by A W Hartoin
I waited and got the usual silence. Maybe I should get Flincher to attack me. That might spur Chuck into action. I pondered it for a moment. I was pretty sure I could take Flincher in a fair fight or even an unfair one, but him touching me was totally out. I’d have to come up with something else. Non-gross peril. Chuck was a detective. He couldn’t resist a good mystery, plus the camera loved him. I tried again. “Big case. Possible serial killer mortician. Woman strangled at exclusive castle. Competitive baseball. Very newsworthy.”
Nothing.
The cook finished and Aaron faced me, waiting without a word. It would’ve been unnerving if I hadn’t been so used to it.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked.
“Uh huh.”
Aaron led the way out and we went through a maze of corridors. We turned at some suits of armor and not others. How could he tell the difference? I had no idea. Eventually, we passed the great hall and ran smack into Robin and Deanna from the Grizzlies. A wave of flowery perfume washed over us and instantly took me back to high school, a place where certain girls wore so much perfume that it cleared a path through the halls for them. That wasn’t me. Remembering deodorant during freshman year was a challenge, a fact that Miss Perkins, the gym teacher, felt compelled to point out. Daily.
“Miss Watts!” Robin grabbed my arm before we could race away. “I heard you’re a detective.”
“Er…not exactly,” I said, trying to loosen her grip. Robin was wearing Miss Perkins’ favorite fuchsia lipstick and, you guessed it, I forgot deodorant and I might’ve had vomit in my hair.
“Don’t you want to interview us?” asked Deanna, wrinkling her nose and breathing in my face. Lots of mouthwash, but it didn’t quite cover the sour alcohol smell.
I sighed and gave in. “You heard what happened then.”
The women got solemn. It wasn’t grief for Cherie certainly, but something else.
“Yes. Coach Jakes told us. How did they get in?” asked Robin, fiddling with her big diamond earrings. Did she sleep in those things?
“Do you think the murderer’s still here?” asked Deanna.
Ah. They think they’re in danger.
“They?” I asked.
“Whoever did it.”
“Of course. I’ll be interviewing everyone as soon as I talk to John.” I went to pass them, but Robin let go of my arm and stepped in front of me.
“I know the time of death,” she said.
2:02 or thereabouts.
She clasped her hands over her chest and quivered with excitement. “3:15 am.”
“What?” I spat out.
“But that’s not—” Aaron grunted when I elbowed him.
“I heard it happen,” said Robin. “Of course I didn’t know Cherie was being murdered, but I heard it. I would’ve helped her if I’d known. I hope you believe me.”
The jury’s still out on that one.
“Of course. What did you hear?” I asked.
“The shot. I heard a gunshot at 3:15. I just thought someone was hunting. Something’s probably in season out here.”
Who hunts in the middle of the night?
“You heard a gunshot?” I asked. “You’re certain.”
“I’m certain.”
“Why were you awake?”
Robin checked her phone for messages while saying, “I don’t know. I don’t usually wake up in the middle of the night, but I was awake. Oh. Maybe there was more than one gunshot. Our window was open. It was so stuffy last night. Maybe the first shot woke me up. I looked at the clock. Then there was a second shot.” She pumped her fist. “Yes. That’s it.”
“You are so CSI,” said Deanna with a discreet burp.
“Miami or Las Vegas cast?”
“Miami, of course.”
“Thanks.”
I waved at them. “Hello. Ladies.”
“Do you need something else?” asked Robin.
“Where were you at 2:02 am?”
“Asleep,” they both said and Deanna gave Robin a questioning glance.
“What about your husband?” I asked Robin.
“Him, too.”
Deanna put her hands on her hips. “Come on. Just tell her. She’s going to find out anyway.”
“Well…” I said.
Robin wrapped her arms around her slim waist. “You won’t tell anyone what I say, will you?”
“I doubt it’s as much of a secret as you think. Tim has a drinking problem?”
“No. Absolutely not. He’s just been stressed lately and sometimes he has one too many.”
I counted five too many last night.
“So you weren’t sleeping,” I said.
“No, I was, but Tim got sick. He vomited for a couple of hours,” said Robin. “I’d just gotten to sleep when the gunshot woke me. It was a rough night.”
The door to the office opened and John watched us silently.
“How well did you know Cherie?” I asked them.
“Not at all really,” said Deanna. “Our boys aren’t in the same school division. We’re Class 5 and her son’s Class 3.”
“They didn’t play each other ever?”
“Rarely,” said Robin. “They couldn’t afford the big traveling team tournaments.”
“But the boys are in direct competition for the prize,” I said.
Deanna sniffed. “Not really. Everyone knows Enrique’s a shoo-in.”
Robin beamed. “Let’s not take it for granted.”
“It’s obvious. He’s in a class by himself.”
I cocked my head at her. “So if Enrique’s sure to win, why was there so much tension last night?”
