by Gregory Ashe
“No,” Hazard said. “Describe the murder.”
“No one actually saw it,” Columbia said. “That’s the whole point.”
“So how do you know he was murdered?” Somers asked.
“We heard the shot.”
“What?”
“The gunshot. Everyone heard it. Couldn’t miss it. Never heard anything that loud—and the echoes.”
“You weren’t worried it was a real gunshot?”
Adaline shook her head. “We knew we were supposed to hear a gunshot; it was part of our instructions. We also knew we were supposed to go to the riverbank to find the body. I think they included that because they were afraid we wouldn’t be able to figure it out on our own.”
“So everyone was there?”
“Yes,” Columbia said. “All of the important people. Leza and Ran still had to play servant.”
Adaline cleared her throat. “I was at the house.”
“And Mr. Strong?”
“Well,” Columbia hesitated. “Yes and no. He was out for a walk, but he made sure we all saw him. He was still pouting and refused to play.”
“What time was the shot?”
“Three-thirty?” Columbia glanced at Adaline.
“Close to then,” the other woman confirmed.
“And what happened then?
“Oh, we all examined the body. We had to get clues. Colonel Fitzgibbon was still breathing now and then, but really, the actor did a very good job. He stayed so still in spite of the cold.”
“And what happened with that body?”
“Well, once everyone was satisfied, the actor left.”
“Colonel Fitzgibbon made a remarkable recovery,” Somers said with a small smile.
“It was the end of the day, and he was ready to go home.”
“Did you see him leave?” Hazard asked.
“No. But he had to have left. He wasn’t in the house, and where else would he have stayed?”
Hazard didn’t answer, but he was wondering the same thing himself.
“What were you doing the rest of the day,” Somers asked, “while you were waiting for the murder?”
“All sorts of things,” Columbia said. “The shooting range, the greenhouse, the stables, a walk through the woods.”
“Where were you,” Hazard asked, “when the murder happened? The fake murder.”
“I was at the range,” Columbia said. “And Adaline had to come back to the house to help Thomas.”
Adaline blushed—it really was, Hazard thought with a kind of wonder, somewhat charming. “No, Columbia. You don’t have to lie. We were—um.” Columbia stared at Adaline, her face registering surprise, but Adaline managed to stammer, “In the woods. You know.”
“All right.” With a wicked smile, Adaline said, “If it’s the truth they want, my dear, then we’ll tell them the truth. We went on a walk, gentlemen. In the woods. Just two innocent girls, playing all by themselves.”
Adaline’s blush threatened to set the sofa on fire. “Afterwards, I came back to the house instead of going to the murder. The fake murder. I had to . . . clean up.”
“It’s really quite beautiful here,” Columbia continued, “and everyone was able to have a lot more fun once Thomas went off to sulk.”
“Well,” Adaline corrected in a small voice, “not everyone. Not Leza and Ran.”
“What were Leza and Ran doing?” Somers asked.
“Leza had to make all the meals. Ran was in charge of setting up all the games and activities. They were . . . busy.”
“Who the hell would want this kind of game?” Hazard asked.
“It’s supposed to be authentic,” Columbia said in a challenging voice. “Plenty of people like things like this. It’s very popular right now.”
Somers leaned back, his hands on his knees, and looked at Hazard. For another moment, Hazard studied the two women. He wished, once again, he had Somers’s gift for people. Then, with a shake of his head, he got to his feet.
“Thank you both very much,” Somers said, tapping his phone to end the recording.
“That’s all?” Columbia said archly. “Well, now that business is over—you have two lovely women in front of you. Desperate, lonely women in need of male companionship.”
Adaline, blushing furiously, got to her feet and practically ran from the room. With a laugh, Columbia rose more slowly and followed her. At the doorway, she paused, eyed the two detectives, and added, “She squeaks like a mouse, but she’s an absolute dream in bed. The four of us could have a very wild time.”
“Shut the door on your way out,” Hazard said.
