Death by Pumpkin Spice (7 page)

Margaret huffed. “You should be worrying more about catching the maniac running around stealing and killing. You are wasting your time with me. Someone else might have seen something, though.”

A little ping teased at the back of my mind. Someone
had
seen something; I had!

“The nervous man,” I said. Why hadn't I thought of him before?

“Excuse me?” Paul asked, turning to me.

“When Jessica rushed out of the room after the failed proposal, she bumped into a man who looked nervous. I think he was wearing a black suit and hat. He was alone, and had just entered the room. He might have come from Margaret's bedroom.”

It was pure speculation, but at least it was something.

“Can you describe him?” Paul asked, sounding excited.

I thought back. I hadn't really been looking hard, especially since my focus was on Jessica at the time. And then Paul had come up to talk to me, which made me forget about the whole thing until that very moment. I thought he might have had a mustache, but whether it was fake or real, I had no idea.

“Not really,” I said. “He was wearing a costume like everyone else and I didn't get a really good look at him. All I know for sure was that he was wearing that black suit and hat, and looked guilty of something.”

“He might have changed by now,” Paul said with a frown. He peered past me, at the other guests milling around. “And he might not be guilty of anything more than sneaking off on his own.”

“But we can't know that until we talk to him.”

Paul's eyes narrowed at the “we” part, but nodded. “I'll talk to him.” His frown deepened. “Are people leaving?”

I glanced back. There were definitely fewer people in the ballroom than there had been a few minutes ago. “They're wandering around,” I told him. “Igor won't let anyone leave.”

Margaret sniffed. “His name is Vince.”

I shrugged. Vince? Igor? His name didn't matter just as long as he was keeping our killer from sneaking away.

Paul sighed and ran a hand over his face. He looked weary. “Okay.” He turned to Margaret. “We'll need to talk at some point, but I'm going to put it off for now. Can you try to wrangle everyone back into the ballroom? We need to find the man in the black suit and hat.”

She nodded. “I can.”

“Good.” He turned to me. “You'll have to come with me.”

“Me? Why?” Instant worry shot through me. He couldn't possibly think I knew more than I was letting on.

“I need you to identify this guy when we find him,” he said. “There are quite a lot of black hats and suits here tonight. I can't question them all.” He paused. “Do you think you'll recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “Are you ready for this?”

“As ready as I'll ever be.”

“I'll go see if I can find everyone,” Margaret said before heading down the hall.

Paul watched her go and then motioned for me to go ahead of him. “After you.”

“Gee thanks.” Just what I was looking forward to: hunting down a man who could very well be a murderer.

What could possibly go wrong with that?

7

“What about one of those men?” Paul sounded tired as we strode around the crowded room. No matter how many times he asked the guests to stay in one spot, they continued to mill about, making it hard to keep track of whom we had and hadn't already seen.

I followed his eyes and then shook my head. “I think we checked them already.”

He heaved a sigh and we moved on.

I'd fully expected our search to be difficult, but it was starting to get a little silly. Both Paul and I were frustrated, and the longer we continued our search, the more convinced I became that the man was long gone. He could easily have slipped out before the body was discovered. Igor, as I continued to think of him, claims no one had left through the front door, but there were back exits as well. He might even have escaped through a window for all we knew.

“Maybe we should lock everyone up,” I said. “If we section them off in groups of ten or so, we could check them over, and once we make sure our man isn't one of them, lock them in one of the rooms before moving on to the next group. It would keep us from checking the same people twice.” Or three or four times as we'd already done in some cases.

“Tempting,” Paul said. “But I don't want to start a riot. These people will rebel the moment we start locking people up. It would cause more problems than I'm prepared to deal with.”

He was probably right, but I liked the idea, anyway. Once we locked everyone up, our murderer would be safely tucked away until Buchannan got here, and I could spend some quality time with Will. I'd already left him alone long enough.

We were moving along the wall near the drinks when I caught a glimpse of a black top hat just peeking over the edge of the table. I nudged Paul and pointed. The man was mostly hidden from view, which was why we'd overlooked him for so long.

Paul nodded and held up a finger to me to wait. As much as it pained me, I listened.

“Sir?” he said, approaching the slumped form. When the man didn't move, I became instantly worried we had another victim on our hands. “Sir, I need to talk to you.”

Thankfully, the top hat moved as the man turned to face Paul. He didn't say anything, just sat there.

“Sir?” Paul said, wariness in his voice. “Could you please stand up?”

The man did as he was told. As he reached his feet, he paused to look around at those nearby, who were now watching with interest. As soon as I saw his face, I knew it was our guy. He did have a thin, dark mustache speckled with gray. Heavy bags rested under his eyes, making him look tired, though I had a feeling that was just how he naturally looked.