Robin frowned. “It was tense, but I don’t know why.”
“Yes, you do,” said Deanna with scorn. “Cherie was pushy. She got on people’s nerves. And I do not know how they afforded this place. It’s totally out of the Lions’ price range.”
And nothing’s worse than the sin of being poor. I get it.
“Can you think of why anyone would want to kill her?” I asked.
“No,” said Robin. “Sure she was pushy, but that’s no reason to kill her.”
Deanna’s hand fluttered over her chest. “You don’t think anyone of us could’ve done it, do you? We’re not those kind of people.”
I had the impression that Deanna thought the Lions were those kind of people and it was not warming the cockles of my heart.
“In my experience, those kind of people are every kind of people,” I said.
“Well, not us,” said Deanna. “And not the Vipers.”
“How do you know? They have a bit of money so they must be innocent?”
Robin had the good sense to blush, but Deanna plowed on. “They’re not desperate like her.”
“So Cherie was desperate?”
“How else is she going to pay for college,” she said with a sniff.
Robin touched Deanna’s shoulder. “Taylor will scholarship no matter what.”
“It’s not the same. The prize is the key to big money in the majors and you know she wanted that.”
Deanna said it like they were above money, which she so obviously wasn’t.
“None of this gives the Vipers alibis,” I said. “Excuse me. John’s waiting.”
“I can give one of them an alibi,” said Deanna.
“Really?”
She smiled. “Bill Wayling has sleep apnea. His breathing machine was on all night.”
“So you heard that, but not the gunshot?”
“My window was closed and that machine is ridiculous. I was going to ask John for another room. I share a wall with Bill and I’ll never get any sleep if I stay there.”
John came out of his office. “I’ll have you moved immediately.”
Deanna beamed. “Do you have any tower rooms available?”
“I can put you in the West Tower, but you’ll be far from the other parents.”
“That’s fine with me.”
John told her to go to the f
ront desk and they would take care of her. She and Robin took off and John watched me in quiet appraisal.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“A hint that you are capable of taking care of this for us.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“How long will it take you? Sheriff Greer will be back in two days.”
“I won’t need that long.”
“Are you certain?”
“If you show me your security logs from last night, I will be,” I said, but he didn’t move. “What now?”
“I was surprised to see you up so early. Your cousins ordered quite a few bottles last night.”
“Tim wasn’t the only vomiting one. I’m thankful I had apple juice in my mini fridge.”
“Apple juice is a hangover cure?”
“It helps, if you drink it before you sleep. Speaking of drinking, has anyone besides his wife seen Tim this morning?” I asked.
“He’s in his room. I can confirm the vomiting,” said John.
“Whose vomiting? You better not have a camera in my room.”
“Tim’s. Robin called room service at one for ginger ale. He was seen lying on the floor, gagging into a towel.”
“They’re definitely off the list then, unless your system shows one of them leaving the building.”
He gestured toward the office and I swept in ahead of him like I was wearing a ball gown, not yoga pants.
“This way,” he said, pointing to one of two over-sized desks that could’ve belonged to Napoleon they were so ostentatious. There was a desktop computer with an extra-large monitor showing various live shots around the castle grounds, both driving entrances, the ball fields, several gates, and sections of the fence line. Tiny, Phelong, Gerry were outside the fence in section East 55 and finding nothing if I went by their bored expressions.
“Do you have the whole fence line visually available?” I asked.
“No. Our cameras keep getting taken out by wind and animals.”
Convenient.
“There was a gunshot last night at 3:15. Can you show me the footage from that time period?”
John sat down in the enormous green leather swivel chair and typed until the screen was filled with around forty thumbnails of video. The time was in the lower right-hand corner of each and showed 3:12. John pressed a key and the videos ran simultaneously. I scanned them. There were no people in any of them. When they got to 3:15, I asked him to slow them way down and he did. Still nothing. Either Robin was lying, mistaken, or…
“How many of your cameras were out last night?” I asked.
“Eight.”
“That doesn’t sound like something you’d allow.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t know me.”
“I’m getting a pretty good idea of you.”
“Miss Watts, the fence line wasn’t breached.”
I crossed my arms. “How do you know?”
John hit a few more keys. The thumbnails disappeared, replaced by reporting data on the fence. “It’s electrified and there were no indications of an intruder.”
“What about the gates? Anybody in or out?”
More typing and the gate logs came up. Nothing was accessed after 10:30 pm when the last employee let himself out after work.
“How many people were on the grounds overnight?” I asked.
He gave me a print out of employees and guests. Besides the baseball people and Bridget’s bridal party, there were only ten employees on the property, not counting John and Leslie.
“Okay. Let’s narrow it down,” I said. “Did anyone code themselves out of the carriage house after midnight?”
John brought up the log for all the carriage house doors and the answer was no.
“How about the castle?”
He smiled. It was the first time and to say happiness did not sit well on his face was an understatement. “Only one.”
