Kitten, “You give good instructions to the newbie owner, but I noticed you didn’t mention you must play with your kitten every day, so make sure Liz can read between your lines.”
Brittany Poole stood next to a mannequin near the half wall to Sirens by the Sea, accessorizing a flowing, tropical-print sundress with a strand of chunky lime-green glass beads. After she draped the beads around the mannequin’s neck, she glanced at Liz, then pointed to Kate. Brittany raised her right hand up to her ear, then extended her pointer finger and swirled it in the air in the universal “crazy” gesture. Clicking her tongue and shaking her head, Brittany turned and walked to the back of her shop. She stood behind the cash register and continued to watch them.
Liz agreed that Kate’s conversing with books was a little on the idiosyncratic side, but Kate had once explained to her that every book written held a certain energy, an aura of connection to the heart and soul of the author who’d written it. As an author herself, why should Liz argue? Kate never cared about anyone else’s opinion. Liz wished some of that confidence would rub off on her. She walked over to the basket, glanced inside, and saw her fluffy gray-and-white kitten nestled atop an apropos Hello Kitty flannel blanket.
“Yay. She didn’t run away and hide in the Bronte section of your bookshelves. That must be a good sign.”
“It’s kismet. You’re meant to be together,” Kate said, then sneezed.
“Bless you!” Something about the ferocity of her sneeze suddenly flipped a
