Copy Cap Murder (12 page)

“Lucas is a very dear man,” Mary said. “I am going to tell him about your shop and see if he is interested in having you come and teach.”

“Oh, I don't—” I began but the cousins weren't listening.

“You just want an excuse to call Lucas,” Carol teased her cousin. Mary shrugged and then grinned. She winked at me. “I'll be in touch.”

As the ladies departed with their hatboxes dangling on their arms, a man approached the door. He was wearing an overcoat and a trilby, which is basically a short-brimmed fedora. I watched as he opened the door for Carol and Mary and doffed his hat as they passed him. Both ladies twittered like two little birds over a crumb and I realized I wasn't the only one who liked a door held open or a man in a hat.

Once the ladies were clear, the man entered, removing his hat as he did so. Recognition with a feeling of foreboding hit me low and deep.

“Good afternoon, Inspector Simms,” I said.

“Hello, Ms. Parker,” he said. “Mind if I have a word?”

Heck, yes, I minded. It was always bad news when he
used a formal greeting with my surname. There was only one reason I could figure that he was here and that was to blame Winthrop Dashavoy's death on Harrison, and I refused to go along with it. In fact, I planned to do everything in my power to stop it.

Of course, I didn't say any of that. Instead, I offered up my sincerest “help the customer get to yes” smile and said, “Absolutely, how can I help you?”

Inspector Simms was built solid, with shoulders wide enough to carry around the grief that came with his position. I liked that about him. His thick head of dark hair was matted from his hat and he ran his fingers through it as if to fluff it up.

His light brown eyes were serious and not a little intimidating under the thick eyebrows that met in the middle in a menacing line on his prominent brow, although in the time I'd known him he'd never once menaced, if that counts for anything.

It was a good thing that I knew him; otherwise I might have been nervous. Instead, I remembered the time he and
Inspector Franks had popped into the shop, eaten their fill of tea and crackers and left without ever arresting anyone, namely Viv, even though there were a couple of times where it wouldn't have been completely out of order to do so.

“Excellent,” he said. “About the night of the Carson bonfire party . . .”

He paused and I wondered if he was hoping that I would just start talking and tell him who killed Winthrop Dashavoy, as if I wouldn't have done that already if I'd seen it.

“Yes?” I asked.

“You said that you were with Mr. Wentworth,” he said.

“That's right,” I said.

I forced myself to meet his gaze and not look away. I have heard that everyone has a tell when they are fibbing, and I'm not sure what mine is, but I knew that looking away from someone was considered suspect so I made sure not to do that. Also, I didn't blink. This seemed to convince him.

“So other than the time Mr. Harrison was away getting drinks, which you both mentioned was when you were approached by Mr. Dashavoy, then the two of you were together,” he clarified.

“That's right,” I said. Still I didn't blink or look away.

Now his unibrow lowered over his eyes. “That's interesting because I have it from Mr. Wentworth that after the scuffle with Dashavoy, he left you again for a few minutes.”

Damn Harrison, why did he have to go and tell him that? I was supposed to be his alibi. What an idiot!

“I'm sorry but you said ‘other than the time Mr. Harrison was away getting drinks' so I assumed you meant both times we were apart since he left me to get drinks both times. In fact, the second time he was gone no longer
than a few minutes since he was just retrieving the drinks he had bought earlier from a nearby bar.”

“No longer than a few minutes?” Simms asked. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yes,” I said.

“How?” he asked.

“I'm sorry?” I asked.

“How do you know how long he was gone?” he persisted.

I glanced around the shop. It was empty, not a customer in sight. This was not helpful. I thought back to the party and the time Harrison had left me to get our beverages.

I knew it had been less than a few minutes. How? Well, because I had watched him. Could I say that? Would that even sound plausible? Did it matter if it helped Harrison?

“I know because I watched him,” I said. “I never let him out of my sight.”

Simms's brow rose and he straightened up a bit.

“Any particular reason why?” he asked.

This time I glanced away. Vulnerability is not an emotion that I wear well. I don't like to let my soft underbelly show; rather I like to hide behind the polished veneer of an independent professional young woman even if it does feel like a façade most of the time.

When I'm honest with myself, I know that I was drawn to the hospitality industry because I like to feel needed. It makes me feel important and fluffs up my self-esteem to help someone else. Otherwise, people might think I'm emotionally needy, and I just couldn't stand that.

Now, admitting that I had been watching Harrison to make sure that Tuesday didn't get near him made me feel
like a stupid schoolgirl with her first crush. It was mortifying to admit that I liked him that way and was feeling turfy about him.

