by Sonia Parin
Her head sprung up.
She swirled around.
Her gaze dropped to the floor.
Blood.
She followed the trail, which led straight to the pantry. The swing door was slightly ajar. She nudged it open with the tip of the knife.
Her eyes widened.
Her mind told her to move. She mentally pictured her body taking a stumbling step back. But she stood as if cemented to the floor.
Randal Bergstrom.
He sat slumped against the shelves, his head bent over his chest, his pristine white shirt stained with blood.
The sound of a gasp shook Eve out of her stupor and she swirled on her heels.
One of the film crew stared at her, mouth gaping open, eyes wide and pinned on the knife she still held.
“What did you do?”
Chapter Two
“You were caught red-handed with the murder weapon, blood dripping off it.”
“So? That doesn’t mean I killed Randal Bergstrom. It might imply it... to someone who doesn’t know me, and it might raise some questions and... and open the way to suspicion, but it doesn’t prove anything. Jack, surely you don’t think I killed him. You can’t. Not even if you look at the facts.”
When Detective Jack Bradford closed his eyes, Eve knew he was counting to ten. He’d told her about his fail-safe method to remain calm during one of their pillow talk sessions.
“Out of curiosity, what do you think happened, Eve?”
“I think someone stabbed him, then they panicked, dropped the knife and fled.” Eve tapped her finger on her chin. “I’m surprised they didn’t slip on the blood. I wish they had, then we’d have a footprint.”
“We?”
“You, the police. And then it would only be a matter of matching the shoe tread to the print.”
“And you got that from watching which late night police show?”
Eve huffed out a breath. “Maybe I missed something. It all happened so quickly. And then you arrived so I didn’t have a proper look but I’m sure your officers have scrutinized the kitchen from top to bottom. If the killer left a trail—”
Jack shook his head. “Apart from the drops of blood, the floor’s clean.”
“Not even a grain of sand or a blade of grass to show which way they came from?” If the killer had gained access through the back door, they would have come in via the beach.
“Nothing. They must have wiped their feet before coming in.”
Just her luck. A tidy killer.
“How long does it take to lift some fingerprints from a knife?” Fingerprints other than hers.
“What if I told you we already have the results and your fingerprints are the only ones we found?”
Sometimes Eve wondered if Jack could read her mind or if months of being together had made him all too familiar with her expressions. “Then I would insist you double-check. A crime like this could not have been premeditated. I’m sure the killer didn’t think to wear protective gloves.” This had to be a crime of passion. Catherine Allan and Randal Bergstrom had been sparking off so many emotions since their arrival Eve was surprised the house hadn’t burst into flames.
Detective Mason Lars stepped into the front parlor and shook his head. “You’re out of luck, Eve. We only found one set of fingerprints. Yours.”
She slid to the edge of the armchair. “That’s impossible.”
“Not only was it a perfect match, but we didn’t find a single smudge to suggest someone else had handled the knife.”
“Then the killer planned it, right down to strategically placing the knife where I would stumble on it and pick it up without realizing I was implicating myself in a crime I obviously didn’t commit. What sort of business person would I be if I start killing off my guests?” She looked first at Jack and then at Mason. Neither one blinked. “Randal Bergstrom should have known better than to come into my kitchen. I warned him it was out of bounds and look at what’s happened.”
“You warned him?” Mason asked.
“Don’t twist my words. I’m preparing and serving food to customers. I can’t have just anyone walking in. There are health regulations to adhere to.” She rolled her eyes at their blank expressions. How hard was it to understand? “Look, I know you have to question me, but how long is this going to take?”
Jack straightened. “As long as it needs to.”
“You don’t seriously think I had anything to do with his death?”
Mason Lars shrugged. “You might have decided to cash in on your run of good luck. Figuring you’ve been under suspicion several times before, the worst that can happen is that we’ll question you as a possible suspect, let you go and you walk away free with one real murder under your belt.”
Eve lifted her chin a notch. “And what’s my motive, detective?”
“We don’t know what’s been going on under your roof. Maybe a tryst gone bad.”
“A Tryst? Between those two and me? I can’t believe you’re prepared to waste valuable police time interrogating me and coming up with such a ludicrous notion—”
Jack cleared his throat. “Tell us about the special condition you insisted on including in the contract.”
Eve knew she could plead ignorance but it would only postpone the inevitable. “A no refund clause.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Mason Lars asked.
That she wanted her stove… “That if they finished filming before the month is up and left, they would not receive a refund for the time not used.”
“So you got to keep the full amount.”
“That’s right.”
“You charged a hefty fee.”
“They can afford it.” And her stove was expensive.
“Were you counting on them finishing up early?”
“What are you trying to get at?”
Mason Lars gave a casual shrug. “You’ve been complaining about the noise levels.”
Someone had ratted her out. “You would too if you slept a floor below the racket they made. Those two went at it at all hours of the night. I haven’t slept in days.”
Detective Lars rocked on the heels of his feet. “You’ve been sleep deprived?”
