by Sara Rosett
I’d left my tote bag on the kitchen table beside my laptop, but my bag had toppled onto its side. I picked up a couple of papers that had cascaded to the floor, the copies of the hand-drawn maps that I’d sketched for the crew so they could get from the resort in Upper Benning, where most of them were staying, to Parkview. GPS and Google maps were great, except when they sent you to a completely unrelated location. Old-fashioned paper maps were good for double-checking routes, and some people on the crew actually preferred paper maps. I’d handed out copies to everyone who needed one, so I tossed the pages in the trash under the sink and climbed the stairs to the brass bed under the A-line roof with wooden beams.
I thought I might have trouble falling asleep. With everything that had happened, I expected it to be one of those nights when I fell into bed only to suddenly have my mind whirring through the events of the day to the point that I had trouble drifting off. But I must have dropped off as soon as I curled up on my side. When I opened my eyes the next morning, I’d hardly moved and the sheets were barely rumpled.
Full sunlight glowed around the edges of the shutters. A pair of dark eyes on the same level as my face gazed at me intently. I gave Slink a rub as I sat up. For a second, I felt a horrible sense of panic, thinking I’d slept through my alarm, but then I remembered about Arabella and that today was an off day.
“Overslept, did I?” I said to Slink as I reached automatically for my phone to check the weather. But I didn’t have to do that today. “Off day,” I muttered as I scrubbed my hand across my face. “Coffee. I need coffee.”
As I slid out of bed, Slink’s ears perked up and her mouth parted in a doggie grin. She stepped back, her long body shimmering in a good morning greeting. I rubbed her ears then shrugged into a robe because even though it was summer, the mornings were chilly. Slink flew down the stairs ahead of me. I let her out into the back garden, and a burst of cool air surged into the kitchen. I topped off Slink’s water bowl, put the coffee on, then climbed the stairs again and took a quick shower. By the time I threw on khaki shorts and a white V-neck T-shirt, the aroma of dark roast had filled the cottage.
I poured myself a big mug and, after checking the refrigerator, decided to have a real breakfast. Even though I was meeting Melissa this morning, and it was nearly nine, she wasn’t a morning person. Morning to her meant anytime after ten o’clock.
I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could make a mean omelet. I cracked some eggs, whisked them, then added them to the skillet on the two-burner stove. I let them cook while I chopped the little bit of ham I had in the back of the refrigerator and shredded some cheese. By the time I’d sprinkled the cheese and ham across the eggs, Slink was sitting prettily while watching my every movement.
I sipped my coffee while I gave the omelet a final flip, then slipped it onto a plate. As I settled at the table, trying to ignore Slink’s devoted gaze, my bare foot touched something that was a different texture than the hardwood floor. I twisted sideways and saw a piece of paper squished up against the central wooden pedestal of the heavy table. I picked it up as I chewed a bite of the omelet. It was a wrinkled oblong envelope.
It must have fallen out of my tote bag when it toppled over last night. The envelope had slid to the far side of the table where I couldn’t see it. Between bites of the fluffy eggs, I smoothed out the wrinkles and turned it over. The front was blank, but it was thick enough that I could tell something was inside it, at least a sheet or two of paper.
A knock sounded on the front door, and Slink and I exchanged puzzled glances. I shoved the envelope into the pocket of my shorts and glanced around for my phone. Had the brainstorming meeting been rescheduled? Had I missed the message? Was it Elise, steaming with anger, on the other side of the door?
The knocking continued. As I hurried toward it Slink crisscrossed my path, nearly tripping me. I caught the deep timbre of a male voice on the other side of the door. Thinking it was Alex, I threw the door open, then stopped short. “Inspector Quimby.”
“Sorry to disturb you. I have a few more questions. May I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” I waved Slink back, and Quimby extended his hand for Slink to examine, then he followed me back to the kitchen. His suit today was somewhere in between a light gray and a taupe with a tie to match. How did he find such bland ties that matched his bland suits so exactly? He gave new meaning to the word plainclothes policeman.
I offered him coffee, and he said, “Sure,” then noticed my half-eaten omelet. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast. Go ahead.” He looked around the room, his gaze traveling over every inch of it. Was it an occupational hazard, assessing everything, or was he looking for something specific?
I handed him a mug, then sat down at the table and took a small bite while Quimby seated himself opposite of me and sorted out his phone and coffee. I pushed my plate away. The eggs were cold, and something about sitting across from a police inspector made my appetite fade. I’d never thought of Quimby as overly friendly, but there was a new degree of coolness in his manner that made me wary. I realized I was thinking like Louise and gave myself a mental shake. Quimby was probably tired. Dark circles under his eyes indicated that he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep like I had.
He took a long sip of his coffee. “That’s good.” He took another drink, then said, “You stated yesterday that you hadn’t met Ms. Emsley before she came to Nether Woodsmoor.”
“That’s right.”
He stared at me, and I fought off the urge to squirm.
“Are you sure that’s correct?”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s the sort of person you don’t forget.”
