I watched her go. My, some people were touchy. It wasn’t until she disappeared around the corner that I realized that she’d left without paying her half of the meal. I suddenly felt touchy, too.
I walked back to the Cookery to retrieve my car with a considerably lighter wallet, my mind on Bree and her gun. But when I saw my car, thoughts of Bree fled.
Someone had keyed the hood of my car. Killer’s SISTER was spelled out in letters a foot high. A chill ran through me, followed by fury so powerful that it made my teeth ache. Sure, it was an ugly car, and, sure, the keying didn’t depreciate its financial value, especially since I would probably have to pay a dealer to take it off my hands anyway. But this was a personal attack on me, and on my brother, which was worse than the vandalism. I knew of only one person who could have done something like this.
I stomped into the Cookery. I threw open the door so violently its leaded glass shook and threatened to break.
Maggie, writing in her ledger, looked up in shock. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Is he here? Is Kirk Row here?”
The doves were silent as if they feared their cooing would attract my wrath. Maggie silently pointed up the stairs. Her mouth opened, and she did not remind me to leave her beloved Cookery unharmed.
I took the stairs two at a time. At Kirk’s door, I pounded on it with all my might. He opened it almost at once.
“What are you do—” He stopped short when he saw the look on my face.
I forced my way into the room. “Did you key my car?”
Kirk folded his arms across his chest, his muscles bulged, and for the first time, I paused to consider the stupidity of my actions. Kirk may be a few inches shorter than I was, but he was at least forty pounds heavier and every ounce of that extra weight was pure muscle.
I moved back toward the door, but he was faster and blocked my way. Now, I’d done it. I’d trapped myself in a room with a man who could be—probably was—a murderer. My only salvation was my old high school bully downstairs, who, I had no doubt, would love to see me pounded into jelly. I had my cell phone in my shoulder bag, but I was afraid that any sudden movements would spur Kirk into action.
I noted the half-packed suitcase on the bed. I wonder if Maggie had given him the same ultimatum that she had given Bree.
“So what if I did. It’s the truth. Your sorry excuse for a brother killed my wife,” he spat.
“She wasn’t your wife yet.”
Kirk’s face fell as though I’d slapped him across the mouth. Slowly, he slumped onto the bed, holding his head in both of his hands. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs wracked his body.
I stood over him, like a judge. “Did you plant that scarf in my brother’s apartment?” I didn’t mention the engagement picture since it wasn’t discovered by Mains or his officers.
“No, I didn’t.” He wiped the tears from his eyes and stared at me, eyes glinting with anger. “He did it; he killed her. That’s the proof.”
He said it with such ferocity that I knew that he truly believed that Mark was guilty.
I squatted beside him, taking care not to touch him. I softened my voice. “Kirk, do you know how Olivia got to Martin that morning? Did you drive her?”
“No. I don’t have a car; her parents picked us up at the airport.” His voice became a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t even see her that day. The last time I saw her alive was when I left her at her parents’ house after the picnic. They insisted that she stay with them before the wedding instead of here at the inn with me. Olivia said it was easier to go along, rather than making a big deal out of it. I wished that I had insisted. Then she wouldn’t have gone to meet your brother. She would be my wife.”
He looked up again, directly into my eyes. His eyes were bloodshot. His tan cheeks were pale and drawn, giving him a startling cadaverous look. “I will hate the Fourth of July for the rest of my life.”
Looking into his haunted face, I believed him.
A few minutes later, I walked through the Cookery Inn’s entry once again. Maggie was still at her post behind the reception desk.
Something cold and wet suddenly splashed my bare shoulder. Instinctively, I put my hand up and came away with fingers dripping dove doo. I glared at the large dove on the chandelier. He looked back, and I could have sworn he had just a hint of a smile on his beak. All my sympathy for the abandoned doves evaporated. “Gross!”
Maggie grabbed a roll of paper towels from under her desk and hurried to my side. She thrust them at me. “Here. Hurry up and clean that up before it gets on the floor.”
As if the floor was my biggest concern. I cleaned myself up the best that I could. Through the window, I saw Bree climb into the driver’s side of the red compact parked in the circular drive.
“Bree has a car,” I said.
Maggie blinked, holding a paper towel in mid-air. Maggie followed my gaze and watched as Bree drove away.
Maggie shrugged. “She listed it as a rental at check-in. I always ask so that I know what vehicles should and should not be on my property.”
I thanked her and headed out the door.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Twenty minutes after I left The Cookery, I threw my keys and shoulder bag in my apartment’s entryway and bid them to sit. Templeton slept in the middle of my sheet-covered sofa, opening one eye before uttering a contented sigh and curling back up. Genius that I am, I deduced that Theodore was not on the premises. Undoubtedly, Ina shielded him from devilish Templeton by hand-feeding him boneless chicken breast.
The answering machine on my snub-nosed kitchen counter blinked incessantly and declared ten missed calls, a personal record. I assumed that at least seven of those messages were from my mother. I was not disappointed.
The first nine messages were either from Carmen or my mother. I skipped those. The tenth message was from Lew, who’d called only ten minutes before I walked in the door.
Curious, I dialed his number, which I’d now memorized.
“Thanks for calling back. I just got back from the jail. I told Mark about your parents’ decision about the bond.” Lew let that pronouncement hang in the air.
I sat in the rocking chair. “How did he take it?”
“As well as could be expected. Shocked mostly.”
“God,” I murmured in a half curse, half plea.
“I just spoke with your parents. They’re not budging.”
I clenched my jaw. “So much for all their talk about equal rights and the common man.”
“Your parents are wrong in this case. You know it, and so do I, but they’ve done a lot of good in this town for a lot of people. Heck, without them, all the Martin yuppies would have total control.”
“Yes, everyone should have equal opportunity to rot in jail.”
Lew inhaled a mouthful of smoke. “Are you still interested in posting Mark’s bond?”
Student loans be damned. “Yes.”
“I called in that favor to hold Mark at the Stripling PD longer than normal, but the best I was promised was Saturday morning. If you don’t want Mark to go to the county prison to await his trial, you’ll have to bail him out before then.” He repeated the names and numbers of three bond agencies. “You’ve got collateral, right?”
“Sure,” I said, even though my only collateral was my car, which was suspect at best even before Kirk took a key to the hood.
Lew sighed as if he knew the true answer to the question. He probably did.
“Lew, how are you working this case? Are you looking for other suspects?”
Lew took another drag on his before-dinner cigarette. “I’m just a one-man show, and Mark’s isn’t my only case.”
