Murder Had a Little Lamb (32 page)

He tightened his grasp as he added, “I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”

“I feel the same way,” I replied hoarsely.

Part of me said it was time to let go. But I didn’t feel like doing that. Not now and not ever. In fact, at the
moment, holding on to Nick for the rest of my life seemed like the only thing I wanted to do.

He was the one who finally loosened his hold. But he put both hands on my cheeks so that he was cradling my face. “It’s so good to see you, Jess. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” I took a deep breath. “Nick, I want to apologize for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you. I’ve been so stupid.”

“We don’t have to do this now,” he said. “Right now, we should get you someplace comfortable so we can both calm down and—”

“But I need to tell you how I feel!” I insisted. “Nick, I love you. And that ridiculous scene with Forrester the other night was all because the bathroom flooded and he helped me clean it up. You know how ancient the plumbing is, and I was just getting out of the shower when the handle of the faucet came off in my hand—”

“That’s all it was?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Of course! That’s why I wasn’t wearing anything besides your bathrobe. And there was so much water on the floor that Forrester was afraid he’d ruin his clothes, so he put on that stupid towel …”

I searched his face, anxious to see his reaction. “And the only reason he was there in the first place was because he wanted me to have dinner with him, just once, as payback for him getting me into Cousin Nathaniel’s house. He had to call in some favor with Falcone. I figured ordering in some Chinese food to keep on his good side was harmless. I had no idea it would turn out this way!”

I paused to take a deep breath. “That’s exactly what happened, Nick. I swear on my life!”

His eyes traveled over to our pathetic-looking cottage. “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “Swear on your life, I mean.”

I nodded. “Okay. I just wanted you to know that I’m telling the truth.”

“I believe you,” he said simply. For the first time since he’d shown up, he cracked a smile. “If anybody else in the world was telling me this, I’d probably think they were making it up. But I know you—and I believe every word.”

I just took his hands in mine and gave them a squeeze.

“What happens now?” I asked, sounding as somber as I felt. “The cottage is going to be uninhabitable for a long time.” I was unable to keep from choking as I added, “It might even have to be razed.”

“We can probably stay with Betty,” Nick replied. “At least until we get a place of our own.”

The fact that he used the word “we” made my heart do cartwheels.

•   •   •

“Of course you can both stay with us,” Betty declared a few minutes later as the four of us sat at the kitchen table, clustered around a second pot of tea. “For as long as you want.”

“We’ll be happy to have the company,” Winston added. Winking at the dachshund lying by his feet, he added, “I’m sure Frederick will also enjoy having an extended sleepover with Max and Lou.”

“Thanks, you guys,” Nick said. He reached over and put his hand over mine as he added, “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Uh-oh,” I said, suddenly distracted by some movement outside the window. Two cars had just pulled into the driveway. I recognized them immediately as Falcone’s blue Crown Victoria and Forrester’s dark green SUV.

“Here come Frick and Frack,” I mumbled as I pushed my chair away from the table and stood up.

“Huh?” Nick asked.

“Finish your tea,” I told him. “I’ll deal with them.”

At the moment, these two were the last people in the world I felt like dealing with. Still, it was possible Falcone might know something. Not likely, but possible.

I sauntered over to their cars, hoping they wouldn’t stay long.

“Looks like you had a little trouble here,” Falcone began. I couldn’t tell if he was smirking or if the objectionable look on his face was simply his natural expression.

“I guess you could say that,” I replied. “That is, if you consider someone’s house burning down ‘a little trouble.’”

I turned to Forrester. “How did you know about this?”

“Falcone gave me a call.” Shaking his head slowly, he added, “Boy, it’s a good thing I wasn’t there.” I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“What I mean is, let’s say you and I hit it off the other night, the way I was hoping we would,” he went
on breezily. “And let’s stay that I started, you know, staying over. Regularly. For all I know, I could have been sleeping at your place last night. Which means my life would have been in danger, too.”

