May wrung her hands in front of her. “I was nervous, not used to just standing around.” She shrugged. “I wanted to help tidy up—to do something to take my mind off Miss Jones.” She bit her lip and darted another glance at the back of Mrs. Harrington’s head. “And I did tell someone.” Her throat bobbed. “I gave the syringe to Mrs. Harrington.”
Peter and I exchanged looks. I’d told him Letty should have had a syringe of her anti-allergy potion nearby. We both turned to stare down Mrs. Harrington on the sofa across from us.
“What?” She bared her teeth at Peter, then huffed and flipped her blond locks over her shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell the police?” Peter’s face turned an alarmingly blotchy shade of red.
She sniffed. “I didn’t want rumors flying around about it.”
“You—rumors?” Peter spluttered and leapt to his feet. “I should arrest you for that.” He raised his brows. “How about the rumors that that would start?”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Gah!” Peter jolted, and Daisy barked. Who’s there?!
A short, balding man rose from the corner of the room farthest from the fireplace. He came forward out of the shadows. “Apologies for startling you. I’m the Harringtons’ lawyer and family friend.”
Mrs. Harrington cast him a simpering smile.
He placed a hand on the back of Chaz’s chaise. “I wouldn’t expect a low-level officer like yourself to know this, but the Harringtons are big donors to the police department.” He shot Peter a toothy smile, though it contained no humor.
“I’d have to have some strong words with your inspector if you arrested Marcy, here.” He gestured toward Mrs. Harrington, who winked at him, then glared at Peter.
I tugged on Peter’s sleeve, and he shot a blazing look down at me. I raised my brows at him, and he blew out a breath, his expression softening. He cleared his throat and addressed Mrs. Harrington. “Fine. Give me the syringe. We’ll give it to the lab to be tested and fingerprinted and will ignore this—mistake—this time.”
The blond slightly turned her head and called back to the maid behind her. “May, be a dear and go fetch that syringe for the officer.”
The maid bowed her head and hurried out the door.
Peter tugged at his uniform jacket before settling onto the couch beside me again. I gave him an encouraging nod. I mean, I wanted to throttle these people as much as the next person—and to steal their ridiculously comfortable couch—but we also didn’t need Peter getting suspended again.
Peter glared at the family lawyer for a moment before turning back to Mrs. Harrington. “One more question—a witness mentioned they saw you and Chaz arguing before the wedding.”
The blond’s eyes narrowed.
Peter leaned forward. “What were you arguing about?”
Mrs. Harrington’s cheeks burned red as her husband shook his head and reopened his book. Getting no help from him, she turned back to Peter and shot him a smile that screamed, “I’ll shank you in your sleep.” She delicately cleared her throat. “Argument? I don’t recall…”
Chaz let his arm drop from his forehead and pushed himself up to sitting. “Just normal wedding nonsense.”
His mother nodded emphatically as their lawyer looked between them.
Chaz plastered on his smarmiest smile. “Probably seating charts and whatnot. Weddings are stressful. We were both just on edge is all.”
Mm-hmm. On edge enough to kill your bride? And I doubted the fight Joe Santos had described was over seating charts.
I glanced over to Mr. Harrington to gauge his reaction and noticed a black bat hanging upside down from the mantle. “Uh.” I pointed. “You have a pet bat?”
Mr. Harrington, frowning, looked up from his reading. “Hm?” He followed my gaze. “Ah, you mean Bartholomew.” He nodded. “He’s more of a mascot than a pet. Been in our family for generations.”
“Oh. Because of your crest?” I pointed to the shield above the mantle.
Mr. Harrington nodded.
“Great.” I stood, grinning. “I’d love to read his mind.”
12
BARTHOLOMEW THE BAT
Bartholomew the bat winged ahead of me out of the library and into the hallway.
“What in goddess’s name?” Mrs. Harrington spluttered before the door swung shut behind me.
It was cool. I was sure Peter could explain about my abilities—hopefully.
The bat flapped over to a silver suit of armor and hung upside down from the helmet. I passed a row of oil paintings, all of scowling men who looked a lot like old-timey Mr. Harringtons. I paused to frown at one—severity must be a family trait.
I padded along the carpet runner and stopped in front of the armor, which stood beside a tiny marble-topped table with a guttering candelabra on top.
I let out a few squeaks. Bartholomew—can I call you Bart? I want to ask you a few questions about the girl who died last night, Letty?
The bat, which looked to me like a tiny winged puppy, blinked his big black eyes at me. Bart—I like it! Everyone around here’s so formal. He blinked. Well, except for Letty. She was a sweetie—always fed me grapes. His enormous ears swiveled my way.
I looked up and down the stone hallway to make sure we were still alone, then let out more squeaks. I understand she was pretty shy and reserved? I remembered her that way from our time together in the orphanage, too.
The bat craned his head so that he was looking at me nearly upright and squeaked back. Maybe among people, but she was downright chatty with me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t understand any of it.
I nodded—that was unfortunate. How’d she seem the evening of her wedding? Did you see her then?
His nose twitched. Yep. She locked everyone else out but didn’t mind when I flew in the window. She wasupset. Frantic, really.
Now that was interesting. But could it just