“You’re happy. That can’t be good.”
“You won’t like it.”
Oh my god! It can’t be Tiny. Not Tiny. Or Aaron. Sorcha? Please. She could barely walk last night along with her sisters.
“Let me have it,” I said.
A name appeared on the screen, keyed out at 1:29 and back in at 2:32.
“Me?” I yelled.
Chapter Thirteen
I JABBED THE screen with my pink sparkly nail. “I did not leave the castle last night.”
“I know,” said John.
“What do you mean you know? How do you know? That thing implicates me in a murder.”
He brought up another picture, the top of a spiral stair. The time stamp said 12:32.
“Is that…my tower?” I asked.
The video started running and there was me. How much did I drink? I dragged myself up the stairs by the handrail, fell over, and exposed my bum to the camera. And yes, I was wearing a thong. It was all cheek.
“How many times have you watched this video?”
John looked at me as blank as ever and I tried to detect something, anything in his eyes and failed. “Does it matter?”
“I don’t know. You’re really weird, not Flincher weird, but weird.”
“You’re not the first to say so.”
The video kept going and there was me with my dress hiked up around my waist, taking eight tries to swipe my damn door open. My rear was hideous from that angle. Hideous, I tell you. And I spit on the wall. I couldn’t say why. I had no memory of it.
Video-me finally got out the enormous key, unlocked the door, and fell through, once again landing on my face and kicking the door shut.
“I don’t remember it like that at all,” I said.
“Nobody ever does,” said John.
“So what does this prove?”
He sped up the video and we saw Tiny and Aaron coming up the stairs a half hour after me. Tiny checked my door to make sure it was locked and then they went in their room. John skipped to 1:29 and my door didn’t open. It didn’t open at 2:32 either.
“We have the key card records for your room as well, but they can be tampered with. The video is definitive.”
“Thank god for that.” I glared at him. “Show this to no one or I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
“Doubtful.”
“I know, but don’t show it to anyone.”
“Prove who did it and I won’t have to.”
“Are you threatening me?” I asked. Wasn’t he Dad’s friend? What the heck?
“The prosecutor will want it if you are a suspect in an unsolved homicide.”
I got a little nauseous. “I have to solve this case. That’s just the kind of thing that gets leaked to TMZ.”
“They’d love it. So would the world given your celebrity.”
I could see it now. My flabby, lost too much weight, butt on computer screens everywhere. If Chuck was considering coming back to me that would put him off me for good. Hell, I was put off me and it was my butt. My eyeballs hurt just looking at it.
“So let’s see the other videos,” I said.
“What other videos?” John asked.
“The ones showing everyone else’s rooms? We’ll have the murderer.”
“No videos. Our guests deserve their privacy.”
“Everybody but me?”
“Correct.”
“Well, that’s just swell. What about their keycards?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Only you needed a keycard for access to your room. I installed your system at Tommy’s request.”
I punched his shoulder. It was surprisingly firm. “You are useless.”
“I proved your innocence.”
“Besides that.” I rubbed my eyes. “So we know Cherie left the castle before midnight because my code was the only one that was used after midnight.”
Aaron nudged me and did a discreet little point at John.
Of course. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.
“You have my code,” I said to John.
>
“I do,” he replied completely unperturbed.
“You could’ve done it.”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“I didn’t.”
“Prove it,” I said.
“I’m counting on you to do that.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
I sighed.
“Aren’t you happy?” asked John, changing the screen to room service orders.
“No,” I said. “Why would I be?”
“You’ll be too busy for your sea salt scrub today. I’d make myself scarce.”
“Oh really. Why?”
“Your cousins are awake and have just ordered breakfast.”
“Right.”
I went to leave, but John’s hand darted out and grabbed my wrist. “Miss Watts, I want this done quickly.”
“I get it.”
He tugged me down closer to him so that we were nose to nose. “Do you?”
“I get that you didn’t move to nowhere Missouri because you wanted to be noticed.”
“Excellent deduction. If cameras show up outside our gate, we will be…displeased.” John let go, but my heart was pounding. There was a threat in there somewhere. He didn’t just want privacy. It was more than that. Much more.
Aaron led me back to the copper pot kitchen where we found Lane still in the staff dining room cuddled up with Pick and on the phone, crying.
Anthony sat at the table with his arms around Taylor, who was practically howling with grief. I didn’t know a boy could sound like that. His friend, James, sat on the fireplace surround, pale and shaking.
I hesitated before I went through the door. It was so personal. So raw. I didn’t know how to intrude to ask my questions.
Anthony looked up, his teeth bared in a grimace of pain. It was so visceral I had to remind myself that he was a suspect. He’d fought with Cherie at the gas station. “Yes,” he managed to force out.
“I’m so sorry. I have to ask you a few questions,” I said, regretting every word.
“You?”
“Leslie and John have asked me to investigate on their behalf.”