Grace Interrupted (9 page)

But moving into Abe’s cottage at this time would mean leaving the only “family” I had. The idea of coming home each night to an empty house—however well-tended—made me feel sad whenever I thought about it. “I can’t.” When I read the disappointment on his face, I amended, “Not now. I can’t leave now.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll talk again,” he said.

I knew that when Bennett wanted something, he usually got it. Maybe we’d both inherited a stubbornness gene because, at this point at least, I wasn’t about to back down.

I STILL COULDN’T REACH FRANCES AT HOME, so I tried her cell. It went right to voicemail. I decided not to leave a message about the murder. Chances were, my acerbic assistant would hear about it on her own anyway. Of all the individuals I’d met in my life, no one could touch Frances when it came to being nosy. I’d say she wrote the book, but doing so would have taken time from snooping. The woman was fearless and tenacious. To her credit, however, she was also usually right.

I assumed Frances knew Jack Embers’s story. Why wouldn’t she? Frances always seemed most cheerful when she had a particularly lurid tale to share. Which is why I was surprised she hadn’t forced Jack’s history down my throat yet.

Right now however, I didn’t have time to ponder. I needed help. I called one of the assistant curators, Lois, at home. I brought her up to date on the situation and she promised she’d be right in. “I’m sorry to bring you in on your day off,” I said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I wasn’t doing much today anyway.”

Just as I replaced the phone in its cradle, I heard the door to Frances’s office open. From the sound of it, several people walked in before the door shut again. By the time Detective Rodriguez called, “Ms. Wheaton?” I was already coming around my desk to see who it was.

“In here,” I said.

Rodriguez, Flynn, and Tank strode in, Tank taking in the office and its furnishings as she crossed the threshold between my room and Frances’s. I understood the awe on Tank’s face and wondered if she’d ever visited the mansion as a tourist. Judging from her expression, this was her first experience. Marshfield Manor housed wonderful collections of priceless treasures, and every room was a minimuseum decorated with care. A feast for the eyes. I’m sure she was having trouble absorbing it all.

I gestured them into the office and urged them to take seats. Tank and Rodriguez took the two red leather wing chairs across from me. I returned to my spot behind the desk. I had a small sofa against the north wall and Flynn started for it, apparently changing his mind when he realized how far that would take him from the heart of the conversation. Instead, he opted to stand next to my desk and fidget.

Rodriguez flipped open his notebook. “So here we are again.”

Tank lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. She sat back in her wing chair, watching, her right ankle resting on her left knee, her fingers laced across her stomach.

“Do you have any idea who killed Kincade?” I asked.

Rodriguez’s bloodshot eyes roved about the room before he answered me. “We have several suspects,” he said, “but nothing conclusive enough to make an arrest. That’s why we’re here. I need to ask you about two of your employees, Jack Embers and David Embers.”

“They’re not employees,” I said. “We keep Jack on retainer. He’s our landscape consultant. Davey—er, David—is his brother. He’s Jack’s employee.”

Rodriguez knew Jack’s status from our last encounter. Had he forgotten, or was this just the department’s way of being thorough? Tank sat up. “What do you know about bad blood between the Embers and Kincade families?”

“Nothing,” I said. That was the truth. “Until yesterday—until the altercation out back—I hadn’t heard anything.”

“What do you know now?”

I held up my hands. “Still nothing. I swear.” Suddenly I was glad Bennett
hadn’t
shared the story with me. I felt an inexplicable need to protect Jack. Sharing a tale I’d heard secondhand wouldn’t do anyone any good. “What’s it all about? What happened between the families?”

Rodriguez opened his mouth to speak, but Tank interrupted. “When did you first meet Zachary Kincade?”

I knew my perplexity showed. “You know the answer to that. Yesterday, when those two women tried to Tase him.”

“Just covering all bases, no need to get shook.”

I wasn’t “shook,” but I was curious. “What about those two women, Rani and Tamara? Aren’t you questioning them?”

Flynn had begun pacing. Now he stopped to listen to his partner’s response.

Rodriguez curled his lips in distaste. “It isn’t easy to stab someone to death. Takes a lot of strength. And guts. Stabbing is messy business. I don’t see this as a woman’s crime.”

Tank cleared her throat and sat up. “We aren’t discounting any theories yet,” she said with a pointed look at Rodriguez. To me, she added, “In a fit of anger, adrenaline can take over and even ‘women’”—another disparaging look at the older detective—“are capable of superhuman strength. My colleagues and I plan to interview both of these ladies in due course.”

Flynn jumped in. “I can bring in the two Embers brothers while you’re talking with the women. The sooner you let me have a crack at those gardeners the quicker we’ll close this case.”

“Not so fast,” Tank said. “We need some information from the evidence technicians first. We can’t go around accusing suspects until we have more facts.”

“What time was Kincade killed?” I asked.

Tank answered, “The coroner put time of death between eleven last night and one this morning. But he warned it was just an estimate.” She sniffed. “This town needs a fulltime medical examiner instead of a funeral director who plays coroner on the side. I don’t think this guy’s been called upon to establish a time of death in a murder investigation in his whole life. I caught him checking a reference manual on how to determine it.”

“And a more accurate time frame would help you when you’re trying to establish alibis?”

Tank scooched forward in her seat. “From what we’re hearing from all those costumed people, no one keeps track of time after dark. Establishing alibis in this situation will be almost impossible, but come on . . . they were all right there. Somebody must have seen something, right?”

I nodded.

