Eve Lloyd's A Deadline Cozy Mystery - Books 1 to 5

by Sonia Parin

  “By poisoning Jon O’Brian?”

  “The obvious answer is yes, but that would imply I am guilty of actually poisoning him. Remember, I need to be careful what I say. If I allow something to slip out in private, it could happen when I’m out and about in public.”

  “I think you should give serious thought to coming on a cruise with me. You need to relax before the last few months begin to take their toll.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Eve said, “At least this time I don’t feel my life is in danger.”

  “I thought you said Charlotte had threatened you.”

  Eve cringed. “Thanks for the reminder.” Last time she’d been threatened, she’d worried about Mira coming to harm. “Jill and I are spending some time at the marina today so if anyone wants to come after me, I will have lured them away from the house.” She cleared the breakfast dishes and wiped down the kitchen counter. “There’s some roast in the refrigerator if you get hungry.”

  “Do you have a strategy in place?” Mira asked.

  Should she? It sounded like a sensible next step. “I’ll be testing people’s loyalty to Charlotte. I’m guessing their dislike of Jon O’Brian will make them more willing to share information. I only have to be careful they don’t catch on to the fact I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Jon O’Brian had some sort of power over them. I’d like to know what it was.”

  Chapter Seven

  “There’s something different about you today. I can’t put my finger on it.” Eve climbed out of her car and signaled for Jill to turn around.

  “Give up?”

  Eve nodded.

  “It’s my yachting gear. Cable sweater. White jeans. Walk the walk type of thing. I want to blend in.”

  “Good thinking.” Eve tugged the sleeve of her seen-better-days sweater that had doubled in sized over the years and wondered if she should think about a wardrobe makeover. As a chef tucked away behind the scenes, she’d never had to worry about her clothes but working at an inn, she’d have more contact with the public. Also, it wouldn’t stop with a change of wardrobe. She’d have to start getting her hair done on a regular basis...

  “What’s with the frown?” Jill asked.

  “I like being me, so much so, I never bother to change for other people. You know... to fit in. But I might have to bend a little.”

  “Sometimes I think you’ve been living under a rock.”

  “I’m in transition mode,” Eve said, “Setting up the inn will be a huge leap for me. Bear with me and don’t be surprised at the changes you’ll see in me.”

  “Let me know if you need me to hold your hand,” Jill offered.

  “I can tell you right now, I’m going to need feedback from you. I’ve never been much into fashion.” She could hear laughter coming from one of the largest yachts. “They don’t sound as loud as they did yesterday. They must be working up to it.”

  “Any last minute instructions?”

  “Yes, be a sponge. Absorb everything you see and hear. Engage anyone and everyone in conversation. I’m going to try to see what else I can get out of Allan Albright.” Eve checked her watch. “I hope he’s drunk enough to loosen his tongue but not enough to make him incoherent.” They were welcomed aboard with another cheer. Within seconds, they both had glasses of champagne in their hands. Eve took a sip and decided that would be enough for her.

  She edged toward the most animated group and tried to eavesdrop on the conversation.

  Allan Albright stood by the sidelines. Twice, she caught him watching her. In his mid-thirties, he looked like a regular poster boy used to daily pampering and maintenance. Her ex-husband had followed a rigorous schedule, working out at his exclusive members only gym, getting a massage, having a sauna, eating at the finest restaurants... A life without challenges, Eve had thought.

  “You look pensive.”

  She must have been lost in thought since she hadn’t noticed Allan Albright moving toward her.

  “You must be itching to get out of here. Have the police mentioned how long you’ll have to stay on the island?”

  He gave a small shake of his head and took a sip of his drink. “We don’t mind.”

  We? His co-conspirators?

  “What if you’re needed elsewhere?”

  “The Bahamas can wait. This is much more entertaining.”

  His tone had changed from the day before. Eve noticed a hard edge to his words. Almost a stubborn streak. She imagined someone celebrating Jon O’Brian’s murder and then wanting to stick around to see how everything panned out because...

  Because there was more to come?

  She looked around them. “Where are the other guests staying?”

  “The O’Brian lot?”

  He sounded dismissive, Eve thought and decided to stick with her old money, new money theory. It had to be at the core of the intense dislike she sensed. And resentment went hand in hand with it. “Yes.”

  “At the house.”

  “And you’re all staying on your yachts by choice?”

  He answered with a deep-throated chuckle. “If we stayed at the house, we’d have to go on a starvation diet.”

  She must have looked mystified.

  “A man was poisoned in that house.”

  “Where’s your trust?” she said lightly. Reason told her if Allan had been in on the poisoning, he wouldn’t have anything to fear now.

  “Haven’t you heard? There’s a killer on the loose.”

  Those, Eve decided, were not the words of a major player in this murder. She studied his handsome face and wondered what he had to lose or gain by Jon O’Brian’s death. Too early to exclude anything... or anyone, she reminded herself adopting the guilty until proven innocent tactic.

  “You know Charlotte is going ahead with the events she planned for the week.”

  Eve could not have been more surprised. “Is she up to it?” It was the first question that came to mind but then others followed. It seemed to be in poor taste. A blatant disregard for propriety.