Top Hat's gaze moved from the onlookers to me. He stared at me for a long moment, ignoring Paul's “Sir, please step away from the table.” His brow furrowed and his entire body tensed.

“Look out!”

My warning came too late. Top Hat took a step forward and shoved Paul in the chest, knocking him over in surprise. He bolted away from me, toward the nearest side hall. There was no one between him and the exit, meaning that if he got away, he was likely gone for good.

I gave chase, but after only a few strides, I knew I'd never catch up with him. I was never much of an athlete, and after walking around the party for as long as I had, my legs and feet were tired.

Top Hat reached the hall and glanced back. I was still too far away to reach him, and Paul was just regaining his feet. A relieved look came over Top Hat's face as he turned to run down the hall . . .

. . . And instead ran directly into a blond man in a red smoking jacket and sailor's cap.

“Lance!” I shouted. “Grab him.”

Top Hat tried to dart past the muscular Hugh Hefner, but Lance lowered his shoulder and tackled him like a linebacker might. Top Hat grunted, his hat tumbling from his head, as he crashed against the wall and then sagged to the floor, gasping for breath.

“I take it I missed something?” Lance said, standing over the man in a way that was quite clearly a warning for him not to get up.

Paul rushed past me and pulled Top Hat to his feet. “Let's go,” he said, sounding peeved before looking to Lance. “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.”

Paul led our suspect over to where Margaret stood. She'd hurried over when she'd seen the scuffle, and looked absolutely horrified that something like this could have happened in her already doomed party. “Where can I take him?” he asked her.

She pointed to the exit across the hall. “Turn right from there, and the third door on the right will do.”

Paul nodded and led Top Hat through the ballroom, and then down the indicated hall, and away from the party of onlookers who were talking in excited, loud voices.

I hesitated only a moment before giving Lance a quick, “Thanks. I'll fill you in in a minute.” Then I hurried after Paul and our possible thief and murderer. There was no way I was going to miss this.

I caught up to them just as Paul reached the third door. He shoved it open and pushed Top Hat in before him, clearly still angry about being knocked over. He started to follow him in, but stopped when he saw me approaching.

“Krissy, you know you can't be in here.”

“I deserve this,” I said. “If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have known to look for him.”

“I need to ask him questions that pertain to the murder investigation. You can't be in the room for that.”

“This isn't
really
an official investigation, is it?” I asked, almost pleading. “You aren't on duty. This isn't the police station.”

“But . . .”

“Please, Paul.” I wasn't above begging if I had to. “I saw him when no one else did. I found him for you. He might try to lie about what I'd seen. If I'm in the room, he won't be able to. He knows I saw him, I could see it in his eyes.” I might not have seen much more than the man looking nervous, but that was beside the point. As long as he
thought
I knew more than I did, it would be enough.

Paul sighed and rubbed at his temples. “It's a bad idea.”

“I promise I won't tell anyone,” I said. “You
did
ask for my help, if you remember.”

“And I'm starting to regret it.” I was about to protest when he held up a hand, and said, “Fine. But if you come in, you don't speak unless I tell you to. You don't ask questions. You don't get involved in this in any way that might compromise my investigation. As far as we know, this guy is innocent of any wrongdoing. I won't have you making things worse. Understand?”

“But he ran!”

“Krissy . . .” He sounded close to changing his mind.

“Okay, I'll be good. I promise.” I beamed at him.

Paul didn't look convinced, but stepped aside to allow me admittance. I entered the room, Paul right behind me, and took a quick look around.

The room looked to be a study or perhaps a conference room. There was a computer with a pair of large monitors attached to it against the wall under the window. Bookshelves stuffed with books were built into two of the three walls. I had to restrain myself from walking over and checking them out. More horror movie posters hung in the room here, though these were the old popular ones like
Frankenstein
and
Dracula
. A table in the middle of the room held a pair of skulls with candles glowing in their eyes. Wax dribbled down onto the table in what looked like bloody rivulets.

“Take a seat,” Paul said, indicating a chair on the far side of the table.

“I didn't do it,” the man said as he sat. “I didn't kill anyone.”

“Then why did you run?” Paul gestured for me to sit in one of the chairs next to the one he sank down in.

“I . . .” The man frowned and looked down at his hands.

“Mrs. Yarborough claimed someone stole her jewelry. She is quite upset about it. Do you happen to know anything about that, Mr. . . . ?”

“Clements. Reggie Clements.” The man sighed, looking somehow lost without his top hat. He continued to study his hands and didn't answer Paul's first question.