My blood had already escalated to the near-boiling point when he said, “Speaking of which, you are all right, aren’t you? You look okay. Did you get out unscathed? And did all those pets of yours get out of the house, too?”

I just stared at him, unable to believe the things that were coming out of his mouth.

Frankly, I couldn’t believe they could come out of anyone’s mouth. And Forrester was someone who was supposed to care about me. At least, according to him.

“I think this would be a good time for you to leave,” I said in a low, even voice. I was looking at Forrester, but I was really referring to them both.

“As soon as I have a brief word with you,” Falcone said.

Actually, what he said was, “As soon as I have a brief word witcha.”

I would have liked to say, “No, thank you.” But I knew I really didn’t have any choice in the matter, so I simply nodded.

“I just had a talk with O’Reilly from the arson squad,” he told me.

“We met,” I interjected.

“Naturally, he hasn’t had a chance to do a real investigation yet,” Falcone continued. “But based on his initial look-see, he’s sayin’ this was the work of a real amateur. Seems to me somebody doesn’t like you,
Docta Poppa.” He paused, no doubt for dramatic effect, before adding, “Or that maybe somebody is even tryin’ to send you a message.”

“Next time, I hope they send me an email,” I muttered.

He chose to ignore my great wit. “We can’t be sure, but there’s a good chance this fire was motivated by the fact that you’ve been sniffin’ around the Stibbins murder.”

He looked at me expectantly, as if he was waiting for me to say something. To apologize, perhaps, or even to beg for his protection.

“That thought occurred to me, too,” I said non-committally.

“Really.” He looked surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that I might be clever enough to come to that conclusion completely on my own. “I’m glad you agree.”

And then he leaned in closer, his eyes as dark and round as two black olives as they bored into mine. “I hope you also agree that the smart thing to do is to drop it. You got no business getting involved in any of this, even if this guy was a relative of yours.”

An
almost
relative, I thought. But I had enough self-restraint that I didn’t bother to correct him.

Still, there was something I didn’t have enough self-restraint not to do: cross my fingers behind my back.

And that’s because I smiled at him sweetly—or at least as sweetly as I could—and said, “You’re absolutely right.”

A look of surprise crossed his face. I was enjoying this little charade so much I couldn’t resist adding,
“Thank you
so
much for your concern, Lieutenant Falcone. And thank you for the good advice, too.”

Even though my fingers were no longer crossed, that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking the exact opposite of what I was saying. And it wasn’t because I didn’t want somebody like Falcone telling me what to do.

It was because of my increased resolve about finding Nathaniel’s killer.

Despite all the chaos, I’d also come up with a plan for how to proceed. While I knew it was possible that Serena Garcia had killed Nathaniel, I realized I wouldn’t be able to figure out who was guilty until I knew
why
he’d been murdered.

In the aftermath of the fire, fragments of conversations I’d had over the past week and a half had flitted through my head like a montage in a movie. They played through my head again as I slowly walked across the lawn, back to the Big House.

“He was the most evil of them all,” Serena had said of Nathaniel.

She had also explained that the argument Vondra had had with him was over the upcoming art exhibition. “All I know is that when they disagreed on something about the exhibition,” she had told me, “that horrid man actually threatened her.”

As for Willard Faber, he had described the murder victim by saying, “He was always determined to make himself more important than he was.”

So much of what I’d learned seemed to point toward the exhibition that was scheduled at the Mildred Judsen Gallery but had been canceled because of Nathaniel’s death.

I decided it was time for me to see those paintings for myself.

I was still mulling over the best way to accomplish that when I suddenly stopped in my tracks.

Something on the ground had caught my eye. It was small but shiny, its metallic surface glinting in the bright June sunlight.

Even before I bent down to pick it up, I knew exactly what it was. And simply spotting it there, lying less than fifty feet from the ash and rubble that had once been my home, was enough to send a chill running through me even on this warm summer day.

