A Fatal Twist of Lemon (4 page)

“It isn't
your
fault he's a jerk.” She tugged her coat closed and started doing up the buttons.

I had never seen Iz so emotional. Usually she's so quiet you don't even know she's there.

“Just go home and try to forget about it,” I said. “Vi said you had a test tomorrow, so get some rest.”

She looked up and brushed her dark hair back from her face. “I will. Sorry I dumped on you. Like you need it, on top of all this! I'm sorry, boss.”

I stood up and gave her a little hug. “Don't worry about it, Iz. We'll see you Friday.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, you might want to go out the back door. There was a news crew out front.”

She shot a glowering look toward the front of the tearoom. “Thanks for the warning. My car's out back anyway.”

We listened to her footsteps die away down the hall. Gina looked at me.

“He thinks you're a suspect.”

I opened my hands. “We're all suspects.”

She didn't answer. Perhaps she'd realized it really wasn't a game. I passed the chocolate mousse to her and she ate a spoonful, looking thoughtful.

“You've eliminated Manny and Nat,” she said. “Is there anyone else we can rule out?”

I sighed, thinking back to when the party had broken up. “When I left the dining parlor, Katie Hutchins was still there talking with Sylvia, and Vince Margolan was talking with Donna. You had already left, right?”

Gina nodded. “I came down to the gift shop. I saw Mr. Ingraham go out the front door.”

“So he's accounted for.” I frowned. “Trouble is, someone could have come in again by the back.”

“Wouldn't Julio have seen them go past the kitchen?”

“I guess so.”

“Or one of the girls might have noticed anyone in the hall.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Maybe we should leave this to the police.”

Gina put down the mousse and reached over to clasp my hand. “Sorry, honey. I didn't mean to get you down. I thought it might help to be working at the problem.”

I gave her a feeble smile. “Thanks. But I guess the police know what they're doing. I hope they do.”

“They could miss something.”

“Speaking of missing something, if Detective Aragón finds out you're here you'll get grilled. You might want to slip away.”

She shrugged. “Gonna happen sooner or later. Did he ask you who you saw in the room as you left?”

“N-no. But he'll probably ask everyone about their own movements, and then try to verify it.”

I felt restless all at once. The suggestion that the police might make mistakes in this investigation made me uncomfortable. I picked up the mousse bowl and scraped the last spoonful out of it, then stood.

“I'd better check on the coffee situation. Want to come with me?”

“Sure.”

We went to the kitchen, where we found Mick standing with the clean, empty coffee pot in hand, looking doubtfully at the coffee maker. His long ponytail hung down his back, blond like his sister Dee's. I took the pot from him and gave him the mousse bowl.

“Could you wash this, please? I'll make more coffee.”

He looked relieved. “Sure.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

The simple task of making coffee was oddly soothing. Gina leaned against the counter, watching. As the pot burbled away I tidied up, sponging up spills, refilling the cream pitcher and putting a fresh spoon in the sugar bowl. I put some more clean spoons out along with a little plate to put used ones on, in an attempt to preserve the sugar from further violation. Probably futile, but I had to try.

Slow, heavy steps and a rolling sound came from in the hall. I stepped out and watched as two men pushed a gurney bearing a black plastic body bag out of the dining parlor. They went out the front door toward the waiting ambulance, which had shut off its lights.

“That'll look great on the evening news,” Gina murmured behind me.

I shot her a glance, but before I could answer I saw Dee coming down the stairs. I went to the foot of the staircase to meet her.

“He wants to talk to Mick,” she said, her voice full of repressed excitement.

I watched her. “You all right?”

“Fine. It's so interesting!”

“Interesting?” I said blankly.

“I'm taking a criminal science class. Actually, I'm thinking about making it my major.”

“Oh.”

“I can't wait to tell the professor about this!” Dee glanced toward the front door. “It's dark,” she said, sounding surprised.

“Well, it's almost nine. Do you want a ride home?”

“I can take you,” Gina offered.

“Thanks!”

Mick came out of the butler's pantry. Dee grabbed him in a quick hug, then went down the hall to fetch her coat.

“Detective Aragón is ready for you,” I said to Mick.

He nodded, gazing after his sister as he took off his apron. He was two years older and had his own place, but they were still close.

“Shall I come back?” Gina asked.

“No, it looks like it's winding down,” I said, stepping aside as two more cops emerged from the dining parlor.

“Sure you don't want to spend the night at my place?”

I shook my head. “Thanks, though.”

She caught me in a swift, tight hug. “Okay. Call if you need anything, even just to talk.”

“I will. Thank you for coming. Having company helped.”

She smooched my cheek, then let me go and collected her coat. I walked her to the door, where Dee was waiting, and watched them hustle down the sidewalk past the news crews.

The house was getting quiet at last, though I could still hear people moving around in the dining parlor. I wandered through the front rooms: the parlors that I'd divided into the gift shop and eight cozy alcoves for groups having tea. Naming the alcoves after flowers now seemed frivolous, though at the time I'd thought of it I had felt clever. The flower theme reflected the wisterias that draped the front of the house, and they in turn had inspired the tearoom's name.

