Last night’s almost-kiss had been a slip.
Obviously I couldn’t deny the way I responded to Nate, but I didn’t have to take it seriously and I didn’t have to act on it.
SEVEN
The sound of raised voices greeted me as I made my way down the grand staircase. I’d taken the time to straighten my frizzed ends and I’d fussed endlessly over my outfit (jeans, floaty top and knee-high stiletto boots, in case you’re interested), so it wasn’t entirely impossible that Nate had returned and was already dealing with the situation. Or maybe even causing it.
I paused at the bottom of the stairs to contemplate my options.
There was the dining room and a sideboard full of healthy bran cereals. I sniffed the air, but either our guests were all health freaks or Burns had decided that murder disqualified them from a greasy breakfast.
The commotion was coming from the lounge, but that’s where the coffee maker was, and the pastries I’d discretely ordered from Cuppa-Cheeno for our guests’ snacking pleasure.
I braced my shoulders and followed my stomach, straight into a lynch mob scene. Mason was a big man, tall and muscled, but somehow they’d cornered him in the nook next to the bar. Charles stood up front, using age rather than strength to block Mason’s escape. Ella Parker had grabbed a porcelain vase and seemed quite prepared to crack a skull open with or without instigation.
Miss Crawley stood a sensible distance apart, her nose turned up in disdain at the general lack of restraint displayed in the room. And Burns, well, he observed from the sidelines with an expression of stoic resignation, but everyone else crowded around Mason, jabbing fingers and hurling accusations.
I hurried forward. “What on earth is going on?”
“He lied,” Jonas informed me. “He said he’d been with Jenna the whole time after dinner, but Julie saw him coming out of his bedroom when she went up to bed at ten-thirty.”
“Start talking,” Mr Parker called out to Mason. “Or I’ll have you struck from the scroll.”
That raised a chorus of vehement agreement.
I could see this going downhill fast.
“That’s enough,” I shouted to be heard as I burrowed a path through to Mason.
For goodness sake, if anyone who’d ever told a small fib was lynched, the human race would be extinct.
Unless…
My heart rate fired up a like a rocket and I backed away a step, hit against a padded chest that could only be Charles Sitter. My eyes stayed on Mason, but I spoke to the crowd. “You’re not suggesting he’s the murderer?”
“Don’t be absurd,” Charles said.
“Although, now that you mention it…” Ella Parker’s thought trailed off.
“We don’t accuse without damning proof,” Julie reprimanded in a nasally drawl.
“Okay.” I inhaled deeply, blew out slowly. “Then someone, please, explain the problem.”
“He’s a liar and a cheat,” Jonas stated. “That’s a clear violation of our creed and he deserves to be struck from the scroll.”
I didn’t know what this scroll was, but I dearly wished I had it in my hands so I could clobber him over the head with it.
“Whatever it is you feel compelled to do, you’re not doing it in my house.” I spun about to confront the troublesome man. “Do you understand?”
“I’m not a cheat,” Mason spoke up from behind me. “Yes, I lied, but that’s in accordance with the rules specified last night.”
“He’s right,” Ella gasped. “I completely forgot.”
Jonas’ jaw strained white.
“Well, I’ll be….” Charles looked at me with a sly smile. “That was quite the gem you threw at us. I can’t believe it slipped my mind.”
Mollified by their own forgetfulness, the crowd filtered away and that’s when Miss Crawley chose her moment.
“Ah, but now that Ms Brown has called you out on that lie, you’re required to speak the truth. So, tell us, Mr Sash,” she said, sounding eerily like a prosecuting attorney, “where were you between the hours of nine-thirty and ten-thirty and what were you doing?”
I turned about to face Mason with intent. I was no detective, but this was my party and apparently we were still playing by my rules, so I might as well enforce them. It was the only thing the GRIMMS seemed to understand.