Quimby’s expression didn’t reflect my light tone. “Are you absolutely sure you didn’t have some sort of interaction with her? Perhaps in California? Maybe a chance meeting either on a ‘shoot,’ I believe it’s called, or socially?”
I leaned back in my chair. “I suppose it’s possible she could have been associated with some project I also worked on, but I had never talked to her until she came here. In fact, I barely talked to her once she was here.”
“Then why did she request to work with you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I told you all this yesterday.”
“Could it perhaps have something to do with your friend Melissa Millbank?”
“Melissa?”
“Ms. Millbank was friends with both Ms. Emsley and Ms. Mayes.”
All the formal names took me a second to work out. “Oh, you mean that Melissa knew Arabella and Torrie back in the day? Yes, that’s true, they were all in some regional theater or something like that. They had a falling out. I don’t know exactly what happened, but that has nothing to do with anything now.”
“So you didn’t put yourself forward to work with Ms. Emsley…perhaps at the suggestion of your friend Ms. Millbank?”
“No, not at all.” I didn’t like these questions and felt a growing sense of unease. “Just what are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything, just checking facts.”
“Well, the facts are that Melissa hasn’t had anything to do with Arabella, and she didn’t want to be around her either.”
“Bad blood between them, still?”
“No,” I said impatiently and felt Slink stir. She’d come to sit beside me. I rubbed my hand down her long neck and told myself to calm down. “Honestly, I don’t think Melissa cared a bit about Arabella. Melissa’s wrapped up in her own world right now.” Almost all her conversations revolved around Paul, but I didn’t want to tell Quimby that. I wasn’t sure where he was going with his questions and the less info I gave him, the better. “Anyway, Elise assigned me to work with Arabella because Arabella insisted on it.”
He gave a small nod as he sipped his coffee. “Do you mind if I have a look around?” He glanced toward the sitting room and the stairs then brought his gaze back to my tote bag beside my laptop.
“Why?”
His gaze sharpened. “You’d rather I didn�
��t?” he asked, his tone surprised.
“Well, to be honest, no. Why should I let you?” I asked. The uneasy feeling had ratcheted up to full-on anxiety.
“Because it would be the quickest way to clear up a tip we received.”
“You received a tip…about me?”
“Yes, that you were writing the threatening notes.”
It took me a second to form an answer because what he said didn’t make sense. “Me?” I finally said. “That’s absurd. Why would I send notes to Arabella? I didn’t even know her…oh, I see,” I said, realizing that he’d put together my friendship with Melissa and her past connection with Arabella and made a triangle between the three of us. “You think I’m sending notes to Arabella for Melissa?”
“Perhaps Ms. Millbank enlisted you to help her harass Ms. Emsley, and things got out of hand.”
“That’s…I don’t know…I take back the word absurd. It isn’t strong enough. Arabella received those notes before she ever came to Nether Woodsmoor.” Suddenly, I thought of the envelope that I’d shoved in my pocket, and my breathing quickened. I didn’t normally put paper in blank envelopes in my bag. I resisted the urge to shove my hand in my pocket and make sure the envelope was still there.
“No reason you couldn’t have sent those notes as well.”
“I didn’t know where she was before she came here. I didn’t care where she was. Neither did Melissa.” I leaned forward. “I can’t believe you seriously could think for a moment that I had anything to do with her death. What about the man in the garden? What about Stevie Lund? They’re much better suspects than me.”
“I agree,” Quimby said quietly. “Except in the case of Lund. The security cameras at Tate House show that Lund walked up the drive, had a verbal confrontation with Chester Hibbert at the front door, then left. Lund never went into the garden. I do have other leads to pursue, though. That’s why I asked to have a quick look around. I have to follow up on the tip, and while I consider it extremely doubtful that you are involved in this, it is a murder investigation now. I’d hoped that because of our past association you would trust me, and we could clear this up now without waiting for warrants and such. I’d rather get on to more serious inquiries.”
I tilted my head. “I had nothing to do with Arabella’s death, and I have nothing to hide, but surely you understand that I’m not going to let you prowl around my cottage. Would you give a police officer an okay to do that at your house?”
A slight smile flickered across his face. “Probably not.” He stood. “I’ll be in touch.”
I followed him to the door and locked it behind him. I waited, watching out the sitting room window until his car pulled away then I went in the kitchen and took out the envelope. I had a very bad feeling about it.
The flap wasn’t sealed. I put it down on the table and ripped a paper towel from the roll by the sink. I used it to cover my fingers as I pushed the flap back and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Still using the paper towel, I opened the page, which was folded in thirds. It was stiff and didn’t move easily, so I only lifted the edges until I could see the interior. A mishmash of letters cut from the pages of a glossy magazine wavered in a sloping line across the center of the page, spelling out the message, “Arabella Greta Emsley.” Under it was another string of numbers, today’s date, I realized. The last line was the shortest, “R.I.P.”
I should call Quimby and hand this over to him right away. I knew that, but my thoughts jumped ahead to questions that would come up. Why hadn’t I turned it over to him earlier this morning during his visit? How was it possible I’d found it moments after he mentioned the tip the police had received that said I had sent the threatening notes? If I didn’t make the note, how did it get in my bag? If it fell out last night, how had I missed it? And then we’d be off on the same circuit about Melissa and why I was the liaison for Arabella.
