“What he said,” I confirmed. “Anyway, so I reiterated that Gus couldn’t have killed Winnie and trashed her office, because there wasn’t enough time and Gus had been too calm when I walked in. Turns out, the police agreed with me.”
“But that’s great … right?” Serena said.
“Not so much. They only agreed that Gus didn’t have time to trash the office. He did, however, have time to kill Winnie.”
“Absolutely ridiculous,” Serena said with a mulish expression. “Why would he do that, especially after her office was trashed by someone else? What evidence do they have?”
I drained the rest of my gin and tonic, the lemon wedge bumping my nose as I literally went bottoms-up. I fished it out, crunched a piece of ice, and glumly reminded them what I’d tearfully said on the phone. That Gus had been holding the murder weapon when I walked in and the paper scrap with the Halloran motto was found in Winnie’s hand, along with a suspicion-enhancing gardenia blossom.
“What about the daguerreo-whatever thingy of Gus Halloran’s ancestor?” Serena asked. “Did they ever find it?”
I shook my head, frustrated enough to want to cry again. “It wasn’t in Winnie’s office or in the Hamilton Center’s safe. Aya, the restoration specialist, said Winnie was the last person to have it, so there’s almost no doubt it’s been stolen, along with a few others.”
Walter asked, “Have they reviewed the Hamilton Center’s security tapes? Did they see anyone suspicious in the building?”
“They’re looking at them as we speak. One of the few things Detective Dupart was willing to tell me was they think the person who trashed Winnie’s office and stole the daguerreotypes did so during the time Winnie was downstairs at the big fund-raiser, which was between four thirty and six thirty.”
“Well, that sucks,” Serena said. “But how could that possibly correlate with Gus killing Winnie?”
I gave her a grim smile. “The police’s theory is that when Winnie saw her office was trashed and things were stolen, she flew into a rage—right as Gus arrived. They think it’s possible Gus was also angry and looking to confront Winnie for laying into him about the press conference. They’re going on the idea that harsh words were exchanged and it escalated into a physical fight.”
I paused with a frown, pushing my rocks glass Serena’s way for a refill.
“Winnie also had a conference call with Senator Daniel Applewhite earlier today. She was expecting the senator to ask for her help in clearing his three-times great-grandfather’s name as being the real C.A. The police know this from having interviewed one of Winnie’s coworkers and they’ve decided it may have added to Gus’s supposed rage.”
“Ridiculous,” my best friend said, echoing my own thoughts. “And what do we know about Senator Applewhite anyway?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow. “Could he have figured out that Gus was going to see Winnie? Do we know it wasn’t he who wanted revenge?” Her voice became more excited. “Maybe it was the senator who trashed her office, lying in wait until she came back, only to kill Winnie so that he could use it to frame Gus for humiliating him and the entire Applewhite family!”
Though my heart was heavy, Serena’s relish for the dramatic gave me the tiniest of lifts and I deadpanned to Walter, “I make her watch one Sherlock marathon with me and this is what happens.”
Serena grinned. “Hey, how could I not learn a thing or two, with Benedict Cumberbatch being so hot? I’ll tell you, I’d let him deduce me all night long.” Seeing Walter’s Seriously? look, she pressed herself up against him and said, “Not that he has anything on you, my love.” She turned to me. “I think Walter and Benedict have the same light green eyes, don’t you?”
Walter used those eyes to give me an accusing look. “So you’re the reason I got a deerstalker hat for my birthday? Thanks a lot, Luce.”
I grinned for the first time in many hours; it helped, especially when I remembered how Winnie and Serena had met several times over the years and my best friend’s sass always made Winnie laugh. I felt better thinking Winnie might have been amused by Serena even now. But I had to bring down the hammer on my friend’s theory. “It couldn’t have been the senator who killed Winnie,” I said. “He had no motive and was confirmed to be in Washington, D.C.”
Serena shrugged it off with a sip of her gimlet. “I guess this means I need to watch more Benedict—I mean Sherlock—to improve my skills.”