I'm especially glad you chose to celebrate the wisterias. We had the hardest time keeping the law firm from chopping them down. Had to take them to court once.

Sylvia's words, that afternoon at the tea. Just a few hours ago.

A wave of grief washed through me. It didn't matter that we hadn't been close.

Fighting tears, I collected the tea things from Iris and took them to the butler's pantry. As I returned to the hall, Mick came down the stairs with Detective Aragón on his heels.

“You want me to stay so I can wash up?”

I glanced at Detective Aragón, who shook his head. “No,” I said. “We'll worry about it tomorrow.”

I followed Mick to the back door and locked it behind him. When I turned around, the detective was right behind me.

“Could you come upstairs, please?”

“All right.”

He led the way, the thud of his motorcycle boots deadened by the carpet runner on the steps. I wondered if he'd thought of more questions, but instead of going back to my office he stopped and indicated the door opposite.

“This door is locked,” he said.

“Yes, that's my private suite,” I told him. “It's been locked all day.”

“You live here? In Cinderella land?”

He sounded incredulous. I bristled, but kept my voice calm. “At the moment, yes.”

He ran a hand over his short, dark hair. “Well, I need to look in there. Open it.”

My private space. My last refuge.

“I'd prefer not to,” I said. “It was locked, it has nothing to do with—with what happened here today.”

His eyes narrowed. “Look, it's been a long day. Why don't you just make it easy on all of us and open the door?”

I'd had it. It probably would have been easier if I'd done as he'd asked, but I was tired of being helpful and receiving no thanks for it.

“I don't see why I should,” I said, keeping my voice polite. “It has nothing to do with your investigation.”

“I need to look in that room.”

“Why?”

He didn't answer. His eyes just got meaner.

I was sad and weary and fed up with his bullying. I straightened my shoulders and summoned my best diplomatic voice.

“If you have a valid reason to search my private rooms, Detective, then you'd better get a warrant. You won't set foot in there without one.”

For a moment he looked so angry that I thought he was capable of anything. I was actually frightened, but I didn't want to let him know it so I held still and waited.

“Fine,” he said at last, and turned away.

He clomped down the stairs two at a time. It wasn't until I heard the front door slam that I breathed a sigh of relief.

 

 

 

 

 3 

A
fter that, I couldn't very well go into my bedroom, not while the investigators were still in the house. I fetched a book from my office, made myself a pot of peppermint tea, and went back once more to Iris to sit by the fire. The book couldn't hold my interest, though. Too much had happened, and I found myself thinking over the day's events.

Where had I been when Sylvia died? In the hall? At the front door?

I hadn't heard any sound of a scuffle, nor, apparently, had anyone else. My staff had been nearby, in and out of the butler's pantry and the kitchen. The murder must have been very quick.

The horror of it made me close my eyes, and I felt a familiar spiral of despair pulling me downward. I sat up and inhaled sharply, looking at the chair across from me where Gina had sat.

I could not,
dared
not let this defeat me. I had to fight it. It would be all too easy to give in to depression after something like this, but I knew that if I did, I would lose the tearoom that I'd worked so hard to create, and in which I had invested everything I had, financially and emotionally.

So I'd fight for it. All I could think of was to try to figure out who had killed Sylvia. The police would do their job, but they had no personal stake in identifying her killer. I did.

I half expected Detective Aragón to show up brandishing a search warrant, but he must have had more promising fish to fry. He didn't return, and soon I heard the remaining police coming down the hall. I got up to meet them.

The blond evidence tech was in the lead. He smiled at me.

“We're though.”

“May I go into the room to clean up?” I asked.

He nodded. “Got everything there was to get. Thanks for the coffee and all.”

“You're welcome.”

I saw them out and locked the front door. The street was mostly back to normal, only occasional traffic that late on a week night. The news crews had gone away. I watched the cops climb into a couple of SUVs and drive off, thankful for the silence left behind.

A breeze stirred the hanging clusters of wisteria blossoms on the front porch. Pretty, but in my present state of mind they also seemed melancholy.

I wasn't looking forward to clearing the dining parlor, but it had to be done. I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing the mess was still there, and besides, I needed to go into the room and face my feelings about the murder.

I went to the butler's pantry to fetch a tray. On impulse, I turned on the sound system that piped music into all the public rooms, and put on a lively Vivaldi mandolin concerto. Music filled the house, and I immediately felt less gloomy.

The yellow tape was gone from the door to the dining parlor. The furniture had been pulled all about, and coffee mugs sat on every flat surface including the floor, but beyond that the room didn't look too bad. I half expected to see a chalk outline of Sylvia's body on the floor, but apparently that's a cinematic trope. The only sign of where she had lain was the space that had been cleared around where she had fallen.

I stood looking down at that space, remembering. Poor Sylvia. No one deserved to die like that.