A hammering at the door made me jump.
Chapter 17
SLINK LET OUT A VOLLEY of barks and raced to the front door and back. I stared at the note, my body going hot then cold. Was Quimby back with a search warrant already? No, it couldn’t be, I told myself, but my hands trembled as I used the paper towel to press the folds of the paper down and cover the message. I dragged my laptop over and set it on top of the paper towel-covered note, and followed Slink to the door.
“Kate?” called a feminine voice.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open an inch.
Melissa stood on the porch holding a to-go cup of coffee steaming in each hand. “You really should get a doorbell—what’s wrong?”
I swung the door open and checked the street as she came inside. “So much.” Quimby wasn’t in sight. I closed the door. “I thought you were Quimby, back with a search warrant.”
She held out one of the cups to me then bent over to say hello to Slink as she said in an accusing tone, “Have you not had your coffee yet?”
It was a mocha and smelled wonderful. I took a long sip. “Actually, I have. I’m not groggy at all. Quimby was just here, asking about you and Arabella and Torrie.” She followed me to the kitchen as I summarized Quimby’s visit then removed the laptop and used the paper towel to unfold the note. “Then I found this. It must have fallen out of my tote bag. No, don’t touch it. I’ve already handled the envelope. Don’t add your fingerprints to the note—we’ll be in even bigger trouble then.”
Melissa’s eyes, heavily rimmed with her signature black liner, skimmed over the note. “What rubbish to think you’d do something like this. Of course, I’m sure our tame detective could picture me sending those notes—I am rather an odd fish.”
I glanced over her ensemble for today. She was clearly dressing down for the day off in a black-and-white polka-dot shirt that was vented in the back and had an asymmetrical hem. She’d paired the shirt with billowy white slacks that looked like something out of the Arabian Knights along with thick-heeled white wedges that tied around her ankles. I would have looked clownish and ridiculous in the outfit, but on Melissa it looked perfect—slightly quirky and fun. “You have a flair for fashion. That doesn’t mean you’re odd—or that you’d send a note like this.”
“In some people’s books it does. And I think that Quimby is one of those conventional people who might think that way. I mean, look at how he dresses. No imagination!” She leaned over the note again. “I wonder if he’ll ask me about knowing Arabella and Torrie years ago?”
I pulled open a drawer and took out a large plastic bag. “I imagine he will.” Slink watched me with interest, then realized food wasn’t about to appear and loped off to sleep on her cushion.
“He’s completely daft to think you’d do something like that.” She motioned to the note with her coffee.
“Yet, I did have a threatening note in my tote bag.” I slid the note into the plastic bag without touching the paper then sealed the top.
“Is it like the others?”
“You heard about them?” I asked, thinking that Torrie had been right about word getting around quickly about the notes.
“Rumors, but I figured since it was Arabella that the rumors were true. I mean, she was the sort you’d want to send nasty notes to, you know? So…is it like the others?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see them. Arabella said they were words cut out of magazines, so I assume they looked like this.”
Melissa frowned at the note. “Not much creativity in the phrasing. You’d think if you were sending threats to a person you could come up with something better than R.I.P.”
I blew out a breath. “Unfortunately, I don’t think Quimby will be concerned with how trite the message is.”
She looked up sharply. “You’re not planning to give this to him, are you? That would be idiotic.”
“Yes, I know. But it is evidence. He should have it. It could be tested for fingerprints.”
“If someone went to the trouble to put this in your bag, I doubt they would have been careless enough to leave a fingerprint
on it. I wonder how long it’s been in there?”
“I don’t know. It must have been in with the copies of the map that fell out when my tote bag tipped over yesterday. I didn’t notice the envelope until this morning, though.”
“So anyone could have dropped it in during the last few days?”
“I suppose so—no wait. I thought I’d lost my phone yesterday. I was searching for it at the end of the day right before I left Parkview. It had slipped out of the little pocket inside the tote bag that I usually put it in, but I took almost everything out of my tote bag to look for it.” I focused on the floor and tried to remember exactly what I’d pulled out of the bag. After a second I said, “No, the envelope wasn’t in there. I remember removing the extra copies of the map. I would have noticed an envelope, even if it was in with the papers. It’s not the same size as the papers, and it’s thicker.”
I pressed the plastic bag. The layer of glue made the paper stiffer and distorted it a little so that it didn’t lay flat. “And I did take the maps out. I know I slapped them down when I cleared everything out, so if the envelope was in there it probably would have fallen out and separated from the pages like it did last night when the bag tipped over.”
“So someone must have put it in your bag between when you left Parkview and when you came home.”
I dropped into the chair at the kitchen table and took a long sip of the mocha. “It could have been anyone at Tate House. I put my bag down at the top of the garden steps when I went down to check on Arabella. Then later, it was on the kitchen counter inside the house. I figured Constable Albertson probably brought it in. Everyone came through there at some point.”