  “She wants to put on a brave face. Life goes on. He would have wanted her to get on with it, and all that jazz. I don’t know how she’s going to pull it off. Half the chefs she hired walked out.”

  “They were allowed to leave the island?”

  “On condition that they could be easily contacted. Something that doesn’t sit well with us. If they can be trusted, why not us?”

  “Allan, you have yachts. You could take off for parts unknown and never be seen or heard from again. Of course they’re going to insist you hang around.”

  “Do you think we’d walk out on our lives?”

  “Not you, but the killer would. Yes, I’m suggesting it could be one of you.” She watched for his response, but he simply shrugged.

  “And you’re not shy about pointing the finger.”

  She smiled. “I’ll be fine so long as I steer clear of food or drink.”

  He tilted his head. “How did you get cleared of any wrong doing? From what we hear, you have a long history of being bullied by Charlotte.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard anyone be honest about her.”

  “We all know what she’s like.”

  “And yet you came to her wedding.” Did they fear her? Suddenly, Eve imagined the roles reversed. Jon O’Brian became a victim, someone forced to play along and do Charlotte’s bidding and when he threatened to break free of her hold over him... whatever that might have been, she retaliated with poison. Maybe killing her fiancé had been her way of sending everyone a message.

  See what I’m capable of doing?

  She sent her gaze skating around. What if all the guests had been bullied into coming? At school, everyone had thought they were friends, but Eve had had no choice in the matter. In public, Charlotte had been friendly enough, but in private her snide remarks had taken little bites out of Eve’s confidence. Mira had suggested she might have changed over time, but what if she’d only become worse? Taking her manipulative
skills to a higher level, employing them to secure a circle of friends she could control.

  “You’re smiling.”

  Eve widened her smile. “I just had an amusing thought.”

  “Share.”

  “What would Charlotte do if you all walked out on her now?”

  He tipped his glass back and emptied it.

  The longer he took to answer, the guiltier he’d be. Of what, she had no idea.

  “Why would we do that? She’s our friend.”

  The insincerity of his words stunned her. If he’d expressed some sort of confusion, she might have believed him.

  Walk out on our friend? What a ridiculous notion.

  But his response had lacked all feeling.

  “Here comes the Happy Breeze,” Allan said.

  Everyone looked in the direction of a yacht making its slow approach. Bigger than any of the others and judging by the rise in murmurs, owned by someone everyone had been waiting for.

  “A late arrival?”

  “Dante Hildegard.”

  Eve knew the name carried a great deal of meaning, to everyone else but her. Everyone here belonged to the upper echelons of society but it might as well be a subculture for all she knew about their lives and where they came from. They weren’t even celebrities one could easily identify from their regular appearances on the front pages of gossip magazines. She might have known more if she’d hung out at international polo matches, private cocktail parties and weekend affairs.

  “Hildegard, of the international investments group?” A vague memory crawled around her mind. She’d heard her ex-husband mention him.

  “The very one.”

  Super wealthy and friends with royalty, which put him on an even higher level. “And is he always fashionably late?” Either that or he’d deliberately kept himself away until the deed was done. Suspicion sprung up. Dante Hildegard, mastermind of a plot to do away with Jon O’Brian, pulling the strings from a safe distance. Think motive, Eve, she could almost hear Jack say.

  “He does as he pleases,” Allan said.

  “Is that resentment or jealousy I hear in your voice?”

  “A bit of both. Some people are immune.”

  “To what?”

  “Need.”

  Allan didn’t give her the chance to ask for another explanation. Excusing himself, he disappeared below deck.

  Immune from need? She supposed financial security and power made one immune from need.

  One can never be too thin or too rich.

  She let the quote bounce around her head.

  Even people with money wanted more. More of everything. And when the excitement of having enough money lost its luster, they moved on to acquiring more power and more control.

  She tried to play around with the idea but again it all seemed to be beyond the scope of her understanding. Eve led a small life, happy to do her job, to enjoy small pleasures in life. She would never consider entertaining herself by making someone else miserable.

  She didn’t think any of these people would be thrilled by the challenge of setting up an inn. What thrilled them? What made their hearts pump a little faster with excitement? The thrill of the chase?

  As she looked around her she had no trouble picturing them as hunters. Predators.

  Eve had hoped the party would move onto the new yacht, but everyone stayed put and Dante Hildegard didn’t make an appearance.

  After a light luncheon, the party mood mellowed. Food tended to do that. Feeling she’d gathered enough information to mull over, she called it a day.

  On the way home, she exchanged notes with Jill. “Everybody was excited to see the new yacht. Apparently, Dante Hildegard is the life of the party,” Jill said.

  Why would he come now? Unless he had a solid reason to be pleased about Jon O’Brian’s murder, he’d have no excuse.

  “The other guests are holed up at the Stevenson’s house. I wonder how they’re being treated. Charlotte didn’t even get around to introducing them to me at the cocktail party because her chef fell ill and disrupted everything. If she hadn’t forced me into the kitchen, I get the feeling she would have found an excuse to avoid introducing me to her fiancé’s friends.” Eve pressed her fingers between her eyes. “Today was a waste of time.”