“But back to Gus,” I said, my voice going tight. “There’s evidence that Winnie may have briefly fought back. They think she may have taken a swing at Gus and he responded by grabbing the nearest heavy object and bashing her head in.”
Serena and Walter both looked alternately sad for Winnie and skeptical at the theory.
“I don’t agree with it, either,” I said, my voice matching their expressions. “They asked me if I thought Winnie would physically fight to protect a historical photo and I said maybe, if she thought it important enough. But in all likelihood, I think she fought back because she wasn’t someone to back down in general. She was an intelligent, strong, proud woman who fought every day for history to be seen, remembered, and appreciated, and she loved her job. Winnie wouldn’t sit by and just let someone damage a piece of history, much less hurt her, and anyone even trying to do either would bring out the strongest parts of her personality.”
“Good for her, too,” Serena said. “Damn straight.”
Walter raised his glass. “To Winnie.”
We raised our glasses to my friend and drank. Then Walter spoke again.
“Then what about the motto and the gardenia?”
I gave a mirthless laugh. “That’s the creepiest part—and the most ridiculous. The medical examiner determined both had been placed in Winnie’s hand, postmortem.”
We all shuddered. I continued, “The motto and the flower are why they’re ready to believe Gus’s coming to Winnie’s office, angry and ready to fight, was premeditated. They think Gus was out for revenge against Winnie and, once he’d taken his revenge, he left both the motto and the gardenia blossom as proof that he’d followed through and cleared the Halloran name.”
“Wow. Do you think any part of this theory could have happened?” Serena asked.
I’d had time—hours, really—to ponder it. “No, not a bit of it. First, while Winnie was definitely a strong personality who would protect herself and others, she wasn’t the violent type to actually start a fight. As for Gus, do I think he can be a hot-tempered windbag who oversteps his boundaries from time to time? Holy cow, yes. But not in a physical way. He’s an old-fashioned gentleman at heart and has too much respect for women. If, by chance, he did indeed go to Winnie’s office with anger in his heart instead of contrition for his actions, I could see him chewing her out, but he would never so much as touch her.”
“What if she chewed him out right back?” Walter asked.
I gave a dry laugh. “Hell, he’d probably respect her even more than he already did.”
“I barely know the man, but I gotta agree with Lucy,” Serena said to Walter, jerking her thumb in my direction.
“Let’s hope the police eventually do, too,” I said.
We all three raised our glasses to that—and to Winnie once more—and then Serena said, “Does that mean you’re going to let this whole C.A. thing go back to being something that happened in the past?”
I sipped thoughtfully on my second gin and tonic, letting my heart decide.
“No,” I said finally. “I think if Winnie had only been hurt, then maybe I’d let it go, and talk Gus into doing the same. But someone killed her, Serena. My friend is dead, and the clues—whether I like it or not—point to there being some connection to the Hallorans.” I touched my chest. “I was the one who started this. Gus never asked me to look into his great-great-grandfather’s murder. I did so on my own, and now someone I cared about is dead because of it.” My eyes began welling up again. “Something happened back in 1849 that triggered Seth Halloran’s killing, and it�
�s still having repercussions today. I need to see if I can figure out who C.A. really is, why he had Seth killed, and what part of that reason is still relevant in the present day. I owe it to Winnie to figure it out, and if it helps the police, then all the better.”
Mustering a smile, I added, “Plus, Winnie wanted to know as badly as anyone. She was going to help me look into it, so I kind of think she’d want me to continue.”
Serena looked worried, but she only said, “Okay, then what now?”
I sighed. “I have no idea.”
ELEVEN
Serena stayed with me after asking the words, “Think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?” and seeing the look on my face that clearly told her no.
For once, I was grateful she could read me so well.
“What do you want to do?” she asked once Walter had left. “Talk? Mope? Watch old movies? Cry? Drink more? Go for a run? Though you’d be on your own for that last one, sister. You know I require air-conditioning for anything exercise-related.”
