Death by Pumpkin Spice (6 page)

“You still like him, don't you?” Will asked suddenly. When I looked at him, he smiled, though it was strained.

“Who?” I asked, playing dumb.

“The cop. Paul.”

There was no use denying it. I was never a great liar, and since Paul had
just
complimented me, I knew my face would betray me if I tried. I'm an admitted chronic blusher.

“I suppose,” I said. “But we're just friends now.”

“And before?”

I shrugged, not really sure how to answer. What had we been? “We went on one date,” I said. As they say, honesty is the best policy. “That's as far as it went.”

A strange look came into Will's eyes then. I couldn't place whether it was anger or jealousy or simply mild curiosity. “Just one date?” he asked.

For some reason, the question ruffled my feathers. “Yeah, just the one.” It came out harsher than I'd intended.

Will flinched, but his strained smile remained. “Okay.” His gaze flickered over my shoulder. “Darrin's here. I'm going to run over and talk to him a few minutes.” He walked away. He didn't ask if I wanted to come, which I suppose I deserved.

“Smooth, Krissy,” I muttered, feeling like a dope. I was becoming a pro at ruining relationships before they ever got started. The guy had been curious, that's all, and I had to go and snap at him needlessly. The stress was really starting to get to me, I guess.

“It'll work out.”

I jumped, startled, and turned to find Vicki standing behind me. I had a feeling she'd heard most, if not all, of our conversation.

“If you say so.”

She winked. “Don't worry about it. He likes you. Guys are, well, guys. He'll get over it.”

That brought a ghost of a smile to my lips. “I hope so. I really don't want to scare him off.”

“You won't.” Vicki put an arm around me and squeezed. “Just be you. That's all you can do. And if he doesn't appreciate you for it, well, then, he isn't the right man.”

“And what if Mr. Right never comes along?”

She laughed, but didn't answer. “I'd better go find Mason. He's pretty upset after what happened.”

“Go,” I said, extracting myself from her grip. Just because I was terrible with men and on the verge of ruining my chance with Will, didn't mean Vicki needed to do the same with her man.

As she made her way to Mason, I turned back to the crowd and sighed. It was time to see if I could find one of our missing guests. If working on my relationship wasn't in the cards, I could at least start snooping around.

And sticking my nose where it didn't belong was the one thing I was actually good at.

6

Not surprisingly, no one seemed to know where the missing guests had gone, and it was quite obvious, no one even cared. When I wasn't met with indifference, I slammed up against an impenetrable wall of annoyance. These people didn't know me, and sure as heck didn't want to talk to me. They were far more interested in the lives of the people around them who they thought mattered.

“This is a disaster,” I muttered as I walked away from a small group of women who'd only sniffed at me and turned away when I'd asked about Margaret Yarborough's whereabouts. While they had no intention of talking to me about it, I heard one of the women whisper Margaret's name the moment my back was turned. If nothing else, I was setting the gossip train rolling.

One of the waitresses who was working the party caught my eye. I hurried over to her. “Hi! Do you know where Mrs. Yarborough has gone?”

The waitress looked surprised, before shrugging. “I haven't seen her. I'm just serving drinks.”

“Oh, thanks. If you see her, let me know.”

She nodded, but I could see it in her eyes that she had no intention of seeking me out if Margaret were to show up.

I removed my deerstalker cap and wiped my brow with the back of my arm. It was getting hot in the large room, especially around the small clusters of guests. I noticed a good portion of them weren't heeding Paul's command and were wandering off to explore the house. Finding anyone in this mess was going to be next to impossible.

Will was huddled with Vicki and Mason, and I considered giving up and joining them, but only for a second. I wasn't one to back away from a challenge, no matter how annoying that challenge had become. I was going to find either Margaret or Quentin, and I wasn't about to let a few failed attempts stop me.

I headed for one of the hallways just to take a peek to see if maybe one of them was out there. Besides, I needed a little fresh air, and while the rainy outdoors would be better, Igor was letting no one out. At least someone was doing as Paul asked.

The hallway I'd chosen was empty but was cooler than the ballroom. I fanned myself off with my hat a moment and then shoved it back onto my head. Paul told me not to leave the ballroom, and I planned on keeping that promise. For now. If I kept striking out, I might have to do a little exploring, just to make sure one of the other Monroes wasn't lying dead in a room somewhere.

I turned to head back into the ballroom and found myself near face-to-face with the man in the
Scream
mask. He was walking straight for me, and by his gait I could tell he was moving with a purpose. I couldn't see his eyes, but I had a feeling they were zeroed in on me.

