“Who did?” Rita demanded.
“I don’t know who the murderer is, but it was the grandson who was killed—not the grandmother.” Jack took a too large swallow of his own wine. He breathed slowly in and then elaborated. “You have to understand the scene first. Cuckoo clocks, embroidery, watercolors. The not-quite-right drawings of people bad artists draw.”
“All right,” Rita said, and each word seemed to be rain when she was dying of thirst.
“It was awful even before the old woman said, ‘I need your help.’”
“That’s why she hired you and Ham,” Rita reminded him.
“Indeed. I think I expected her to show me into her dead husband’s office and demand an accounting, but instead, she opened the door and there was her grandson.”
“Dead?” Rita demanded.
“Dead, pool of blood under him, blood coming from his mouth, dagger sticking out of his back.”
“They didn’t take the weapon?” Rita asked.
It felt a little like a game, Vi thought, even though it was a terrible thing to imagine. It felt like some sort of evening game you might play with friends on a wintery night. The clues and suspects would be laid out, the information about the evening from each of the suspects’ perspectives, and the team of friends would string their theories together and try to discover who killed the victim.
If they had to turn the murder of this man into a game for Rita, Vi was willing to do just that.
“Maybe the weapon belonged in the room,” Vi suggested.
Rita pushed back her frizzy curls and turned to Vi. Her normally smooth beauty was gone and everything that remained after the last night and day were Rita, but somehow not. The usual peaches and cream skin, tinged with blushing cheeks and pink lips—all too pale and a little green. Her big, vivid, brilliantly sapphire eyes, bloodshot and pained. The caverns under her eyes that never usually existed. The ready smile turned to a steady frown.
“Taking it away if it belongs there would be a mistake,” Rita said before she took another swallow of wine and then leaned slightly to the left to let Hargreaves refill it.
As they spoke, plates were placed in front of them, and Vi had little doubt that Rita’s was filled with the most tempting morsels. She glanced at her plate and then sipped from her wineglass again.
“Eat,” Jack ordered.
Rita turned her big blue eyes on him, and they filled with tears.
Vi could see Jack wince, seeing the horror of what he’d caused, but he said, “You eat, I’ll tell you everything.”
Rita jerked a nod, and Jack carried on as though the byplay hadn’t happened.
“The knife was the grandfather’s. It had been in that room, on that desk for years. The grandfather had used it to open his letters.”
“Was it dull?” Rita asked, but she asked it just before choking down a bite of roast beef.
“According to Mrs. Meyers, no. Her husband kept it deadly sharp and it hadn’t been used in years. It was as sharp as the day he died.”
Rita paused, seeming to lose interest and Denny filled in. “But, no one should have known the grandson was going to be there, right? He’d been missing. If this was a crime of passion, they shouldn’t have known he was there. If there was a meeting between the grandson and the killer, the death couldn’t have been planned.”
“Unless, it was a meeting with one of the many people with a motive to kill him and they were waiting for the opportunity.” Vi was desperate to gather Rita’s interest again. “I kind of wanted to kill him.”
Rita turned to Vi, who stared at Rita’s plate instead. Rita sighed and took another bite, nearly gagging on the food despite how delicious it was and Violet rewarded her with more information. “There were the childhood friends he had stolen from, including ruining Miss Tessa Tapper’s engagement.”
Rita’s attention was fickle and Vi was sure she didn’t care anymore than Vi did about who killed Jason Meyers, but while they talked, Rita absently placed another mouthful of food in her mouth. Ham watched each bite with desperation while Vi dredged through her mind for the most salacious details she could find.
“Oh, there was the older woman.”
“The grandmother?” Rita asked, nearly listless.
“No, not the grandmother. Actually Rita, you would have recognized her. For Jason Meyers, she was the heiress he had a chance at.”
A measure of focus returned to Rita’s gaze.
“Her father was the reverend, and in the few minutes I spoke to him, I felt stifled. I couldn’t imagine being his daughter. He was determined, fixated even, on his daughter not marrying the handsome Jason Meyers.”
Rita’s wine glass was empty again in the moments since they’d been feeding her what information they could, but her plate was half-empty. It was a victory Vi would gladly take and celebrate.
“I have been thinking on her,” Vi mused, “that she put obedience on and off like a mask.”
“Did she love Jason Meyers?” Rita asked, yawning slightly. Her hand was on her stomach as though it was roiling and Vi considered deeply for her friend, looking for any details.
“I don’t think so,” Vi answered. “I think her pride was offended. She’s a bit older.”
“She didn’t want to be wanted only for her money.”
“I think her father, however, wants the unpaid housekeeper.”
Rita scowled. “Terrible fates to choose between.”
“There’s always the other fate,” Smith said, holding Beatrice’s hand and not even trying to hide it. All of them were a little more affectionate. They had realized in the last days that they could lose one of their own. In fact, they had lost one of their own. The newest of their family, the baby they all wanted and anticipated. The fellow they’d started dreaming about.
Vi had created him in her head. It had been the son that Rita wanted. He’d looked like Ham with Rita’s eyes, and he tended towards trouble like Rita and Vi. She could so easily imagine a childhood with the boy growing and changing. Vi felt a tear