I thought about it. “We’re Southern girls. What do all good Southern girls do when someone has died?”
We looked at each other and nodded. “Make casseroles.”
After picking up a slew of ingredients at the all-night grocery store, Serena and I were knee-deep in casseroles until dawn. We made tuna, chicken-broccoli-rice, and, of course, King Ranch casserole, its spicy, creamy sauce mixed with sliced mushrooms, diced tomatoes, and shredded chicken, then ladled between soft corn tortillas and topped with lots of shredded cheese.
For dessert, knowing that Winnie had loved chocolate, we whipped up both a chocolate-cinnamon sheet cake and made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing. Afterward, I was good and exhausted, but I felt like I’d done something that would help Winnie’s friends and coworkers, who would soon be sharing my pain if they hadn’t found out already.
In the morning, I dropped Serena at her townhouse, picked up some Flaco’s for breakfast, and went to the office to wait for Josephine, who was helping me take the food to the Hamilton Center. She’d added a large salad to the mix as her own offering.
“This is Austin, after all. The odds you’ll need to appease a vegetarian are high.”
Our edible comforts were accepted by Winnie’s shocked and mourning colleagues, including Homer, the brave, baton-wielding security guard, who raised a hand to us in sad welcome from across the large conference room that had been set up as a private place for the staff to gather, talk, grieve, and eat.
“I guess he’s heard you’re not the killer,” Jo said out of the corner of her mouth while we each ate a red velvet cupcake.
I nodded. “I’m going to go ask him a few questions.”
“I’ll see if I can chat up some of the other employees, then,” Jo said. She’d pivoted to face me and now tilted her head to the right, adding, “The gentleman behind me in the suit looks like he’s a higher-up and may know something. Should he be my first target?”
I glanced over her shoulder to see a man wearing a tailored dark suit with a lavender pocket square. He was thin and fussy looking with wispy straw-colored hair and a jawline too soft for his lack of body fat. I watched him accept a cup of coffee in a cheap Styrofoam cup from a well-meaning female employee, take a whiff of the brew, and drop it into the nearest trash can when she’d turned away.
“That’s Paul Lindgren, the director of the Hamilton Center,” I said. “He thinks far too highly of himself, but if anyone knows something, he will. Turn on your best upper-class British charm and he’ll eat it up with a spoon.”
“Mission accepted, darling,” she said, her accent already sounding more regal than usual. I looked around again, then nodded in the direction of two women and a man standing by the dessert station. “See the pretty Japanese woman with the pixie cut?” Jo nodded and I said, “That’s Aya Sato, who does restoration work. I’ll go talk to her after I speak with Homer.”
I finished my cupcake as I made my way over to Homer, who was once again in his tan polyester security guard’s uniform.
“Miss Lancaster,” he said, dipping his head in greeting since he was double-fisting it with two plates, one piled high with King Ranch casserole and the other with chocolate cake. “My apologies for the way I treated you yesterday evening.”
“None needed,” I assured him. “You ferociously protected our friend Dr. Dell. I wouldn’t have had you do anything different.”
He nodded gratefully. The air between us now clear, I sat down with him in the row of chairs against the wall and I offered to hold his plate of cake. He accepted and scooped up a forkful of King Ranch casserole, his big brown eyes lighting up with how good it tasted.
I said, “Homer, I don’t believe that Gus Halloran hurt one hair on Dr. Dell’s head, much less killed her, but what do you think?”
Homer chewed his second bite more slowly before answering. Finally, he put down his fork and said, “Growing up, I lived in a rough neighborhood. People I knew getting killed every week it seemed, by one way or another. I was ten when I saw my first dead person, and I saw many more after that.” He gave me a world-weary look that made me feel very sheltered, very privileged, and very blessed. He said, “Miss Lancaster, I know what a person looks like when they’ve been dead two minutes versus two hours, and just about everything in between. It’s in certain things that happen to a person’s body after they pass, you know?”