“Were you worried that he and Dashavoy were going to mix it up again?” Simms asked. “Is that why you watched him? Did you have a feeling something bad was going to happen, Scarlett? I need you to be honest with me.”

“Ugh,” I groaned and leaned my head back as I studied the ceiling. Yes, one part of me was looking for an escape hatch that I knew wasn't there.

“Scarlett, you aren't helping him if you lie for him,” Simms said. His voice was filled with paternal concern, a trick I assumed he had learned from his partner, Inspector Franks, since I knew Simms was single, without kids, and not much older than me.

“I'm not lying,” I said. I could feel how hot my face was and I resented that the truth was being embarrassed out of me so I sounded a bit snippier than I would have liked. Again, vulnerable is not my comfort place. “The truth is I was watching Harrison because, oh, man.” I paused before continuing, trying not to choke on the mortification that was forthcoming. “Because I have a crush on him and there was another woman there who was interested in him, and I wanted to make sure she steered clear, all right?”

Simms blinked. He looked nonplussed and then a small smile tipped the corner of his mouth.

“I thought there was something going on with you two,” he said.

“You did not,” I said.

“Yeah, I did, weeks ago, in fact,” he said. “But I thought it was more him shining on you than you on him.”

“Well, now you know,” I said. “And I would appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything.”

“Don't see why I would.” He shrugged. “But you are absolutely sure he was never out of your sight after the fight with Dashavoy. I'll have your word, and I know I don't need to remind you that if you lie, you'll be charged with impeding an investigation.”

“I would never!” I protested. “I kept my eye on him for all but a matter of seconds, and I saw him talking to a stout man in a bright green jacket. I'm sure Harrison could give you his name if he hasn't already.” Okay, I was mostly sure but that had to be close enough, right?

Simms nodded. “I didn't think so but we have to make certain. There is one more thing.”

I noticed he looked ill at ease, and I braced myself.

“What's that?” I asked.

“Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts after the tussle with Dashavoy? Anyone other than Wentworth?”

I hadn't seen that coming. I thought back to my time waiting for Harrison. He was the only person who might have noticed me and he was off getting wine and sharing laughs with old men.

My throat felt very dry when I answered, “Um, no.”

Simms left shortly after that. He didn't ask to talk to Viv or Fee, and I wasn't sure how I felt about being the one singled out for a chat. Then again, I was the one who had tussled with Dashavoy before Harrison came to the rescue so I supposed it made sense.

As Simms disappeared from sight, I had a horrible thought. What if Simms hadn't been here to discuss Harrison's alibi? What if he had really stopped by to go over
mine? I was the one Dashavoy had gotten grabby with, so it stood to reason that I was the one who might have been holding a grudge.

Maybe the police thought that in a fit of ire, I strangled Dashavoy for excessive groping. I am a redhead and I had an embarrassing history of losing my temper in public, maybe they thought this was just another example of my instability. I'm not gonna lie the thought hurt.

Disquiet filled me as I realized Simms had been questioning me, not to discover Harrison's whereabouts, but rather to pinpoint mine. Perhaps Simms thought I was Dashavoy's killer.

The horrible idea took root like an invasive weed in my brain and no amount of tugging could dislodge it.

There is nothing a dirty martini can't put into perspective, or so I told myself as Nick handed me my second martini of the evening, heavy on the olives.

Viv and I were ensconced at the bar in the corner of Nick and Andre's studio. Miles Davis was playing in the background, making his trumpet weep while night settled onto Portobello Road, tucking us in under its wing like a mama bird putting her hatchlings to bed. We were not listening.

“Has there been any news about Dashavoy's death?” Andre asked.

Viv and I exchanged a glance. I had told her about Inspector Simms's visit and my alarming realization that I might be a suspect.

“No news as yet,” I said. “But they do seem to be checking every possibility.”

Andre met my gaze across the bar. One of his eyebrows went up just a little bit higher than the other.

“Harrison?” he asked.

“Me,” I said.

Nick gasped.

“I know,” I said. “Can you believe it? As if I could ever murder anyone.”

They were all silent, even Viv. I glanced at each of their faces but no one was meeting my gaze.

“Do not tell me that you believe me to be capable of murder,” I said. “I swear I will go out and find all new friends if you do.”

“You do have a temper, Scarlett,” Nick said.

“And if someone you cared for was in jeopardy . . .” Viv began.

“I could see you doing some damage,” Andre interrupted. “You're tougher than you look.”