Something in his face made Columbia scuttle out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
“You’re like a Kennedy,” Somers said, slumping back against the sofa. “Charm just oozes out of you.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Are they lying?”
“I’m not a human lie detector, Hazard.”
“You were pretty sure about Meryl this morning.”
Somers grimaced. “I don’t know. They seemed like they were telling the truth. What did you think?”
“How the hell should I know? I was using my Kennedy charisma.”
“God,” Somers said with a shudder. “We’re lucky they didn’t throw themselves out the window.”
“Either they’re telling the truth,” Hazard said, “or they’re working together.”
“And if they are working together, we’re going to have to find another way to prove it.”
“So who else do we have on our list? Ran and Benny, Meryl, and Leza.”
“Meryl was lying about her shoes this morning,” Somers said. “She was wearing hiking boots. She said her other shoes gave her a blister.”
“So she’s our murderer?”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Somers said, “she’s the only decent human in the bunch. But why lie?”
“Why are you so sure she was lying?”
“I don’t know. I just am. It was the way she said it. I don’t know if that makes her the killer, but it did seem strange.”
“What about Leza?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s not who she claims to be.”
“She’s not the head of HR?”
“No, of course she’s that. I mean, she’s not . . . all the rest of it.”
“What?”
“Christ, Hazard, I don’t know. Let me figure it out.”
“But she could be our killer?”
“It’s possible. Out of everyone, she has the least motive. No personal grudge, no obvious recent conflict.”
“Just the fact that she believes Thomas’s death would make everyone millionaires.”
“Right.”
“And the same goes for Benny and Ran,” Hazard said.
“I’m not sure.” Somers’s furrowed his brow. It was ridiculous, Hazard thought, that a man could be beautiful even when his forehead was dimpled. Somers, oblivious to Hazard’s attention, continued, “As long as the firm was up for sale, they might not have thought they were going to be rewarded for developing that program. But would they feel that way if they thought Thomas had ruined everything? Maybe they felt they deserved that money, and they were furious at Thomas.”
“So you like them for the killing?”
“I don’t know,” Somers said. “Honestly? I hope it was this unknown person, the one we haven’t seen yet. Everything else is so muddled that it would be a relief.”
“Then,” Hazard said, turning towards the door. “Let’s go find him.”
IT WASN'T QUITE AS EASY TO LEAVE WINDSOR, though, as Hazard had hoped. He and Somers hadn’t made it halfway to the doors when Benny darted out of the dining room and planted himself in their path.
“What are you going to do?” the short, balding man demanded.
“Solve a murder,” Hazard said.
“I mean, what are you going to do about our safety? Your job is to protect people. Y
ou can’t just leave us alone. That was stupid, both of you going into that room together. What if someone else had been killed?”
Hazard narrowed his eyes. “If one particular person had been killed, I wouldn’t be having a very stupid conversation right now.”
“How the hell do you dare—”
“Detective Hazard,” Somers said in that goddamn silk voice, “why don’t you get some food for us? We’re going to be eating lunch as we work, aren’t we?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Somers’s voice caught an edge. “Yes. You. Are. And so am I. So go pack us a lunch while I talk to Mr. Prock.”
It took a lot of willpower not to check Benny with his shoulder as Hazard went down the hallway. He almost managed to do it. Still, he enjoyed hearing Benny sputter and scramble to keep his footing. Somers swooped in behind Hazard, murmuring an apology, already smoothing things over.
In the kitchen, Hazard gathered cold turkey, a sliced baguette, a carton of mashed potatoes, and what he guessed was some version of coleslaw. As he packed the foodstuffs into a plastic grocery bag, a footstep drew his attention.
Meryl stood in the doorway, her copper hair gathered in a neat bun, exposing the smooth lines of her face and neck. Emery Hazard wasn’t in the habit of admiring women, but even he had to admit that Meryl Headlee had a particular beauty. She wore a flannel shirt, a down vest, and blue jeans that looked thick enough to withstand a nailgun. Mud clung to the bottom of her hiking boots, and Hazard wondered, again, if Somers were right about Meryl lying.