“Yes.”
“That could affect your cognitive skills. Lack of sleep plays havoc with your mind. It might drive you to do something you wouldn’t normally consider doing. It might push you over the edge and force you to take drastic action.”
“As if I would. I wanted them out of here but I can’t afford to have anyone giving me a bad rating.”
“So, you’re making customer service and satisfaction your priority.”
“Of course.”
“You were heard saying you wanted to give the crew a bout of food poisoning. Can you explain that?”
Eve inhaled a calming breath. They were doing their job. No excuses. They had to be thorough. If their superiors found out they’d given her special treatment, heads would roll. Eve understood that. She only wished they wouldn’t look or sound so convincing. Anyone seeing them would believe she really was under suspicion.
Jill strode in and mouthed an apology.
Eve curved her eyebrows.
“I brought you a change of clothes.”
“Why?”
“They asked me to.”
Mason cleared his throat. “We need your clothes. The ones you’re wearing now.”
“What? Why?”
“Our lab people need to run tests on the fibers. Once you’re done changing, one of our officers will drive you back to Mira’s house.”
“But I’ve been staying here. I have all these people to feed—”
“Filming has been canceled.”
“And what about Catherine Allan?”
“She doesn’t feel safe staying here... especially not with you on the premises.”
Eve gaped up at them. “And why am I being driven off? I have my own car.”
“Eve, it’s for your own safety,” Jack said.
; “You just want to make it look as if you’re... as if you’re...” she floundered. At least she wasn’t being handcuffed and hauled away to the precinct.
“Fine,” Jack relented. “You can drive yourself back home. I’ll have an officer follow you.”
Eve took the change of clothes from Jill. “All right. I’ll play along, but only because it’s my civic duty to help you as much as I can. That’s not to say I’m happy about any of this.”
Eve strode into Mira’s house and threw her handbag on the hallway table.
“Eve?” Mira emerged from her study, a pencil sticking out of her hair. “Did you just arrive with a police escort?”
What could she say? She’d been followed…
“Has something happened?” Mira asked.
“Hi, Mira.” Eve picked up the mail and shuffled the envelopes without really looking at them. “I’m in the mood for a full breakfast. I didn’t have time to eat this morning. How’s your appetite?”
“I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn writing.”
“That’s right. You’re working on your new novel. How’s that going? I hear you have some new interesting characters to play with.” She strode through to the large country style kitchen and opened a cupboard only to stare at the contents without really seeing anything.
“Bacon and eggs would be lovely,” Mira said.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
Mira drew in a deep breath. “I suppose Jill told you about my innkeeper.”
Eve swung round to face her. “I am not neurotic or mad.”
Mira tried to hold a straight face, but Eve could see the edge of her lips quirking up.
Eve slumped against the kitchen counter. “Go ahead, laugh... at my expense.”
“No one’s suggesting you’re neurotic,” Mira said in the soothing tone she always used on Eve when she could see her niece down in the dumps. “Where did you get that notion from?”
Eve gave her a raised eyebrow look. “Perhaps I imagined it.”
“Well, you’re not neurotic. But you are a little jumpy this morning. Did something happen? Are your guests still at it?”
Eve shrugged. “Not so much now,” she murmured.
“Oh, dear. I suppose that means you had a word with them. Conflict resolution goes hand in hand with running an inn. You can’t expect it to be all smooth sailing. At least you’re getting a practice run.”
Eve snapped out of her pity party and gathered the ingredients for breakfast. “It doesn’t matter how much practice I get, I’ll never get used to demanding prima donnas.” Or dead bodies cropping up when she least expected them...
“If diplomacy is not your forte, you can always hire someone to deal with undesirables. You don’t have to take full responsibility for everything. The inn is supposed to free you up, give you something to do without necessarily tying you down, or stressing you.”
“Thanks for the advice, Mira. It all sounds great in theory, but then...”
“The going gets tough?” Mira asked.
“Well... things happen and I might find myself at the deep end.”
“And that’s when your true strength surfaces.” Mira gave her a gentle pat on the back. “There’s nothing you can’t handle, Eve.”
Eve rolled her eyes heavenwards. There had to be an easier way of breaking the news to Mira. If she didn’t tell her now, she’d eventually find out from someone else.
Just then Jill burst in through the back door, her Labradors, Mischief and Mr. Magoo trailing behind her. “Well, did you tell her?”
“Tell me what, dear?” Mira asked.
Eve signaled for Jill to zip it.
“Oh... nothing. Looks like I arrived in time for a late breakfast. Great. I’m famished.”
Mira’s gaze bounced between Jill and Eve. “Shouldn’t you girls be busy feeding the film crew?”
“That’s all been taken care of. And... and Eve was worried you haven’t been feeding yourself properly.”
Great. How would she explain being here and not at the inn tomorrow and the day after?
Mira folded her arms. “So, what’s the news you’re dying to tell me?”
