by Leigh Hearon
Hollis and Brianna came into the dining room as the lunch dishes were being taken away. Brianna looked exhausted, but she was in control of her emotions.
“The majority of the riders have told us they’d be willing to return tomorrow if another judge can be found,” she announced to the group. “So that’s what I’m trying to do right now.”
“Super news,” Harriett said approvingly. Brianna ignored her.
“Margaret is still very shaken, and is resting in my cottage right now. I’m hoping we also can find a replacement scribe, because frankly, I don’t think she’s up for the job.”
“As if she ever was,” sniffed Gwendolyn.
Brianna went on as if Gwendolyn had never spoken.
“As you know, the police are investigating the death of Judge Bennett. I’ve talked to them at length, and they’ll want to talk to everyone who’s staying here at the house.”
“Well, that eliminates the trainers,” Harriett said, with no little satisfaction. “We’re all staying in cottages.”
“I’m afraid you’re not off the hook,” Hollis said gravely. “Everyone who’s a guest of ours will have to talk to the police. I’m afraid there’s no way around it. The fact is, Harriett, the police believe Jean’s death is murder, not an accident. I know many of you were off the premises when the judge had dinner here last night, but as I recall, you and your students remained on the property. I believe it was at your request.”
Harriett did not look happy. Hollis looked out at the entire table of women.
“So please do not leave the house until the detectives have had a chance to talk with all of you. Afterward, you’re free to go down to the stables or do anything else that you want—unless the police decide to place some restrictions on our movements, which I doubt will happen.”
No one said anything, and in the sudden silence, Annie looked around the table. Nicole and Gwendolyn were scowling, which did nothing for either one’s complexion. Harriett looked disgruntled but resigned to her fate. Lucy and Amy seemed a bit apprehensive, an understandable reaction, Annie thought. Her gaze turned to Brianna, who was staring impassively at all of them. She wondered what the technical delegate was thinking and feeling right now. Did she regret the words that had flown out of her mouth the moment she realized Judge Bennett was dead? Had she shared them with the police? If not, that would be unwise, since she, Patricia, and Liz had all heard her utter them, and if asked, Annie would tell the truth, as she knew her friends would.
But the real question was, were the words true? Had Judge Bennett looked in the proverbial rearview mirror and seen her jilted lover coming after her? If so, then perhaps there were two killers, not one killer, staying on the Darby estate. Because if Brianna killed the judge, who killed Betsy Gilchrist?
Chapter Fifteen
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 14
It seemed like a good time to call Marcus.
“Not another death,” he said morosely. Annie had shared the news about the judge’s collapse as dispassionately as she could, but it still sounded awful.
“I’m afraid so. We’re all hanging around, waiting to talk to a detective. I’ve already spoken to one deputy, the same guy who interviewed me about Betsy Gilchrist.”
She saw no reason to add that Deputy Collins was unquestionably the most drop-dead-gorgeous cop she’d ever laid eyes on. It was an empirical observation that did not need to be shared.
“You’re not a suspect, are you?” He sounded a bit anxious.
“No, nor am I likely to be. The poor chef is the one who’s on the hot seat. It looks like beverages from his kitchen may have been tampered with. It’s very unfair. Most of the time, that kitchen is going like gangbusters, but the chef has been kind enough to let us use it whenever he’s not. Anyone could slip in at night and poison the well.”
“You weren’t kidding about getting a taster. Is, ah, anyone upset at you at the moment?”
She was determined not to mention Gwendolyn’s name.
“Nicole is still furious at me, but she’s not likely to pour me a drink unless it’s over my head.”
“As long as it’s not acid, you should survive. Tell me, how many people are staying at the Darbys’?”
“Quite a few. Nine or ten, I imagine, and more if you count the trainers staying in the cottages.”
“And one of you is a killer? This is beginning to sound like an Agatha Christie reality show.”
“Tell me about it. But I hope you’ve eliminated me from the lineup.”
“Oh, yes. And Patricia. And Liz. That leaves only seven or eight.”
“Not to mention the maids, groundskeepers, and all the show personnel and volunteers. If you go outside our little group, the list of suspects is pretty much endless.”
“Are you sure you don’t need an attorney? It’s a lot easier to round up someone in LA than it is in eastern Washington.”
Marcus had insisted on securing one for Annie last summer, and in retrospect, she was very glad he had. Although of course back then, she’d actually been a suspect.
“Nope. I just need you. Oh, and the show staff is trying to find another judge and scribe now. If they can, then the show will take place tomorrow. I thought it only fair to warn you. I know we’d both hoped to have some time alone.”
“I’m a big boy. You won’t be riding, so you can hold my hand and tell me what’s going on in the arena.”
“Hardly. But holding your hand sounds lovely.”
* * *
Annie felt palpable relief that the misunderstanding of a few nights ago was a thing of the past. She was still curious as to why Marcus had changed his perspective so quickly, but she’d find out soon enough. The important thing was that they were tight once more. Sixteen hours agonizing over the state of the relationship had been long enough.
