“Wait, who are you and where did you come from?” Lacy said.
“Traitor. Fine, someone called the police, obviously, and I’m Chief Inspector Cantor of Scotland Yard, Hamptons Division.”
“Should we be starting? Aunt Enid isn’t here yet,” Rita said.
That was odd, since it was Aunt Enid’s game. Lacy thought she’d better hurry because how much longer could poor Hildy hold perfectly still on the floor? She glanced at the woman, expecting to see the andiron beside her but not only was there no andiron, it was only two in the morning, nowhere near dawn. She froze, clutching Jason’s arm.
“Uh, Jason,” she said.
“What?”
“I was the murderer. It was supposed to be at dawn, and I was supposed to bash her in the head.”
“You’re not supposed to tell us,” Chuck said, but Jason understood what she was trying to say. He let her go and knelt beside the body as he felt for a pulse.
“Oh, geez,” he muttered. “Who has a phone on them?” He scanned the room and Riley stepped forward, offering up her stylish phone and backing away, eyes wide. Everyone listened in stunned silence as Jason dialed 911. “Yes, I’d like to report a murder,” he said and someone screamed. To everyone’s further astonishment, it was Sue who then slumped into a dead faint.
Lacy listened as Jason gave the dispatcher all the pertinent information. He hung up and she knelt beside him. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
He shook his head and looked around the room. “What I said before still applies, but for real this time. No one leaves this room.”
“But Aunt Enid,” Rita said. “What if the killer got her, too?”
“We’ll wait until the police get here, which should be in a few minutes,” Jason said. “No one leaves this room.” He eyed them all, but everyone seemed compliant, glad to have someone in charge who knew what he was doing.
Hildy’s face was covered by the white material. Some strange compulsion made Lacy reach out, but Jason grabbed her hand, stopping her cold. “No, you can’t touch her.”
“But, Jason,” she said. “She’s wearing my scarf.”
A little over a half an hour later, Lacy sat in Jason’s lap in a cushy chair in the library. Seating was limited because the entire family was in there, along with the monkey, but that wasn’t why she was curled into a little ball, her head against his chest. And despite the fact that his arms were around her, the hood of the robe was up, and she was covered by an afghan, she couldn’t stop shaking.
Everything had seemed unreal for a while, like it was all part of the game. Before the police showed up, it was easy to believe Hildy was playing her role by pretending to be dead. Then the first officer on the scene had pulled back the part of the scarf that shielded Hildy’s face. Lacy had been standing so close that she saw everything—Hildy’s grotesquely swollen purple face, the bulging eyes, her tongue jutting out of her mouth, the ligature marks around her neck where the scarf had cut off her air. Lacy had turned, burying her head in Jason’s front, but it was too late; the image was forever burned into her brain.
And Jason, who was usually even-tempered when it came to the law, was angry. “There are civilians here,” he snapped at the young officer bent over the body. “You couldn’t have cleared the room before you did that?”
“Oh, sorry,” the officer said. “Everybody go to the library.”
And here they were, waiting for someone to come get them and tell them what to do next.
“How are you holding up, Red?” Jason whispered.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say Better than poor Hildy, but she realized that might sound like a joke, and there was nothing funny about a murder. “I’m fine,” she said instead.
“Yeah? Let me see.” He put his hand under her chin and tipped her face up so he could make his inspection. “Is that why you’re shaking like a leaf? Because you’re fine?”
“That was an unpleasant shock, but in the grand scheme of things I’m fine,” she assured him. “How are you?” She lifted her hand and touched his cheek. Though he was supposedly a seasoned cop, she knew the only murder victim he had ever encountered before today was her biological grandmother, Barbara Blake. While she, Lacy, had been the one to find Ed McNeil. Somehow the fact that they were tied in the dead body department didn’t make her feel any better.
“I’m fine,” he said. He turned his head to the side, pressing his lips to her palm. “What are the chances that I could get you to take a nap before they’re ready for us? You’ve only had a couple hours of sleep.”
“So have you.”
“Yes, but I’m used to that. This feels like daylight to me. It’s weirder to sleep at night and be awake during the day like all you non-nocturnal humans.”
“What do you do on your nights off?” she asked. She couldn’t believe they were having such a normal discussion in the middle of something so awful.
“It depends on what I have going on. Sometimes I keep to my original schedule, stay awake all night, and sleep all day. And sometimes I flip it if I need to run errands or mow. I don’t think my neighbors would appreciate it if I mowed at three in the morning.”
Listening to him talk was making her relax. Her eyes drifted closed and she fought to open them again. “Sleep, Red, I’ve got you,” Jason whispered, and she did.
Chapter 10
“Lacy, they’re ready for us.”
Lacy’s eyes fluttered open and rested on the clock. She had been sleeping curled up in Jason’s arms for the last hour. “Did I do or say anything embarrassing?” she asked.
He grinned. “Not telling. Why? What were you dreaming about?”
“Not telling,” she said, especially because the word “babycakes” may have come up a few times in her dream.
They walked into the den and Jason plucked off her hood. “The monkey’s in his room; you’re safe.” They sat across the table from a plainclothes detective.