Panic flared through me. I was in a lonely hall with a man who was keeping his identity a secret. And what kind of person wouldn't want someone to recognize them? A killer, that's who.

I started to turn in order to hurry down the hall and find a bathroom to hide in. The masked man darted forward and grabbed me by the wrist, spinning me back around.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Let go of me!” I jerked my arm out of his grip and backed away.

“Krissy, wait.”

The voice was muffled from the mask, but I'd recognize it anywhere. “Robert?” It came out as a confused question, before anger flooded in. “Robert!”

I could almost hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “I can't believe I found you here.”

“
You
can't believe it? What are
you
doing here, Robert? Shouldn't you be back home ruining someone else's life?”

Robert Dunhill was my ex-boyfriend, one I'd thought I'd put behind me when I'd left California. He'd cheated on me with some college girls—the number of which I didn't want to think about, let alone know. He never expected me to find out, thinking I wasn't bright enough to see what was right in front of me. When I did call him on it, he had the gall to think I would forgive him and continue on as we always had. When that didn't happen, he started stalking me, calling me on the phone, using secret accounts to contact me on Facebook.

And now he was here, in Pine Hills, at a party that was supposed to be by invite only.

“We really need to talk, Krissy,” he said.

“No, we really don't.” I tried to push past him, but he grabbed my arm again.

“Don't walk away from me.”

I fought down the urge to kick him right between the legs. The man deserved it in more ways than one, but I managed to restrain myself. No sense making too big of a scene, at least not yet. If he put his hands on me again, then he'd be picking my shoelaces out of his teeth.

“What do you want, Robert?” I asked, putting as much venom in my voice as I could. “You shouldn't be here.
How
did you get here?”

He chuckled and let me go, allowing me to step back away from him. “I was invited.”

I snorted. “Sure you were.”

“Seriously! I was.” I could hear the pride in his voice. If there was one thing Robert was full of, other than you-know-what, it was pride.

“Who would invite you here?” I asked. It was more likely he snuck his way in.

“Some girl I met at a bar in town.”

I raised my eyebrows at him.

“When you blocked me on Facebook a few months back, I decided to see if I could figure out where you were hiding.”

“I wasn't hiding, Robert. I moved on.”

“Whatever.” He adjusted his mask. “When I figured it out, I made plans to pay you a visit. It took me some time, but I managed.” I figure it was money he needed. He'd never been one to save. “When I got here, I realized I still wasn't sure where to find you, so I went to a bar to think about it.”

I rolled my eyes. The only thinking he ever did at a bar was whether or not he thought he could pick up any of the girls, and what it might cost him. It was more likely he'd seen it on the way in and stopped by for a little pick-me-up before heading in to make my life miserable.

“I met her there.”

“Really?” I said, still not buying it. “If you met someone who invited you here, why aren't you with her?”

He shrugged. “She's busy. The chick is loaded. When she invited me to the party, I thought we'd go to some lame frat party and have a few drinks before heading back to her place, but instead . . .” He shook his head. “Wow. I never expected this.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, unimpressed. It was likely the girl he'd met had just been dumped or was out to annoy Mom and Dad by bringing a loser to the biggest party of the year. I seriously doubted Robert of all people would be able to hook a girl with enough money to be invited to a place like this.

“You really should go hang out with your new girlfriend,” I said. “I'm busy. Besides, she might get jealous if she sees you with me.”

He laughed. “I doubt that. She's too hot to be jealous of you.”

It says a lot about our relationship that I wasn't offended by the comment. It was the sort of thing that came out of Robert's mouth all of the time.

“Robert,” I said calmly. “Would you please just leave me alone?”

“Not until we talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about!” Some of my calm broke. How many times did I have to tell him I wanted nothing to do with him before he got the point? “You screwed up. I left. It's the end of the story.”

“Nah,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I know you. You still need me.”

I sighed. “If you believe that, Robert, you are more delusional than I thought.”

“Come on, Krissy. You're the one who needs me. Look at you. It's obvious.”

My left eye twitched. He was about three seconds from me shoving his stupid mask somewhere where he wouldn't be able to reach it again.

“Robert. You need to leave me alone. I have no intention of ever seeing your lying face again. You make me sick!”

“You can't talk to me like that,” he said. I heard anger in his voice. Maybe he was finally getting it.

“I can,” I said. “And I will.” This time, when I pushed past him, he let me go.

Of all the nerve.
I almost wished Will would have been there to see that. I was pretty sure Robert would have received more than a bruised ego if he had been. Heck, even Paul would have put him in his place for talking to me like that. And if Vicki had been there . . . We might have had to deal with
two
bodies instead of one!