“You’re going out there.”
“Need to look around. You should all stay together; you’ll be safer that way.”
Meryl sucked her lower lip between her teeth, and then, in a hurried release of breath, said, “I’m going with you.”
“No. You’re not. Now move.”
“I am. I want to go with you. You can’t stop me.”
“I can arrest you for interfering with an investigation.”
“I—” Meryl wavered, and then her resolve hardened. “I’ll follow you, then.”
“And why the hell would you do that?” Hazard plowed past her, sending her tumbling out of the doorway. “You’re safer here. You’re warmer here. And you’re a hell of a lot more help here. So stay here.”
Catching her balance, Meryl shot a furious look after Hazard. He continued down the hallway, forgetting the woman as soon as she was out of his sight. His mind turned, instead, to the logistical problems facing their miniature expedition. Snow was still coming down—if anything, Hazard thought grimly, it was coming down harder. And without a vehicle, they would have to cross Windsor’s grounds on foot, through the piling drifts, and fighting with the wind. The discomfort wasn’t the worst of it, though; if something happened to them, they would be on their own. Sure, they’d have Somers’s cell phone, but the reality was that no one would be able to reach them.
By the time Hazard had reached the entry hall, Somers was alone, and he was combing fingers through his mussed blond hair.
“That could have gone better,” Somers said.
“What happened?”
“Benny’s pissed. They’re all pissed, but that’s no surprise.”
“Why?”
“He’s not exactly an easy-going guy. None of them are. Benny, though, he’s—well, he’s nasty, but he doesn’t seem bright enough to realize how serious things are. The rest of them could snap at any minute.”
“They seem all right to me.”
Somers snorted.
“What’s that supposed to me?”
“Nothing.”
“What?” Hazard insisted.
“They’re high strung, ok? Think about it. They’re big corporate types, even if, in this case, the corporation is pretty small. They’re all about money and power and position. They’re all about being the dominant force wherever they go. And here they are, trapped, helpless, and cut off from all the things they use to stroke their egos.” Somers broke off. “What?”
Hazard shrugged. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. But they don’t all seem the high-power kind. I just ran into Meryl in the hall, and she doesn’t exactly fit the description.”
“That’s because she’s in acquisitions. Negotiating, in other words. If she didn’t want something from us, we’d be seeing a different side.”
“What about Ran?”
“Ran is just the nerdy version of an alpha male. I bet if you found his passion—Star Trek, or Battlestar Galactica, or collecting Cabbage Patch dolls—you’d see his claws come out.”
“And Adaline?”
“Geez, do I really have to say it?”
“Say what? She’s like a . . . a mouse, I guess. I feel like she’s going to squeak every time I look at her.”
“She’s manipulative. She got what is probably going to be the highest-paying job of her entire life, and now that it’s at risk because Thomas is dead, what does she do?”
“What?”
“She moves on to the next most powerful person.”
“You think she was sleeping with Thomas? And now that he’s dead, she’s sleeping with Columbia? That’s a pretty fast move.”
“No, I’m not saying that. I don’t know if there was anything with Thomas, but she’s definitely been working on Columbia for a while. Besides, you heard her: she was already sleeping with Columbia before Thomas was murdered.”
Voices sounded deeper in the house, and Hazard cast a glance down the hallway. “Let’s get going before Meryl insists on tagging along.”
“She wanted to go?” Somers asked.
“Bad enough to pick a fight.”
Somers considered this, but he didn’t respond. They found heavy winter gear in a closet, and they dressed as fast as they could: thick, insulated coats, waterproof boots, hats, gloves, scarves. By the time they’d finished, Hazard was sweating. Then they stepped outside.
The cold slapped the breath from Hazard’s chest. Wind drove the snow in flurrying sheets that rippled, hesitated, pulled back, and then slammed forward again. Already Hazard’s and Adaline’s footprints from only an hour before had vanished, buried under fresh white powder. The cold stole heat from Hazard’s body, and he found himself shivering.