“I only requested the lady,” the detective said.
“I prefer not to leave her alone,” Jason said. He and the detective stared each other down in one of those displays of machismo that Lacy could never seem to decipher. Were they taking measure of each other? Trading coded messages? Checking each others pupils? Jason seemed to have won whatever the contest was because the detective sat back, defeated.
“I’m Detective Peter James.”
“How do you do?” Lacy said.
Jason glanced at her in his peripheral vision and gave an imperceptible shake of his head. Lacy pressed her lips together and sat on her hands to avoid making any more faux pas.
“I understand that the murder weapon belongs to you, Miss Steele,” Detective James said.
“Yes, I had been wearing it on my head because of the monkey.”
The detective blinked at her a few times. “That some kind of euphemism?” he said at last.
“No, the monkey hates red hair. I have to keep my head covered or he’ll attack me.”
The detective was still staring at her like she was crazy. “Do you have an explanation for how it left your possession and ended up around the victim’s neck?” he asked.
“No. The last time I saw it was last night in the bathroom. I took it off when Jason and I were talking, and then we went to a meeting in the drawing room.”
“Why didn’t you wear it if you were so frightened of this little monkey?”
“I just forgot. I was distracted and tired, and I left it.”
“Who had access to your room?” the detective said.
“Anyone, I suppose. We were in the drawing room for a while and I seem to remember everyone leaving the room for a minute, presumably to use the restroom. But I don’t understand why anyone would take my scarf, unless they wanted to make sure the monkey attacked me again.”
“Again? The monkey attacked you before?”
“It was a few years ago, my first visit to the house,” Lacy said.
“Did you come here often? Were you wel
l acquainted with the maid?”
“No. I don’t remember her from my last visit, but then I wasn’t here long and I sort of blocked everything out. It was rather traumatizing,” Lacy said.
“Why are you here this weekend?”
“My sister is engaged to Enid’s nephew, Robert. This weekend was supposed to be their family’s bridal shower for Riley. I was invited because Riley has been trying to persuade me to be her maid of honor,” Lacy said.
“Why would you need persuasion?” he asked, sitting back and folding his hands over his midsection.
“We’ve been at odds the last couple of years. We’re attempting to reconcile.”
“Do you often have trouble getting along with those around you?” the detective asked.
“Whoa,” Jason intervened. “Where is this leading?”
“I’m simply trying to get a sense of who Miss Steele is since the murder weapon was hers. All I have is her word that the scarf left her possession,” the detective said.
“And mine,” Jason said. “I was with her when she took if off and left it in the bathroom. Then when we were getting ready to leave her room she couldn’t find it.”
“Were you with her that whole time? Were you sharing a room?” Detective James asked.
“No, but we have an adjoining bathroom, and I was only half asleep. I would have heard her if she was moving around, and she wasn’t,” Jason said. “I assume by these questions that there was no sign of forced entry.”
The detective regarded him again, probably trying to decide how much of his case he wanted to share with an unknown. “There was no sign of forced entry,” the detective said at last.
“What exactly does that mean?” Lacy asked, her brain too tired to figure it out for herself.
“It means this wasn’t a random act of violence,” Jason said. “No one broke in here and killed Hildy. Someone in the house is the murderer.”
“That’s not possible,” Lacy said, but on further inspection she didn’t really mean it. The only two people she knew in the house were Robert and Riley. Everyone else was a question mark and might just be crazy enough to kill. She shuddered and Jason reached for her hand.
“It gets worse,” Jason said, irritation in his tone. “The detective thinks you did it.”
Lacy’s jaw dropped as she turned to survey the detective with wounded eyes that were probably lost on him. “Me? Why?”
“It was your scarf,” he said. “Why would someone take your scarf to kill her?”
“Why would I use my own scarf if I were going to kill her?” she asked. “I’m smarter than that.”
“Strangulation is generally a crime of passion--that means without forethought and planning. Generally the person uses whatever is on hand at the moment,” the detective replied.
“I would never kill someone, not for any reason,” Lacy said. “But, assuming I would, what might have been my motivation? I never met the woman before I arrived here. I spoke a total of five words with her. If strangulation is a crime of passion, wouldn’t I have needed to feel passionate enough about something to kill her?”
“Rumor has it that you curtsied to her when you first arrived,” the detective said.
“Yes, I did. Is that the international sign for ‘I’m going to kill you later’?” Lacy replied.
“No, but it’s odd. Why curtsy to a maid? Was it some sort of signal?” the detective asked.
“It’s a signal that I was nervous and am socially awkward. She was staring at me; I panicked and did the fist thing that came to my mind,” Lacy explained. “I’m telling you that I didn’t know the woman. I had no reason to kill her. I have no idea why my scarf was there. The end.”
“Oh, it’s not the end, Miss Steele,” the detective said, a cold, calculating smile on his lips. Lacy’s mouth was still agape and she couldn’t seem to close it. This man actually believed she was a murderer.