  “Let’s hope Jack is having better luck. Have you heard from him?” Jill asked.

  “No, I was hoping he’d be more open about the type of poison used to kill the groom.”

  “You missed your turn.”

  “I didn’t have any lunch. How about we stop somewhere. With any luck, we might encounter some of the other guests out and about. Allan said if he’d been forced to stay at the Stevenson house he would not have eaten for fear of being poisoned. I don’t know if he was joking or seriously concerned about his life being in danger.”

  They went into the Chin Wag Café and found a table by the window. At a glance, Eve saw a couple of people she thought she recognized from the cocktail party. People she hadn’t been introduced to.

  Cynthia Walker, the owner, came to take their orders. “Have you heard any news about what went on at the Stevenson’s place?” Eve asked by now accustomed to news spreading like wild fire on the island.

  “A couple of the kitchen staff had lunch here before they left the island. They sounded relieved to be out of that house. The guests were appallingly rude and the owners no better.”

  “The Stevensons?”

  “They’ve lived here all their lives but have never come into my café, so I wouldn’t know if that’s an exaggeration. You might want to ask around at Shelby’s Table. They’ve been known to have lunch there.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  Cynthia looked slightly confused. “Because you’re trying to put two and two together.”

  “I’m just as curious as the next person.”

  Cynthia and Jill exchanged a look of amusement.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop it. I don’t make a habit of snooping around,” Eve said in her defense.

  “But you do have a knack for getting results.”

  Not deliberately, Eve thought and turned her attention to the menu. “I’ll have your lovely vegetable tart, please.”

  Jill shared a conspiratorial smile with Cynthia. “That’s Eve’s way of changing the subject.”

  Even as Cynthia moved away, Eve could sense her still smiling.

  “Did you actually hear anything worthwhile back at the party?” Eve asked Jill.

  “A couple of the women were saying how relieved they were about Charlotte finally being free.”

  “That sounds significant.”

  “It depends on how you interpret it.”

  Eve nodded. “Had Charlotte been in an impossible, difficult to get out of relationship or did her friends simply disapprove of the match? We could go around in circles all day with that. Unfortunately, the only person who has answers thinks I killed her fiancé.” Eve looked up and saw Allan Albright and Elizabeth-May walk into the café. They were deep in conversation. Elizabeth-May looked animated. Eve might even say agitated.

  “I don’t care what she says, I’m not going back there. No amount of money is worth—”

  Allan tugged her elbow and gave Elizabeth-May a warning look.

  Just as it was getting interesting, Eve thought. “Money is at the centre of this,” she murmured, “It has to be. We need to get a solid lead on Jon O’Brian’s activities. There must be a way to find out about Allan Albright’s financial situation as well as everybody else’s.”

  “We’d need a team of people trawling the Internet and scanning through every gossip magazine there is looking for tidbits and we still wouldn’t get a full picture,” Jill said.

  “I should stick to what I know.” Eve dug inside her handbag and drew her cell phone out.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “No one just yet.” She scrolled through her contact list. “But there are a couple of people I used to work with who might be able to help
out with some information. They can ask around for me, find out if anyone knows one of the people who worked at the Stevenson’s house. They’ll have some inside information. Who knows what they might have seen or heard. I have to find a way to talk to them.”

  “You’re not likely to be welcomed with open arms.”

  Eve set her phone down. “Maybe there’s an easier way. Do you remember the name of the catering company on the trucks we saw driving to the Stevenson’s house?”

  “I remember liking the script and thinking it was a solid name, don’t ask me why. Hang on, it’s on the tip of my tongue.” Jill clicked her fingers. “Mayflower Catering.”

  Eve did a quick search for the contact number.

  “Is this where you pretend you’re organizing a party?”

  “I am setting up an inn. It would be normal for me to want a grand opening party.” Eve shrugged. “I’m only in the planning stages. Getting quotes...Talking to people.”

  Chapter Eight

  The moment they entered the Mayflower Catering building, they struck gold. Eve zeroed in on one of the staff and recognized her from the night of the party. Although, she argued with herself saying it couldn’t be the kitchen hand she’d seen because this girl wore a suit and sat behind the reception desk.

  She looked at the name tag. “Hi, Millicent. Do I know you from somewhere? I feel I do.”

  A light splash of pink rose to her cheeks. “I have one of those faces. A lot of people mistake me for someone they know.”

  Eve tapped her chin. “No, I’m sure we’ve met. I was recently at the Charlotte McLain cocktail party on Rock-Maine Island.”

  The blush brightened.

  “I’m sure I saw you working in the kitchen.”

  The girl looked around and leaned forward. “I wasn’t supposed to be there. Could you please not mention it?” She straightened and gave her a bright smile.

  A woman dressed in a pristine gray suit approached the front desk. “Hi. I’m Lana Bishop. How can I help you?”

  Eve introduced herself and explained she was in the process of setting up an inn and looking to possibly... maybe... have an opening party and as she wanted to enjoy it, she thought it would be a good idea to hire out the catering. Of course, the food would have to be a reflection of the fare she’d be offering so she’d have strict guidelines.