“Maybe I should have let Meryl come,” Hazard said before plunging off the porch and into the drifts. “Which way?”
Somers pointed northeast. “Let’s check the conservatory first. We’ll warm up and then cut over to the stables. Warm up again and get to the shooting range.”
Turning in the direction Somers had pointed, Hazard used his size and muscle to force a path through the snow in the hopes of helping Somers. Somers was solid muscle, and he was average height, but he didn’t have Hazard’s bulk or size. With his face turned into the gale, the wind rasped at Hazard’s lips and stung his eyes. Snow swirled into his nose, the tiny pellets stinging as they struck. Hazard’s eyes watered, and when the wind shifted, it raised a glittering, snowy veil that obscured everything beyond twenty feet.
The blinding curtains of snow made it hard to gauge how far they had traveled—or how fast. As Windsor dropped behind them, Hazard struggled to find a landmark, anything that would keep them on course. He settled on a distant brown blur to the east. It was, he hoped, a large tree marking the edge of Windsor’s forest. The reality, though, was that it might have been anything—a rock, more dirty snow, a trick of the light. They could die out here, lost in the storm, as easily as anywhere else. With the wind blowing this hard, they could die within a few yards of Windsor and never know it. Hazard halted and turned, ready to tell Somers they needed to turn back.
As he did, though, Hazard saw a dark shape moving between the snow-filled gales, and he forgot what he had been about to say. Instead, he gripped Somers’s arm and pointed.
Somers, to Hazard’s surprise, only glanced back and nodded. Then he pointed over Hazard’s shoulder.
Hazard turned and saw, to his surprise, another silhouette moving against the drifting white
curtains. This one, however, was heading away from them, deeper into the storm. Hazard took one clumsy step and almost fell before catching himself. By the time he’d righted himself, both of the shadowy figures were gone.
HAZARD STARED AT THE EMPTY WHITE that surrounded them. The storm continued to thrash and howl; it had swallowed all signs of the two shadowy forms.
After another moment of searching, Hazard bent towards his partner.
“We need to go back. Can’t navigate in a storm like this.”
Somers grinned. His cheeks were red. The tip of his nose was red. Even his ears were pink, and the whole effect was so goddamn wholesome and charming, like something out of a Norman Rockwell Christmas, that Hazard wanted to punch Somers for having such good genetics.
“Follow me, big boy,” he shouted over the wind.
Slapping a hand against Hazard’s stomach, he maneuvered around Hazard and cut across the snow, forging a new path through the drifts. Hazard clomped after him. The path cut away from the brown blur—a tree, Hazard decided, it was definitely a tree—and in a northerly direction. Somers struggled in some of the deeper patches, but his compact, muscular frame had plenty of power, and he kept going without any sign of fatigue.
For what felt like an eternity, they moved that way: stumbling through the snow, blinded by the stinging grit that the wind carried, their faces set towards the undulating white veils that hid the rest of the world. And then, between one heartbeat and the next, Hazard saw light: a yellow glow, diffuse in the snowstorm but welcoming and cheery. A few moments later, the shadowy outline of a building came into view, and then Hazard could make out the enormous glass-and-steel greenhouse.
Somers trotted the last few yards, kicking snow from his boots and shaking it from his hair before yanking open a door and plunging inside. Hazard followed his example. Warm, humid air blasted him. He rocked back for a moment, his lungs aching as they absorbed the moist air, and took in his surroundings.
Calling this place a greenhouse, Hazard decided, was kind of like calling Windsor a cottage: the scale was completely wrong. This building had to be at least three stories high, with the space left open for enormous, tropical trees—mostly different variants of palm—that grew inside the greenhouse. Shaggy ferns covered the ground, and the green blanket was broken here and there by colorful explosions: Hazard recognized enormous pink hibiscus flowers, and deeper inside he glimpsed orchids, but most of the flowers he did not know. They filled the air with heady perfume, so strong that Hazard felt slightly nauseated.