“I went up to my bedroom directly after dessert,” Mason said easily. “That would have been nine-thirty-five according to the time on my laptop. I was on a Skype session with my wife for most of the hour. When I came downstairs again, I noticed Jenna on the terrace and joined her for a drink.” He ran a hand through his dreamy hair. “I really was with her until we found Lydia.”
“Your wife?” I spluttered. “Does Jenna know you’re married?”
“We spoke about little else. Jenna seemed, um, disillusioned, about the institute of marriage and I guess I was fighting the good cause.” Mason flashed his wedding band at me. “Six years and more in love than ever.”
“Congratulations.” I pasted on a smile and excused myself.
I was happy for him.
Really.
It wasn’t like I wished a blight on every soul who’d been fortunate enough to find true, lasting love. But Mason with his dreamy hair and dreamy, dark eyes and his dreamy marriage was all a bit much to take before I’d had my first dose of morning caffeine.
I did a head count and quickly saw we were missing one. I’d stopped by Joe’s room before coming down, so I knew he was upstairs, taking his frustration out on the keyboard. I had no idea what Nate had said to him, and I hadn’t stuck around to ask, but it had clearly peeled open a raw nerve.
I swung by Burns on my way to the coffee maker. “Where is Mr Hollow?”
“Out for the day,” Burns murmured. “I’m not expecting him home until this evening.”
This wasn’t the first time Mr Hollow had disappeared for the day and curiosity got the better of me. “Where does he go?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say, Ms Storm.”
I was sure he could, but I didn’t press. It was probably just a weekly War Veteran meeting, nothing worth getting Burns into a huff over.
I crossed to the coffee machine and selected the cappuccino program, was watching the foam cream into my mug when Nate popped in beneath the archway. A large, flat canvas carrier in one hand, a roll of something tucked under his arm. He’d changed into black jeans and a pale blue button down that hung loose over his hips. His hair was damp from his shower, already mussed through a couple of times, his jaw closely shaved… And I was staring.
Then again, so was he.
I grabbed my mug from the drip-tray and offered it up. “Coffee?”
“Black. No sugar. Would you mind bringing it up? Thanks.” He hefted the canvas carrier at me. “I’m going to start setting up in our room.”
Our room?
The hairs at my nape prickled.
I glanced over my shoulder to find Miss Crawley breathing down my neck. Back at Nate, but he was long gone.
Crap.
“That wasn’t what it sounded like,” I said casually as I shoved another mug onto the drip-tray and hit the button.
“And it wasn’t what it looked like when Detective Bishop snuck out of your room this morning?” she said coyly.
Cradling my coffee between us like a shield, I turned to her. “He didn’t sneak out.”
“No, of course not, there’s no need for him to sneak around,” she said, her voice softening in sympathy. “Your mother told me you’re in the process of divorcing that young man of yours.”
My life flashed before my eyes on Miss Crawley’s Facebook timeline.
She must have seen the horror on my face. “Don’t worry, dear, I do know how to keep a secret.” She tapped her nose. “With everything you’re going through, you’re entitled to one or two indiscretions.”
My mouth sagged open.
“Oh, come now,” she said. “I’m not a dried up prune and even I’m aware that we’ve
moved into a new century. There’s a place and time for propriety, but the bedroom isn’t the place and love defies time.” She gave a small chuckle at her witticism. “I will say this, though, I do hope you two are taking the right precautions.”
“Miss Crawley!” My ears burnt red to the tips.
“You don’t want to end up like that poor Sandra girl and find yourself married to another woman’s husband with a bun in the oven.”
The sudden flip to the Ottenburgh affair tripped me up. “My buns are perfectly safe, Miss Crawley. Detective Bishop isn’t married.”
“Twins?” Her eyes widened a fraction. “We haven’t had a set in Silver Firs since the Gordon brothers, but we won’t talk about how they turned out.” She twittered on about the ghastly Gordon brothers as she walked away.
What had just happened?
My blood froze as it dawned on me. I was about to become a knocked-up adulterous in Miss Crawley’s Sunday email digest and, oh God, that went out tomorrow.