“Would you like coffee or tea with your bacon and eggs?” Eve asked.
“If you won’t tell me, I guess this means...” Mira gave a small shake of her head. “It’s happened again.”
Eve tried to keep her voice calm, but it came out sounding strained. “Why are you jumping to conclusions?”
“Are you going to deny something’s happened?”
“No, but I’d prefer you didn’t get into the habit of always expecting something to go wrong.”
“Who died?” Mira cleared her throat. “More to the point, has someone been killed?”
Eve made an open hand gesture. “Catherine Allan, the movie star reported Randal Bergstrom, the film director, missing.”
“And? There has to be more than that to the story.”
Eve gave an impatient shake of her head. “Because if I’m in anyway involved it has to be more complicated?”
“The fact you’re being defensive about it confirms it. So what else happened?”
“Randal Bergstrom turned up dead. In my kitchen. He’d been stabbed... With my knife. And... And my fingerprints are on the murder weapon. That’s all I know. I swear I had nothing to do with it.”
“Of course, you didn’t. Is someone suggesting you did?”
Eve shook her head. “Did you hear me say the murder weapon has my fingerprints on it?”
“I assume it’s one of your knives. In which case, the killer must have been very careful to avoid leaving their prints on it.”
Eve clapped her hands. “That’s exactly... more or less what I told Jack and Mason Lars.”
“Well then, I guess you two girls are going to be busy. I’ll take my breakfast to my study and leave you to it.”
Eve’s mouth gaped open, her eyebrows raised.
“I think Mira has come to terms with your ability to attract murder and mayhem into your life. She’s taking it all in her stride. Oh, and I really meant it when I said I was famished.”
“I can’t believe it’s happened again. How are you doing?” Jill asked as they strode out to the car.
“Well… I’m…” Eve checked her watch. Five hours earlier she’d found a dead body in her kitchen. She’d barely had time to think about it. In fact, she hadn’t really had the chance to process what had happened. “I think I’ve gone into shock, or denial, or maybe I’ve become impervious. Completely desensitized.” She tried to recall the sequence of events. The woman who’d found her with the murder weapon in her hand had backed out of the kitchen. On her way out, she’d bumped into Jill. “I remember now, you came in and when you saw me, you knew straight away something had happened.”
Jill nodded. “You have expressive eyebrows.”
Eve had then gone into automatic mode, retrieving her cell, she’d called Jack and he’d appeared within twenty minutes. She’d spent that time sitting in silence with Jill.
“I’m taking it all in my stride. Although, it really doesn’t get easier. Telling Mira about the murder made me feel like a ten year old owning up to mischief.”
“Do you think she’s worrying about her safety? After all, there’s another killer on the island.”
“No,” Eve said more casually than she felt, “Mira has a pet theory. Apparently, my knack for attracting murders doesn’t affect those I love or care about.”
“That makes sense. Actually, I hope she’s right.”
Eve rolled her eyes. “I thought you were going home to paint.”
“That’s what I wanted you to believe. I actually went home to get the boys. We can take them for a walk along the beach near the inn and catch up on what’s going on.”
“Are you out of your mind? I’m not going anywhere near the inn. Why would I?”
“Mischief and Mr. Magoo are great conversation starters. Especially Mischief. He�
�s a people dog and loves to be patted. No one can resist him. So, the plan is, we hang around and wait for one of the crew to approach—”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“I’m not going back there until this mess is cleared up. Do you realize there have now been two deaths in that house? I give up. I’ll just go ahead and advertize the place as a killers’ ultimate vacation retreat. They’ll feel right at home there.”
“You know it can only be sorted out if you have a hand in it.”
“Since when?”
“This is no time for modesty, Eve. You have a way of stalking your prey and bringing it down. Jack should hire you as a consultant.”
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“You can argue all you like on our way there. Now start the car and let’s get going.”
Eve did as she was told. “Why are you suddenly so keen to get involved?”
“Contrast. I spend long hours at the easel painting and I love it, but the times I’ve been distracted from painting, I return to it with renewed enthusiasm.”
“Are you now going to become dependent on people being snuffed out just so you can get your mojo back?”
Jill shivered. “I’d never be so macabre.”
They drove the long way around to avoid being detected by the police. Jack hadn’t warned Eve to stay away but she knew he wanted her to keep her distance. If he had given her explicit orders, she would have argued for her right to access her own property.
Eve parked a block away from the inn and when they arrived at the beach, they found a volleyball game in full swing.
“This is our chance. The scene is set,” Jill said and gave Mischief a scratch behind his ears. “Go do your thing, Mischief.”
The dog trotted off, his tail wagging, his attention fixed on the ball being tossed around.
“Do you think one of them did it?” Eve asked as she studied the group.
“Maybe. Let’s find out. Here comes one of them. We might be in luck and find a repentant killer willing to confess to us.”
A tall athletic looking man chased after the ball that had rolled toward them. Grabbing it, he threw it back but didn’t rejoin the group. Instead, he turned to Eve.