I returned to the ballroom with the intent of going over to my friends to dump on Robert a bit, when I saw an older, frantic-looking
Breakfast at Tiffany's
Audrey Hepburn enter from across the room. It took me a moment to realize who it was—her hair was a different color and she was wearing a new costume—but after a few seconds, I realized I was looking at Margaret Yarborough. She was looking wildly around the room for someone.

I hurried over before she could get lost in the crowd.

“Margaret?” I said. “I'm Kristina Hancock. Officer Paul Dalton sent me to find you.”

She latched on to me like I was her saving grace. Perfectly manicured hands circled my wrists hard enough to hurt. “Where is he?” she asked. “I have a crime to report.”

I thought she was a little late to the party but didn't call her on it. “We know about the body already.”

A flash of annoyance passed over her face. “Not that.” She waved a hand in front of her face as if brushing away a fly. “Someone has stolen my jewelry!” She started scanning the crowd again, presumably for Paul.

“He'll be back shortly.”
I hope.
I didn't like the fact Margaret was so dismissive over Jessica's murder. I mean, a life is far more valuable than jewelry, no matter the price. “What makes you think it has been stolen?”

She gave me a flat look. “Really, dear? How else? I went in to change my costume and when I went to put on the jewelry I'd purchased to go with it, it was gone.”

“I see.” That still didn't quite tell me everything, though. “Why did you get changed?”

She huffed, letting her annoyance show. “Because there was a murder, dear, in case you've forgotten.”

“I haven't.” My own annoyance was starting to rear its ugly head.

Margaret sighed and rolled her eyes as if tired of explaining things to me. “I couldn't be caught dead wearing the same thing as someone who was murdered! It would be unseemly, and in dreadfully bad taste.”

Or was it something more?
Did you get pumpkin guts on your once-white dress and couldn't wear it any longer?
I found it hard to believe that Margaret Yarborough would kill Jessica Fairweather, but then again, I didn't know either woman. As far as I knew, they had a deep, resentful relationship that stretched back for years.

“Do you know anyone who would have a reason to kill Ms. Fairweather?” I asked, figuring I'd go for broke while I had Margaret there. Paul would want to ask the same questions of her, but I thought I could save him some time.

“Maybe she saw the thief who stole my jewelry,” she said. “He could have killed her so she wouldn't turn him in.”

I supposed it was plausible, but it didn't quite fit. If Jessica caught the killer stealing jewelry out of what I presumed was Margaret's bedroom, wouldn't her body have been found there instead? I doubted she kept her expensive jewelry in the scarecrow and pumpkin room, not unless she thought no one would think to look there.

I didn't know the layout of the house, but based on general knowledge of most houses, the bedrooms were probably upstairs. If that was the case, the killer would have had to drag Jessica's body down the stairs, smash her head through a pumpkin, and then leave her there, all without being seen. Why not just shove her in a closet? It would have been easier, and far safer.

No, I didn't buy it. She could have tried to escape the killer and he chased her down, catching up with her outside the pumpkin room. That made more sense, but somehow, it still didn't quite fit. Someone would have heard or seen
something
if she'd run. She would have called for help at the bare minimum.

“Excuse me, dear,” Margaret said, perking up. She pushed past me and sashayed across the room to where Paul had just entered.

I scurried after her, not wanting to miss anything. Besides, I
had
found Mrs. Yarborough and wanted credit for it. No matter what the status of our relationship was, I did want his approval.

Petty? Sure. But hey, we all have our needs.

“All of it!” Margaret was saying as I approached. “Taken straight out of its box.”

“Where did this happen?”

“My bedroom, of course,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Where else?”

“And are you sure you didn't misplace it?” Paul sounded as if he wanted to talk about anything other than her missing jewelry, which wasn't a surprise. He had a lot on his plate with the murder and all. He was just too nice to tell her she was wasting his time.

“I'm positive. I set it out earlier, just in case I needed a costume change. The door was closed, but wasn't locked, so anyone could have slipped in. I'm certain it was that poor girl's murderer who did it.”

Like me, Paul didn't seem convinced. “I'll look into it,” he said. “But first, I need to talk to you a few minutes about the victim.”

“Me?” Margaret sounded aghast. She glanced behind her as if making sure no one was listening in before turning back to him. “I had nothing to do with this and have no idea who might have.”

“I'm sure you didn't,” Paul said. He glanced at me, and I smiled innocently at him, before he turned back to Mrs. Yarborough. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately? It will only take a few minutes.”