She’d heard no sound of a doorbell or any kind of activity on the main floor during her conversation, so decided to check in with Undersheriff Kim Williams back home. She wanted to get Kim’s take on the events. She got it in spades.
“It sure sounds like poisoning to me, Annie. True, I’m just going off what you’ve told me and without reading the autopsies. But I’m thinking both the raspberry iced tea and Lady Grey are fairly aromatic. It wouldn’t be out of reach to add a poison that didn’t have a strong taste or smell.”
“I can vouch for the iced tea—aromatic and yummy. And I assume Lady Grey is a special blend with its own fragrance. What kind of poison are we talking about?”
“Oh, the mind boggles. Cyanide, arsenic, any number of street drugs, indigenous plants such as belladonna. Even a household product like turpentine will cause the symptoms you saw with the judge.”
“Since when did you become an expert on poisons?”
“They do teach us something at the academy. And I took a course on the subject a couple of years ago. Fascinating. You’d be amazed at how deadly substances can become when taken the wrong way or in excess. I’m not just talking about alcohol. Nature can be hazardous to your health.”
“I’ll bear that in mind the next time I’m traipsing through a field of flowers.”
“Do that. And if that chef of yours serves you quail for dinner one night, make sure the bird hasn’t been around hemlock.”
“What? You mean the stuff that killed Socrates?”
“The quail’s immune to the seeds. But we aren’t. Eat a quail that’s been feasting on hemlock seeds, and it’ll be the last breath you ever take without an intubation tube.”
“You really know how to cheer up a gal, don’t you?”
“Well, you asked. Anyway, I’m sure the teas are being analyzed now by the local crime lab.”
“No one’s consulted me, but I assume so. I expect this second death has made both a high priority.”
“Keep me informed. And try to stay out of trouble. You’re not a suspect, are you?”
“You’re the second person to ask me that today. I’m beginning to take it personally.”
*
* *
By midafternoon, the detective still had not shown up. Annie had run out of people to talk to back home, and everyone seemed to be keeping their own counsel in their rooms. She wandered down to the library to find a book that would take her mind off the impending interview, first looking around the room for any remaining signs of Gwendolyn and Nicole’s row. There were none that she could see, but then, the room looked freshly vacuumed and dusted. She moved on to the books. It was an impressive collection. On the side by a fireplace that looked as if it was used as seldom as the library, she noticed a vast set of tomes on history, philosophy, and world religions. If it had been designed to impress, it had succeeded. She turned to the wall behind the sitting area. Here were rows and rows of well-thumbed mysteries. She saw dozens of books by Agatha Christie, several more by Dorothy Sayers, and a complete set of Sue Grafton’s series.
She’d just chosen a book at random when the doorbell ominously rang—or at least, that’s what it sounded like to Annie in her current mental state. She quickly shelved the book, waited a moment, and walked out to the foyer. Hollis was already at the front door. He appeared to have come out of nowhere, but then she remembered the silent elevator at the end of the hall that whisked the couple back and forth from their suite.
“Annie, come and meet Detective Wollcott. This is Annie Carson, one of our guests. She arrived last Wednesday.”
She shook hands with the detective. Although not as handsome as Deputy Collins, he had his own style of charm. Detective Wollcott was in his late fifties and had thick salt-and-pepper hair. He looked intelligent and reasonably kind, his eyes looked at her with interest, and she suspected that he listened well. Another deputy stood by him, carrying a large leather bag. Apparently, the other man held too lowly a position to merit any introduction.
“I’m familiar with your name,” Detective Wollcott told her. “I understand you’d met both of the women who died.”
“That sounds so macabre. But yes, I met Betsy Gilchrist on Wednesday and Judge Bennett last evening.”
“Which makes you the only houseguest who met both victims.”
Now wait a minute, she thought. If he was implying that somehow made her a suspect, she was going to be more than a tad ticked. But she tabled her emotion.
“What you say is true,” she replied simply.
“That should put you in a good position to help us since you saw both shortly before they were poisoned.”
That was better. Although Annie wondered if his you’ll-be-such-a-help approach was merely a ploy to make her think she was above suspicion when she really was not. Then she realized he’d said the women had been poisoned.
“Are you sure that poison is what caused their deaths?”
“Looks that way. We’ve turned up the heat on the crime lab and coroner and have a preliminary report from the latter on the Gilchrist death. I can’t tell you more, but I’m sure you can connect the dots. But please keep this information to yourself. I’ve told Mr. and Mrs. Darby, and they’ve assured me you can be trusted.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Where are we meeting with the guests, Mr. Darby?”
“Please, call me Hollis. I thought we’d convene in the library. It’s quite private, and with the door closed, no one will be able to hear our conversation. Although other than the women staying here, there aren’t many people left to overhear you. I’ll go fetch our guests now.”
Annie followed Detective Wollcott into the library and watched his deputy set up a video camera at one end on the room and arrange seats so that the camera lens would take in the entire group. Much better than taking notes, Annie thought. She knew if he’d been in Washington, he’d have to get everyone’s permission to film the interview before he could proceed, and wondered if the same was true here.