It was my own fault.
When it came to Miss Crawley, deny in single syllables or shut up.
Never engage.
And there was only one person capable of handling Miss Crawley.
I plucked my cell phone out of my back pocket and hit my mom’s speed dial. Two rings, then her voicemail kicked in. Seriously? Mom was never out of reach. I put the cell away so I could carry Nate’s mug with me as I retreated from the lounge.
I made it halfway up the stairs, then plonked my butt down and alternated between deep breaths and deep sips of coffee. The bitter taste didn’t even register until I’d finished Nate’s black coffee instead of my creamy cappuccino.
Right… I called my parents on the landline. It rang and rang. I tried Dad’s cell, but no surprise there, he never remembered to charge the thing.
I sighed and settled on Mom’s voicemail.
“Mom, it’s me. Listen, can you please, please speak to Miss Crawley ASAP? She confused me with all that talk of buns and ovens and now she thinks I’m having Nate’s babies. Which I’m not. Did you hear that? I am NOT pregnant with Nate’s babies.”
It hit me then. Mom didn’t know about Lydia Fieldman and, more importantly, I wanted her to stay far away from Hollow House until the killer had been caught.
My time ran out and I had to put a second call through. “Me again. Where are you? Anyway, I really need you to call me. Something’s happened and you don’t have to come up to the house tonight. We’ll get takeout for dinner. Call me, okay?”
While I had my phone out, I swiped open my notifications and saw a new message from Jenna. She’d heard about Nate’s sleepover (thanks, Jack) and ordered me, in capital letters and excessive punctuation, to take full advantage of the situation.
Being this pushy with my dating life had never been Jenna’s style, until recently. Which got me thinking about her tussle with Joe last night. Why was she pushing me onto Nate so hard?
To encourage me to move on, probably.
To punish Joe, almost definitely.
I might have mentioned this before, but Jenna had a heart of gold, she really did. Joe’s misdeeds toward me, however, had gotten her seriously hot under the collar and we all knew what happened when you heated gold to about 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit. It turned into a white-hot river of molten ore and you did not want to get in the path of that.
I texted back that I’d stop by The Vine later to chat.
With all my personal crises taken care of, I gathered up the mugs and went to discover what awaited me in my bedroom.
An enormous whiteboard on its own stand and three blank sheets of colored paper taped to my walls. And Nate, looking all kinds of gorgeous as he replaced the black marker pen into a magnetic holder and turned from the whiteboard.
“Your coffee.” I kicked the door closed behind me and walked up to press the mug into Nate’s hands.
He grimaced when he saw the swirling froth of foam. “Um, thanks.”
“My pleasure.” I set my empty mug on the bedside table and went to make myself comfortable on the armchair. “So what’s this? Task force headquarters?”
“There’s more wall space here than in the library,” he said, “and less chance of peeping Toms. You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” I glanced around. “When does everyone get here?”
“I have my Auburn team doing background work on the vic and suspects. Spinner’s held up at the station, but he should be here shortly.” Nate sipped on his cappuccino. Another grimace. “Until then, it’s only me.”
“And me.”
“Well….” He shrugged amiably. “Obviously I can’t keep your eyes off what’s happening in here, and sure, you can give your input.”
“I’ve always wanted to sit in on an interview. Oh, and I can help you plot all our findings.” My nose scrunched as I peered at the column of black scratchings he’d already made on the whiteboard. “Shouldn’t there be…” I drew a squiggly line in the air. “Blocks and photos with arrows.”
“Maddox, no.” Nate gave me a stern look. “You are not part of the official proceedings.”
“You’re sitting in my bedroom,” I scoffed. “There’s nothing official about these proceedings.”
His brow cocked. “That offer to take you into custody is still open.”
“My point exactly,” I exclaimed. “We both know I’m not a suspect. This is personal, you being overprotective, and yet you’re ready to use police tactics and resources. How is that playing by the book?”
His gaze softened.
He was relenting.