“Okay, Reggie. I'm Officer Paul Dalton of the Pine Hills Police Department. This is Kristina Hancock. She's currently assisting me in the investigation of Jessica Fairweather's murder.”

“I didn't kill her.”

“I'm not going to accuse you of anything without reason,” Paul said. “But you did run from me. And refusing to answer questions only makes you look guilty. Do you understand the predicament you are in?”

Reggie nodded. “Yeah.”

“So, I'll ask you again. Did you steal Margaret Yarborough's jewelry?”

Reggie's eyes flickered from his hands to me. I could see the urge to lie all over his face, so I raised my eyebrows at him. He scowled and looked back down at his hands.

“Yeah, fine,” he said. With a sudden jerk, he shoved a hand into his pocket, causing both Paul and I to tense. Instead of a gun, however, he withdrew a handful of jewelry. He tossed it onto the table in front of us before sagging, defeated, into his chair.

I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds as I eyed the small pile. Everything appeared to be made of nothing but diamonds—the necklace, the bracelet, and even the two rings. If there was metal in there somewhere, it was well hidden beneath the shine. I couldn't imagine how much those few pieces of jewelry cost, and a part of me didn't want to know.

“I took the stuff, I admit it,” Reggie said. “But I didn't kill that girl. I'd never seen her before in my life.”

“She did almost run you over earlier,” I said, pointedly ignoring the look Paul gave me. “If you'd just come from Mrs. Yarborough's bedroom, jewelry in hand, you might have panicked, thought she knew more than she really did.”

“Come on,” Reggie said. “I barely saw her. Even if I'd wanted to go looking for her, I wouldn't have known where to start. And besides, if you were watching me, you'd have seen that I didn't go back until a few minutes after the body was found. I was in the ballroom the whole time.”

“Wait,” Paul said, drawing Reggie's attention back to him. “You went back? To Mrs. Yarborough's room?”

“What else was I going to do?” Reggie shook his head as if we were the dumbest two people he'd ever spoken to. “I'd taken the jewelry and then the girl goes and gets herself killed. I couldn't stand around with stolen goods in my pocket. You'd eventually start searching people, and then what would you think? I doubt you'd simply look the other way. I didn't want to get arrested over some trinkets.”

Trinkets? The diamonds in those pieces could probably buy my house.

“Go on,” Paul said when Reggie stopped talking.

“Well, while everyone was busy freaking out, I snuck back upstairs, into the old lady's bedroom where she'd left the stuff out like she wanted someone to come along and steal it. I was about to put it all back when I heard some people arguing. They sounded like they were coming my way, so I hid in the closet, which was open at the time. I barely made it inside and closed the door before they entered the room to yell at each other.”

“What were they arguing about?” Paul asked.

“How should I know? I was stuffed in a closet with dresses hanging all around me. The sound was muffled.”

“But you said they were yelling.”

“Not
yelling
yelling,” Reggie said. “More like that hushed yelling you do when you don't want anyone else to overhear your argument. And besides, my blood was pumping pretty hard. I was scared they'd catch me and you'd show up and accuse me of murder.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm convenient.”

Paul looked annoyed that his integrity had been slighted, so I asked the next question.

“Did you happen to see who it was then? You had to be curious.”

“I was,” Reggie admitted. “But by the sound of things, they were standing too close to the closet. I wasn't going to risk getting seen just so I could eavesdrop on a lovers' quarrel.”

Lovers' quarrel? “Does that mean it was a man and woman arguing?” I asked.

“Yeah, a man and a woman.”

“But you didn't recognize their voices,” Paul asked.

He shrugged. “What can I tell you? Sound was muffled. And I really don't know a lot of the people here all that well. It wasn't anyone I knew, I don't think.”

Paul studied Reggie for a long moment, using those stunning blue eyes of his to dissect the thief. It was a wonder Reggie didn't break down and confess to everything, including the assassination of President Kennedy, under his gaze. I could see why Paul had chosen to become a police officer, other than the fact his mom was the police chief.

“You still had the jewelry,” he said, indicating the small pile of diamonds on the table. “If you went back into the bedroom to return them, why do you have them now?”

I thought it was a good question, but Reggie had an answer.

“I waited in the closet for a few minutes after the two finished their fight, then slipped out to replace my haul. But when I checked the dresser where I'd found it, the box they'd come in was gone. I panicked then, certain someone would be coming back at any moment, so I beat it out of there. If they were already looking for a thief, how long before they went to you and you used your tools to find my prints on the stuff?”

Paul's face remained passive. No sense telling Reggie that not only didn't we have police tools with us, but he was off duty and focused on a murder. Chances were good he would have gotten away with the theft if he hadn't panicked.