“So you all think I did it? Is that it?” My voice hit a high note that I think rated on the low register of the hysterics range.

“No!” Viv said. “We're just saying that anyone under the right circumstances might be driven to murder.”

“Well, this was not the right circumstances,” I said. “I'd knee a man in the privates for being too grabby, not strangle him.”

“Of course you would, pet,” Nick said. He patted the back of my hand and I felt a teeny bit better.

“I wish the police were as certain as you,” I said.

“There has to have been someone at the party who had a stronger motive to murder Winthrop Dashavoy than you,” Viv said.

“Well, I just happened to be chatting up one of my patients today, Ophelia Thift, of the Kensington Thifts,” Nick said. “And she had some dish about Dashavoy that really came out when the nitrous oxide went in.”

“And this is the first you're mentioning it?” I asked. “Nick, we've been here for an hour already!”

“Ophelia? Isn't she that horrid woman who likes to toss her badly processed brown hair over her shoulder and wear cute little flowery dresses like she's twenty-five instead of forty-five?” Viv asked.

“The same,” Nick said.

“Not a bestie?” I asked Viv.

“Not in this life or any other,” she assured me. “She's all fur coat and no knickers. You know her type—when you meet them at a party they give you the cold, limp hand and then look past you to see if someone more important is hiding behind you.”

I nodded. I'd met Ophelia's kind before; in fact, I was quite certain that Tuesday Blount fell into that category.

“She's just a source, darling,” Andre said. “Don't dwell on it.”

“You're right,” I agreed. I turned to Nick, who looked ready to bust. “What did you learn?”

“Winthrop Dashavoy had a little side business,” Nick said. “According to Ophelia, he was into pharmaceuticals.”

“Like investing in them?” I asked. Yes, because I am obtuse like that.

“More like pushing them, I imagine,” Andre said.

“You mean he was a drug dealer?” Viv asked.

“Sort of,” Nick said. “Apparently, Ophelia's friend Deena Parsons, also a client of mine, has a small OxyContin
problem, and when she's in need, one of her sources is, or rather was, Winthrop Dashavoy.”

“This is fantastic!” I cried.

“That Deena is a pill popper?” Nick asked. “How do you figure?”

“No, no, not that,” I said. “If Win was supplying prescription pills to desperate people, then that gives us a whole list of people who might have wanted him dead.”

“We can start with Ophelia and Deena,” Viv said.

“And if we can figure out where he was getting his pills from, that's a whole new lead,” I added.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Andre raised his hands in a stop gesture, which was somewhat diminished by the Jameson on the rocks he held in his right hand. “You are not meeting with anyone except Inspector Simms to tell him what you know.”

“And you can't tell him that I told you,” Nick said. “Patient confidentiality and all.”

“I thought that was for doctors. Is it true for dentists, too?” Viv asked.

“If you want this dentist to still be able to get the dish for you, then yes,” he said. “I can't have a reputation as a goss; people will stop telling me their secrets.”

“Of course we won't tell where we heard,” Viv said. “We'll make it sound as if it's just some tearoom chin wagging we overheard.”

“But we want them to take it seriously,” I said.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I jumped and spilled my beverage over my fingers. I glanced at the front door and saw Harrison, standing there looking particularly grumpy.

“Blast! He scared me,” Andre said. He grabbed a
cocktail napkin and dried off his fingers while Nick went to unlock the door and let Harrison in.

“I have a feeling this is going to be unpleasant,” Viv said. She glanced at me and I knew she was thinking what I was, that Harrison knew about our field trip to the Carson house.

“What were you two thinking?” Harrison roared as soon as Nick pushed the door open. Harrison shouldered his way into the studio and strode toward us.

“That I really prefer to lap my drink off of the bar, thank you so much,” I said. I gave him a dark look as I swabbed up the mess my martini had made when I was startled by him.

He pursed his lips and inhaled through his nose as if struggling to keep his temper in check.

“You know what I'm talking about,” he said. He cast a dark look in my direction and then in Viv's.

“Ava blabbed, didn't she?” I asked.

“If by that you mean that she mentioned to Tyler that you two dropped by to see if Viv's hat was there, then yes, she blabbed,” he said. “Do you have any inkling of the problems you have caused?”

“Problems?” I asked. “We went looking for a hat, how is that a problem?”

“We didn't find the hat,” Viv said. “That's a problem.”

I had to give her points for trying to keep the façade going.

“No doubt because the hat is safely back on its shelf in the shop,” Harrison said.