“I’ve done everything you asked,” I pushed. “I agreed to your slumber party. I allowed you to redecorate my room. And don’t forget about my role in solving Ms Daggon’s murder. I can be useful, Nate, and I swear I won’t be a nuisance.”
He blew out a long breath. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
My smile burst wide open. “Probably.”
“If we’re going to be working together,” he drawled, those smoky eyes soaking into me, “you can’t do that.”
“Do what?” I asked. “Agree with you?”
“Smile,” he grunted.
I frowned at him, confused. “You smile all the time while you’re working.”
“Yeah, but my smile isn’t so damn distracting.”
Oh.
I couldn’t help it. My smile crept back over my frown. “What do we do first? Search everyone’s rooms?”
“That would require a search warrant and we don’t have reasonable cause yet.” He thread his fingers through his hair as he turned back to the whiteboard. “What we do now is narrow down the list of suspects.”
He unsnapped the marker pen and used it like a pointer as he went through the items on the whiteboard. “Lydia Fieldman was last seen at 9:30, when she retired upstairs to her bedroom directly after supper. Jenna and Mason Sash found her just after 11:30. The ME can’t narrow it down further, so that’s our Murder Window. We have a rough idea of where everyone was during that window from Spinner’s preliminary interviews.”
I stood and strolled over for a closer look.
All our names were listed there with estimated time and place within the Murder Window.
Maddox Storm (Kitchen)
Jenna Adams (Lounge / Terrace)
Mason Sash (Lounge / Terrace)
George Hollow (Lounge / Bed@10:00)
Miss Crawley (Lounge / Bed@10:00)
Ella Parker (Lounge)
John Parker (Lounge)
Charles Sitter (Lounge / Bed@11:00)
Jonas Mayer (Lounge / Bed@10:30)
Julie Brown (Lounge / Bed@10:30)
Joseph McMurphy (Upst Bedroom)
Henry Burns
“Henry, huh?” I stared at that last line. “Burns doesn’t look like a Henry.”
Nate sighed, steered me toward a cardboard sheet taped next to the bathroom door and slapped the marker in my hands. “Can you draw a floorplan of the house? We only need the g
round level.”
“A very basic one, I suppose.”
“That’ll do.”
“What’s it for?” I said as I sketched the lines.
“So we can place people visually as those details become clearer,” he said over my shoulder. “I don’t believe everyone remained in the lounge for the full two hours.”
I grinned at him. “Like the board game? Cluedo?”
“Close enough,” Nate said and went back to his whiteboard.
“At least we know for sure the butler didn’t do it.”
Nate didn’t laugh.
“Oh, and by the way,” I mentioned as I shaded a border for the lake and added an X to mark the hanging tree, “Mason was in his bedroom between 9:30 and 10:30.”
“He told you that?”
“Yip.” I stood back to check I’d labelled all the rooms correctly. “Said he was on a Skype chat with his wife.”
Nate added that to his whiteboard. “I’ll have my team confirm with the wife.”
I took the liberty of drawing a stick figure in Mason’s bedroom and tagged it with his initials and the time range. “Has Lydia Fieldman’s next of kin been informed?”
“We’ve contacted her husband,” Nate confirmed. “He’s out of the country, on a dig in Turkey. Sounds like he won’t get here until Monday at the earliest.”
How terrible, being stranded on a different continent when you’re informed your wife is dead. “He’s an archeologist?”
“CEO of a shipping company,” Nate said. “But it sounds like he’s something of a philanthropist, one who takes a personal interest in the projects he funds. You’re done?” He came over to assess my artistic skill, tapped Mason with a finger. “That was helpful, thanks.”
I fluttered my lashes at him. “I told you I could be useful.”
Nate chuckled. “Come on, then, let’s go and find out what the rest of the GRIMMS were up to.”
He waved me toward the door. “If they’re as good as their acronym suggests, maybe they’ve already unraveled a couple of each other’s motives.”
The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) Page 6