My expertise being limited to the few anguished moments I stared at Winnie’s body last night, I didn’t really know. Still, like Special Agent Turner had taken such pleasure in reminding me, I did watch a lot of television, so I had some good ideas.
“Mr. Halloran had only been upstairs for ten minutes or less by the time you arrived,” Homer continued, “but mark my words, Dr. Dell had been dead for at least a half hour by the time I saw her. I realized that after the police arrived and I had time to process what I’d seen.”
“Did you tell this to Detective Dupart?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sure did. The detective listened, but I could tell he didn’t trust that I knew what I was talking about, my thoughts not being scientific and all. I’m sure they’ll figure it out for themselves soon enough.” He chuckled and picked up his fork again. “That’s all right, though. Mr. Halloran’s a nice man, but ain’t never hurt anyone to experience being unjustly accused for a little while.”
I smiled. “Perspective is a good thing for any person to remember, I agree.”
He nodded and took a big bite of King Ranch casserole.
“Did you happen to see anyone else who met with or talked to Dr. Dell yesterday?” I asked. “Or notice anything unusual?”
Homer took two more bites as he thought back. “Nope. She had meetings, of course, but nothing out of the ordinary that I saw. We had the sponsor event in the afternoon, and she talked to guests like always until about six or so, when she went up to her office. She came back down almost immediately with the plant for you because she didn’t want you to forget it, but then she went back up to her office again…” He trailed off for a moment with a sad look, knowing what had happened after that, and then said, “But this morning, after thinking on what the police said about how some things were stolen from Dr. Dell’s office and how they might’ve been hidden in someone’s bag, I did remember something.”
“What was that?”
He’d already taken another bite of casserole and I told him not to rush. Finally, he said with a shrug, “Might not be anything, but when a bunch of people walked out after the event ended at six thirty, there was this one lady rushing to catch up with them. She had a big purse.”
He formed the outline of the bag with his hands.
“Like a large hobo bag?”
“Yeah, she was digging around in it. The thing was so full she looked like she was carrying around half the world. Seemed strange.”
“Mine is full to bursting, too,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve won ‘Heaviest Handbag’ awards during baby-show
er games, it’s so full. But it’s not exactly unusual.”
“Wasn’t just the bag,” Homer said, “but also the woman.”
“How so?”
“Well, she rushed to be with the group, but she didn’t look like she knew ’em.”
In my eyes, that wasn’t so odd. They were all walking out the door; the woman could have been acting on the basic instinct in all of us to not be left behind.
“The event yesterday afternoon was a sponsor party,” he added when he saw the skeptical look on my face. “There’s only one sponsor for the current exhibit. Surely all the people there knew everyone else.”
“True,” I said, “unless she was a guest of one of the invitees. Maybe the person who brought her had left early to go find their car and drive it around to pick her up.”
Homer looked a touch crestfallen, but nodded.
“Do you remember what she looked like?” I asked.
“Not much. She had her head down, on account of digging in her bag, so I didn’t see her face.”
“Could you describe what color hair she had? Or if she were tall like Winnie, or short like me?”
Homer’s eyes narrowed. “She had on a long coat, so I couldn’t comment on her figure, but she was tall, like Dr. Dell. Kinda looked like her, too, with dark hair to here.” He held his fork to right below chin level, like Winnie’s.
“Have you called Dupart on this? Or try to find the woman on the security feed from last night?”
Homer told me that he hadn’t yet told the police, but he had told the center’s director, Paul Lindgren, and they’d both looked at the security tapes again. “Funny thing,” he said, “you’d see her just fine from a distance, but when she got to be walking under the camera nearest my desk, the picture went all fuzzy. Just for a split second, but it was enough.”
“That’s weird,” I said.
“No, not really,” he said. “Our security cameras need replacing, bad. They get to being fuzzy more than they should.”
So, not so weird. Feeling a little deflated, I put my hand on his arm. “Thank you again, Homer. For everything.” He met my eyes and nodded again solemnly. I offered to throw his plate away for him so that he could start enjoying his dessert as I headed in the direction of Aya Sato.
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