“There might have been a small oversight in that regard,” I agreed.

“Small oversight?” he asked.

His voice was rising in volume again and I noticed that Andre and Nick were watching the exchange as if they had box seats at the theater.

“You don't need to yell,” I said. “My hearing is perfectly fine.”

“Really, Ginger?” he asked. “Because I am quite sure that I told you to stay away from this situation, and yet, here you are insinuating yourself right into the middle of a murder investigation.”

“I am not,” I said. “Viv and I are just trying to help.”

“I don't need your help,” he argued.

“Yes, you do,” I said. “Your history with Dashavoy makes you a prime suspect. You need all the help you can get.”

“You don't understand me. We don't know who killed Win, which means the killer is still out there and the situation is dangerous. I don't want any of you near this mess,” he said. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

He was being thoughtful and protective. I should have been touched. I was not. I was furious.

“Well, that's rich, Harry, since you certainly don't seem to mind when Tuesday inserts herself into the investigation,” I snapped. Yeah, I know, temper, temper.

“Scarlett.” Viv's voice was full of warning but I was too far gone to register it.

“Tuesday's role in this is none of your business,” Harrison said. “She worked with Win, too. She has a vested interest in finding out what happened to him.”

“That's just what she said,” I argued. “As if she has more right to help you than we do, when we're your friends
while she is just an annoying ex-girlfriend, which is exactly what I told her.”

“What?” Harrison snapped. “When exactly did you speak with her?”

Uh-oh. I glanced down at my beverage just as Viv let out a long-suffering sigh.

“How about a drink, old man?” Nick clapped Harrison on the shoulder. “I think you're going to need it.”

Harrison's green eyes were like lasers and I could feel them boring into the side of my skull even as I resolutely refused to look at him.

“Best make it a double,” Andre said. “We have some news, too.”

Once Harrison had shrugged off his overcoat and had two fingers of Jameson on the rocks in a glass in his hand, we all moved away from the bar and sat on the stylish couch and chairs Nick had insisted on adding to the studio.

Viv and I recounted our conversations with Tuesday and Ava while Nick told Harrison about his information from Ophelia.

Harrison listened without interrupting. I wasn't sure if it meant he was madder than ever or if he had calmed down enough to hear what we had to tell him without feeling the need to yell at us again.

When Nick finished his tale, Harrison downed his drink in one long swallow. Then he shook his head as if he could make it all go away like a dog shaking rain off his fur.

“Someone strangled Winthrop Dashavoy,” he said. “I loathed the man but I never would have wished that on him.”

“I'd wager someone knew that there was bad blood between you and decided you would make the perfect scapegoat,” Andre said. “But who?”

“My first guess would be a man,” Nick said. “It takes a lot of muscle to snuff someone out via strangulation.”

“But Dashavoy was very drunk and he'd already sustained an injury,” I said. “Honestly, I think I could have taken him out at that point if I were the sort of girl who would do that type of thing.”

They all looked at me, and for the first time that evening, Harrison's mouth moved up in the corner just the tiniest bit but I took it as a good sign.

“I imagine you could do anything you put your mind to, Scarlett,” he said.

Why this praise made my heart take flight in my chest, I have no idea, but I really felt as if Harrison meant it and it flattered me, even though, yeah, he was agreeing that I could murder someone. Hmm. I frowned at him and he winked at me, which made it all better. I'm easy, I know.

“Any chance that Deena and Ophelia were at the bonfire?” Viv asked. “That would certainly give us a starting place.”

“No idea,” Harrison said. “Are they clients?”

Nick shrugged.

“We need a guest list,” I said. “Then we can cross-check it to see who might have been buying pills from Winthrop and who might have had a reason to kill him.”

“But why would they kill him if he was supplying them with pills?” Viv asked.

“Maybe he ran out or refused or was trying to get out of the business,” Nick said.

“Who would know that?” I asked.

“Reese?” Viv offered. “If what Tuesday said was true and the feelings Reese had for Winthrop were not motherly but rather were lover-like, then she might have known what he was doing.”

“Oh, no, I can't see that. He's like a son to her. Besides I can't believe she would put the business at risk like that,” Harrison said. I could see his jaw clench repeatedly, a sign I had come to recognize as meaning he was highly agitated.

Nick must have sensed it, too, because he retrieved the bottle of Jameson and poured a healthy splash into Harrison's glass.

“Well, that's the rub, isn't it?” Nick asked. “Do we, any of us, really know what someone else is capable of, whether they be a business partner, a friend or a lover?”