When the deputy was done arranging chairs, she chose the one closest to the collection of mystery books, which gave her a clear view of the room and door. Guests began to trickle in, all looking uncertain of what to do, although Annie thought the semicircle of chairs made it obvious. She caught Patricia’s eye as she entered with Liz, and nodded over to where she was seated. Alas, Lucy was standing in front of Patricia and took the nod as directed toward her. She smiled and quickly walked over and claimed her space next to Annie. Patricia and Liz gave her “oh well” shrugs and sat to the back of them, along with Amy.
The last to arrive was Nicole, whose hurried and distracted entrance made clear her displeasure at having her busy schedule disrupted. The downside to her timing was that she was forced to take the last seat, which was front and center. Nicole looked none too happy at being in the fishbowl spot, but she had no choice. She frowned as she sat down to emphasize that the meeting was intruding on her valuable time.
After introducing himself, as well as identifying his deputy as Michael Watts, Detective Wollcott explained the format of the meeting.
“We don’t often interview witnesses together,” he explained, “but in the interest of time, I’ve decided to do so with all of you. If any of you offers up an interesting observation that might help us find Judge Bennett’s killer, I’ll follow up privately.”
Hollis had already described the judge’s death as murder, but somehow Detective Wollcott’s statement seemed more provocative. Annie looked at the group to gauge their reaction. She’d heard Lucy’s sharp intake of breath, and she could sense that Amy, sitting behind them, also was rattled. Tabitha looked absolutely in shock, wide-eyed and unblinking. The rest of the group was silent. Nicole looked at her nails.
“We’ve already spoken to many of the show personnel, including Brianna Bowen, the steward, and—”
“Technical delegate. Brianna is a technical delegate, not a steward.”
Annie was amused to hear Gwendolyn’s clear voice correcting the detective, who, she noticed, also looked amused.
“Thank you, Ms. . . .”
“Smythe. I’m Gwendolyn Smythe, Smythe with a y and an e on the end.”
“Thank you, Ms. Smythe. As I was saying, we’ve interviewed Ms. Bowen, the technical delegate, and the judge’s scribe, Margaret Woods. Both of them agreed to being videotaped. It’s our preferred way of conducting interviews these days because it leaves such little room for error or for doubt about what was said. But we’ll need permission from each of you before we begin our questions. Does anyone here have any objection to being filmed on camera for this interview?”
Detective Wollcott looked around. Several people were shaking their heads, confirming it was fine with them. No one said a word.
“Fine. Then we’ll let Deputy Watts get the camera going. We always start the process by asking each of you to say and spell your name, and state for the record that you agree to be audio- and video-recorded. Which means I’m afraid you’ll have to repeat yourself, Ms. Smythe.”
Once these preliminaries were done, Detective Wollcott continued.
“As you know, Judge Bennett took ill shortly after the start of the dressage show this morning. We’re in the process of taking statements from everyone who was present at the event when this occurred. I want to confirm that you all know that the stables are off-limits to all of you at the moment.”
Heads nodded throughout the room.
“Good. When we’re done with our work, you’ll be free to use them again. In the meantime, if there’s anyone you know who was at the stables but may have left before Judge Bennett took ill, please give me their names now.”
“My groom,” Nicole said. “He left around seven forty-five this morning. He was supposed to return around one thirty. I was scheduled to ride an hour later. Will your men have let him in?”
There was nothing particularly off-putting about the words, but the way Nicole expressed them made it clear that she would be extremely upset if her groom had not been given access to the stables.
“I’m sorry, Ms.—I’m doubly sorry, I’ve already forgotten your last name.”
“Forrester. Nicole Anne Forrester. May
be we should all have put on name tags to make your job easier.”
“What an excellent suggestion. And I’m sorry, Ms. Forrester, but I’m afraid the grounds have been off-limits since nine thirty this morning. So, unless he returned before then—”
“He didn’t. And now I have no one looking after my horse.”
Detective Wollcott paused. He was sizing her up, Annie thought, and just realized he’s got his hands full with this one. He gave an almost inaudible sigh.
“I know this must be a great inconvenience for all of you, but it’s only temporary. We’re hoping to have the scene cleared by six o’clock. You can call your groom and assure him of that.”
Nicole abruptly stood up and turned as if to leave to make the call at once.
“I meant,” Detective Wollcott said gently, “you should feel free to call him when our meeting is over. At the moment, I’d prefer that no one leave the room.”
Nicole slowly sat down again, her angry eyes on the detective.
“Why don’t we start with you, Ms. Forrester? If you could just give us a brief account of your movements today, starting from the time you awakened.”
Nicole looked if she’d been asked to disrobe in front of a crowd of strangers.
“What time did you get up?” the detective asked encouragingly.
Nicole scrunched in her chair, as if she couldn’t get comfortable. “Six o’clock,” she finally answered.
“Very good. And did you go down for breakfast?”
“Not then. I was in my room until about seven. Then I left for the stables. I talked with Miguel, my groom, reviewed what he’d done, then talked briefly with Brianna, the technical delegate, as well as the barn manager. There have been issues with Andy’s feed the past few days. No one seems to be able to get it right.”