M
y heart pounded wildly as I leaned over to get a better look. When I saw that the sparkling metal item was exactly what I’d thought it was, I picked it up gingerly, using the edge of my shirt as a potholder.

For a few seconds, I simply stared at the gold tie tack in the shape of a violin.

This means one of two things, I thought, trying to focus despite the distracting throbbing in my temples. One is that Claude Molter sneaked onto the property to set the fire and in the process lost his tie tack.

The other is that someone else wants me to
believe
that’s what happened.

And that person is most likely the same one who made sure the police found that bracelet at the trashed art exhibition, the one that looked a lot like Vondra Garcia’s.

A little voice inside my head told me to show the police what I’d found. In fact, Detective O’Reilly’s business card was practically burning a hole in my pocket.

But another voice was telling me to wait, and frankly it was making a much more convincing argument. After all, I wasn’t convinced that I wasn’t being intentionally led astray.

Which gave me one more reason to forge ahead with my own investigation.

Both my mind and my heart raced frantically as I tried to come up with a way to sneak into Nathaniel’s on-campus studio. I realized almost immediately that the ideal opportunity was only a day away. As the Worth School’s biggest event of the year, the Blessing of the Animals was guaranteed to keep the faculty, staff, and students busy.

Which made it the perfect time to strike.

On Saturday morning, I made a point of getting to school early. As planned, I brought my van to the campus so I’d be able to take care of any animals that needed attention, and I wore my dark green shirt embroidered with “Jessica Popper, D.V.M.,” so I could easily be identified. But I also armed myself with an excuse for showing up ahead of schedule: having a few administrative details to attend to.

I had no choice but to bring Max, since Reverend Evans had put in his request not only privately but also in public. I supposed it was possible that having a canine sidekick might actually come in handy. Still, I
couldn’t help worrying about how he’d respond to being in a closed space that was packed with animals of all types and temperaments.

I stuffed a Ziploc bag of Milk-Bones in my pants pocket, just in case.

The first of the vague duties that had brought me to campus early, should anyone ask, was checking my mailbox. Of course, it happened to be conveniently located just a few feet away from Ms. Greer’s desk, where I was nearly positive the keys to Nathaniel’s art studio were stored.

Despite the fact that I felt like a bank robber, I tried to act natural as I walked into the administration building. It had turned out to be a perfect summer day, sunny and warm with low humidity. I loped along the walkway, acting as if I actually belonged there. Max was surprisingly well behaved as he trotted alongside me on his leash, possibly because there were so many fascinating new smells that he was too busy luxuriating in a sniff-fest to make any mischief.

Just as I’d expected, the front door of the administration building was unlocked. And just as I’d hoped, no one was around. In fact, the building was eerily silent.

Even so, I scooped my Westie up into my arms, hoping to make as little noise as possible. I wanted to minimize the possibility of running into someone and actually having to use my rather lame excuse for prowling around the school’s offices on a weekend.

In case someone was lurking behind some doorway, watching me, I went straight to the mailboxes, still carrying Max under my arm like a football. I actually
found two pieces of mail waiting for me, one a notice about ordering school rings and one a memo reminding everyone about the summer parking rules. I left them there, however, in case I needed to prove that I’d had good reason for feeling the need to check my mail on a weekend.

After looking around a bit more—which I accomplished by pretending to massage my neck with the fingers of one hand, meanwhile stretching as I turned my head in every direction—I decided the coast really was clear. I sidled over to Ms. Greer’s desk with my sidekick. Given her prim nature, I wasn’t surprised that she’d left the top completely clear, aside from her computer and the requisite Worth School pencil cup to keep it company.

I quickly thought up another excuse in case anyone came by and wondered why I was rummaging around in someone else’s desk.

A paper clip. I’d claim I was in desperate need of a way of attaching those two all-important notices sitting in my box.

I took a moment to mourn the fact that my formal education had lacked not only plumbing training, but also acting lessons.