“Turns out the first night of one of these encampments nobody gets any sleep,” she went on. “There’s an Irish Brigade that sings into the wee hours of the night. Drinking nonstop around the campfire is standard. People wander in and out. Nobody can say when Kincade was there or when he left. Nobody can say who was with him or who might have left the camp at the same time. Everyone is coming and going all day, all night. We got a big, fat zero.” She held up her hand, making an
O
with her thumb and index finger for emphasis.

“We haven’t interviewed everyone yet,” Rodriguez reminded her.

“We will,” she said. “Make no mistake there. We will interview every last one of those crazy playacting weirdos or my name isn’t Tank.”

In actuality, her name wasn’t Tank, but this didn’t seem a good time to mention that. The determination blazing in her eyes made me feel sorry for the innocent folks who’d come out to our grounds for a week of camping and re-enacting fun. I’m sure none of them had expected to be part of a murder investigation. And being the Civil War, they for sure hadn’t expected a Tank.

Flynn came around to stand between Rodriguez’s and Tank’s chairs. “Your ‘gardening consultants’ have access to the estate twenty-four hours a day, don’t they?” His dark eyes skittered over the wall behind me, as though working out a question in his mind. “Either or both Embers brothers could have returned to the property last night. Nobody would have stopped them.”

That was true. But I again felt a peculiar compulsion to protect Jack. My gut bounced in panicked circles, warning me not to say anything that could be misconstrued. My brain reminded me that I’d only met Jack a few short months ago, and Davey less than that. Why should I protect either of them? The likelihood that either man was capable of murder, however, was too much to accept. My gut won.

“I really doubt either of them would come back. Most of our gardening staff leave when it gets dark.”

“Aha!” Flynn practically jumped in the air. “So if we can prove they did come back, we have them dead to rights!”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t say it wasn’t
possible
for Jack or Davey to come back for a valid reason, I just said it was unlikely.”

“Would they have had to check in with anyone if they did return?” Tank asked.

“The guard at the front gate. We close our employee entrances two hours after the residence closes to visitors. Anyone coming in or out must sign in with the guard.”

Flynn held up both hands in a fait accompli gesture. “Then I say we check with the guard. They came back. I know they did.”

He was getting carried away with his theory. “Don’t you think that someone intent on murder would avoid checkpoints?” I said. “That would leave a trail. Prove they’d been here.”

Flynn would not be dissuaded. “Next stop, the guard house.”

“By the way,” I asked, “have you questioned Pierpont? He mentioned the name of someone who found and covered the body.”

“Pierpont. Is he that little general?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s in charge.”

“He’s been complaining up a storm about us ruining his encampment.” Tank placed her hands on her knees and boosted herself upright. Rodriguez and Flynn also made ready to leave. “Like we care about playacting authenticity when a man has been murdered,” she said

“You mean the Civil War people are staying? Even after this?”

“From what we gather, they’ve had this event planned for a year. None of them want to give up their week of no electricity, no running water, no cable TV.” Rodriguez waved a hand in front of his nose. “It hasn’t gotten all that hot yet and already a couple of them are getting pretty ripe.”

Tank was shaking her head, a disgusted look on her face. “Don’t they care that someone died?”

“A lot of them
are
shook up about the murder,” Rodriguez said. “How could they not be? But these Civil War games represent routine for them. They want to get back to it as soon as possible so things feel normal again. I see this a lot.” Rodriguez offered a shy smile. “Not with war games, mind you. Just regular people. After a tragedy, they do everything in their power to get back to the mundane of their real lives. Knowing that ‘normal’ is just ahead helps them get through the dark parts.”

Tank raised one eyebrow during Rodriguez’s speech. “Very insightful.” She rolled her eyes and walked out. Flynn followed.

Rodriguez put his hands out and shrugged.

“She really does roll right over people, doesn’t she?” I said.

He stared at the empty doorway, looking as though he wanted to say something more.

“Are you coming?” Tank shouted from the other room.

Rodriguez ran a finger inside his shirt collar. “Yeah,” he answered, “be right there.” To me he said, “We should have brought in those two Embers brothers by now instead of pussyfooting around this place making sure all our back ends are covered. But she”—he pointed toward the outer office—“says that when we rush, we risk making mistakes. You ask me, I don’t think it’s a mistake to bring in the main suspect—or in this case, suspects—for a little Q and A. I’d call that good police work.” He shook his head solemnly. “But we gotta do what Miz Tank says.”

Relieved for Jack’s sake that he wasn’t being hauled down for questioning, yet, I could do nothing more than nod.

“Have a good day, Ms. Wheaton. You hear anything that sounds interesting, you let me know. Okay?”

“You got it.”

Five minutes after he left, Lois arrived. She and I went to work writing up a press release that referred to an “incident” on the grounds but kept details vague. “Where’s Frances?” she asked after about a half hour.

“Can’t get in touch with her,” I said. “I tried her house and her cell. No luck.”

“I think she goes out of town most weekends. I never see her around.”

“Maybe she has a vacation place.”

Lois gave me a skeptical look. “I doubt that, but if she does I hope she takes early retirement and moves far away. The sooner the better. You haven’t been here all that long. All her gossip and rumormongering can really get to you.”

Lois was wrong about that. I’d been around plenty long to let Frances get to me.

“She has an opinion about everything and everybody,” Lois continued. “Always negative. She’s toxic and nobody likes being around her. And maybe I’m being uncharitable, but it seems unfair that she knows so much about all of us and we know so little about her.”

“She is talented at mining gossip from just about everybody.”

“She is that,” Lois agreed.

I wondered what Frances had been saying about me behind my back, but Lois didn’t seem inclined to offer up any tidbits. Instead, she wrinkled her nose and apologized. “Sorry for my outburst. I just can’t stand the woman.”