Jason must have come to the same conclusion because the top blew off his carefully held temper. “This is ridiculous, detective. You have the entire cast of The Rocky Horror Picture Show sitting out there in the library, people who presumably knew the maid for years and may have had motive, not to mention opportunity. And yet you think Lacy did it because her scarf was used? Everyone out there had access to Lacy’s room and could have taken her scarf at any time. I hope you’re looking carefully at each of them because after just a few hours spent in their combined presence, I’m willing to say all of them are capable of killing someone.”
“We’re looking at all the possibilities, officer,” Detective James replied. His gaze leveled on Jason’s chest. “Nice, uh, shirt.”
Jason looked down. “Ah, geez, Lacy.” He shot her an accusing glance. “We’re going to talk about this later.” Turning back to the detective, he took a breath and seemed to be trying hard to control his temper once again. “Are we done here?”
“For now,” the detective said. “One of the officers will give you each a statement form. I would appreciate it if you didn’t leave town for the next few days so we can interview you again, more formally this time.”
“Do I need a lawyer?” Lacy asked.
“No,” the detective said at the same time Jason said, “Yes.”
“C’mon,” Jason said, tugging her up and out of the room. He led her to her bedroom and closed the door. “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s a frustrating, helpless feeling to see someone you care about accused of murder, huh?” Lacy said. “Sort of makes you want to do whatever you can to correct the situation.”
“Really, Red? You think now is the time for smugness?”
“It’s always the time for smugness, Jason,” Lacy said. “What are we going to do? Should I call my lawyer?”
“Not yet,” Jason said. “We have a little while until they’ll request us again, and we’re going to be ready for them. We’re going to find out everything we can about our fellow housemates to figure out which one of them killed Hildy.”
“Are you saying that we’re going to investigate and find the murderer?” Lacy clarified.
“Yes,” Jason said.
“I’m afraid I’m going to need you to say the words, Detective,” Lacy said.
“Don’t make me do it,” Jason said.
Lacy nodded.
Jason sighed, defeated. “The game’s afoot, Watson,” he said, putting out a hand and pulling her close. “Now let’s talk about this t-shirt you made me wear.”
Chapter 11
“Babycakes? You couldn’t have found anything more humiliating to splay across my chest?”
“Not without really trying,” Lacy said.
“There is something seriously wrong inside your head, woman,” Jason said, but he was smiling, at least until Riley threw open the door and stepped inside, tossing herself onto Lacy’s bed.
“Can you believe this?” she said.
“Come in, Riley,” Jason said, but she ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken.
“This stinks. How can this be happening to me? This weekend was supposed to be fun, at least as much fun as you can have with Robert’s family. And what about the presents? Do you think they’ll still do presents?”
Jason was giving her the look, the same one he had given Gregor, the I-can’t-believe-this-person-actually-exists look, but Lacy was used to her sister’s total self-absorption.
“I’m sure you’ll still get the presents, Riley.”
“This is the worst thing that could ever happen to me,” Riley said, and then she started to cry. Riley was a pretty crier. Unlike Lacy, whose entire face turned red and inexplicably swelled to twice its normal size, Riley managed to look cute with tears streaming out of her pretty brown eyes. Then again, Lacy hadn’t spent hours in front of the mirror watching herself cry as Riley had, trying to perfect her expressions. Although that did nothing to explain the differences in their hair. If the universe were fair, then Riley should struggle with frizz, especially in the middle of the night. Even though it was
now four in the morning, Riley’s long, naturally-curly hair was perfectly arranged as if she had just come from the salon. Lacy was sure that her own slightly wavy hair had a massive rat’s nest at the base of her skull.
Jason remained wisely silent. The tight set of his lips told Lacy he was trying not to say something he might regret. Lacy knew that whatever admonishment she gave her sister would fall on deaf ears, but she had to give it the old college try. “Riley, a woman was just murdered. Something tells me she’s having a worse day than you are.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Don’t be self-righteous, Lacy. I’m in a lot of trouble here.” This time when she cried, she dropped her head to her hands and wailed.
Jason and Lacy looked at each other. What was she talking about? There was only one way to find out. Lacy walked over and sat beside her sister on the bed. She should probably do something sisterly like hug her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead she poked her in the ribs. “What’s wrong?”
“I did something bad,” Riley said. She looked up at Jason and frowned. “Does he have to be here for this?”
“Yes, he does,” Jason answered. “Go ahead.” He walked over and sat on her other side.
Riley shuddered, her lower lip quivering adorably. “I lost the ring.”
It was the wrong time for a Lord of the Rings joke, so Lacy refrained, even though she was dying to say What ring, Frodo? “What are you talking about?” she said instead.
“Robert gave me this engagement ring, a family heirloom.”
Lacy stiffened. She knew exactly which ring she was referring to because she had received it first. It was a beautiful ring, old fashioned and full of detail. “You lost it?” Lacy repeated, feeling inexplicably sad. She remembered how painful it had been to wrench the ring from her finger and give it back to Robert.
Riley nodded. “Only I didn’t really lose it. I just pretended to.”
“What?” Lacy said. “Why would you do that, Riley?” though she already had a good idea. The center diamond had been a bit on the small side, which had suited Lacy perfectly because she wasn’t a huge fan of diamonds. Riley, on the other hand, had an obsession.
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