A Fatal Twist of Lemon (27 page)

He let out a crack of laughter. “This is a murder investigation, not
One Life to Live
.”

I bit back a sarcastic reply. That was his game, and I didn't intend to play.

“Vince is the one who purchased the property Sylvia Carruthers was trying to obtain for the Preservation Trust,” I said. “He was having a bidding war with the Trust, driving up the price. Donna might have hired him to do it.”

Aragón grinned. “So you sniffed out the sale, eh?”

“I suppose you already knew about it.”

“Yeah. And unless Donna and Vince are the best actors I've ever run into, they didn't conspire to murder Sylvia Carruthers.”

I gripped the back of a nearby chair, starting to feel frustrated. “They were the last two people in the room with her.”

“Yes, they were. And your dishwasher saw Vince in the hall after that, alone. Or didn't you ask him?”

I didn't answer. A slow grin spread over Aragón's intolerable face.

“Thoroughness, Detective,” he said. “Got to interview every witnesss.”

“All right, all right,” I said, annoyed with myself. “You're the professional. I just thought maybe you hadn't heard about the real estate sale.”

“I'm glad you brought it up. We like helpful witnesses, we really do. Call if you think of anything else,” he said, standing up from the table and ushering me toward the door.

“You're laughing at me again.”

“Nah,” he said, his mouth twisting up in a grin.

“What about Katie?” I said, stopping in front of the door.

His face went hard. “She's here for questioning.”

“Why? Didn't you already interview her?”

“There've been some new developments.”

I nodded. “You got some lab results back. I'm guessing they were on the fibers found on Sylvia's clothing.”

He didn't say anything. Taking silence for assent I went on, feeling like I was fighting for Katie's reputation, if not her freedom.

“I'm guessing you found fibers from Katie's clothing on Sylvia's left side, especially the sleeve.”

Detective Aragón's frown deepened. “Why are you guessing that?”

“Because Katie was seated on Sylvia's left at the tea. They probably brushed against each other as they were passing things at the table.”

He didn't answer, just stood there looking disconcerted. I returned his gaze, peripherally aware of the rise and fall of his breathing. A stillness fell over us in the small room, and I found I was holding my breath, waiting for I didn't know what.

“There's more to it than that,” Aragón said finally.

“Katie didn't do it.”

“I can only think of one reason you'd know that for certain.”

I waved that aside impatiently. “Come on, Detective. I'd be pretty stupid to make a show of investigating a crime I'd committed myself.”

His mouth twitched. “Yes, you would.”

“Why did you drag her in here at ten on a Sunday night? It can't have been just the fibers.”

“No, it wasn't just that.”

“The earring, then. But why?”

He leaned toward me, his voice a quiet hiss. “Because it was found in Sylvia Carruthers's hand, all right?”

I gaped at him. At first I felt horrified that it could be true, that Katie actually might have lost the earring in a struggle with Sylvia. Then I began to question that assumption.

“That and the fiber evidence were enough to bring her in,” he added.

“Which hand?” I demanded.

“Huh?”

“Which hand of Sylvia's was holding the earring? And which ear did Katie lose it from, did you ask that?”

He frowned. “Not yet.”

“Well, it matters!”

“The right hand.”

“Okay, then it would have to be the right earring, because Sylvia was strangled from behind. If she reached up and caught hold of an earring with her right hand, it would be the right earring.”

“Could be the left,” he said, looking annoyed.

“Not very likely. If someone's strangling you, you go like this,” I said, reaching up my hands to either side of my neck to grab a phantom strangler. “You don't reach across your throat.”

He gave a grudging nod. I was feeling more confident now, and enjoying thinking through what had happened.

“Having the earring pulled out could have damaged Katie's ear, too,” I said. “What kind of fastening was it, a hook or a post?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, because a hook might tear the ear if the earring was suddenly pulled downward, but a post would be more likely to pop off without damage.”

He blinked. “It was a hook.”

“Ah. Then I'd check Katie's right ear for damage. I bet you won't find any. Sylvia probably spotted the earring after Katie left, and bent down to pick it up. Did you find fibers from Katie's dress on Sylvia's back?”

“That's enough,” Aragón said, reaching past me for the doorknob.

I didn't step out of his way. Instead I put my hands on his chest. Just resisting, not pushing.

“Wait,” I said quietly. “Please. I'm just trying to help, and trying to understand what happened. Were there fibers from Katie's dress on Sylvia's back, or just on her left side?”

He grimaced. “Definitely on the side. The back is inconclusive.”

He took a step back, and I let my hands fall. His face had gone flat, eyes the blank stare that he used to discomfit people he was questioning.

“You did find fibers on her back, didn't you?” I said.

He frowned. “We haven't matched them yet. Now come on, let's go.”

“But you collected everyone's clothing—”

He stepped around me and put his hand on the doorknob. “Come on, Nancy Drew, I've got work to do.”

“Don't you dare patronize me, Tony Aragón!”

His head snapped back and he turned to face me. The surprise on his face was no more than I felt. I had spoken without thinking, and now my heart was suddenly pounding.

I stood his gaze, which was about all I could manage. After a moment his eyelids drooped, hiding his eyes.

“Time to go,” he said softly as he turned the doorknob and pulled the door open.

“What about Katie?”

“She can't leave yet.”

“I'll wait,” I said, rather defiantly.

“Suit yourself.”

We stepped out into the hallway, where the uniformed cops were still hanging around chatting. They glanced up as we emerged, and I wondered if they'd overheard us.

“The lounge is that way,” Aragón said gesturing down the hall.

“I can find it.”

“Don't go poking around.”

I shot him a resentful glance. “I won't.”

His lips twitched, almost smiling. He got them under control, but relented a little.

“I'll let you know if it's going to be a long time.”

“Thanks.”

Gathering my dignity, I turned and walked away down the hall. When I got to the intersection with the next hallway I glanced back and saw Detective Aragón watching me. I turned the corner and made my way back to the employee lounge I had seen.

The room had the basic necessities of a staff break room, but no luxuries. A counter with a sink full of dirty mugs. Beside it a dish rack crammed with more mugs and a couple of plastic food containers. Coffee maker, microwave, cupboards, refrigerator. Two vending machines full of junk food. A table and eight mismatched chairs, at which the female cop I'd seen earlier was sitting reading a magazine. She glanced up as I sat down across the table.

“Hi,” I said, trying to be friendly.

She looked back at her magazine. I glanced around the room, hoping to find another magazine or something else I could read, but was reduced to admiring the posters on the walls. These consisted of mandatory worker's rights posters, a bulletin board in desperate need of being weeded, and police recruitment posters, which seemed rather after the fact in this room but were better than bare walls.

I got up to look at the bulletin board, mainly to admire several cartoons stuck up amid the welter of memos, announcements for events long past, and stapled articles tacked to the board. After a moment I sensed I was being watched, and turned around to see the cop staring at me.

I smiled and pointed to one of the cartoons. “Funny.”

She looked back at her magazine. Having the impression she didn't like me looking at the bulletin board, I glanced toward the workers' compensation poster, decided I wasn't that desperate, and sat down again. After a minute I started cleaning out my purse. I had just finished counting the dollar sixty-seven in change that had been floating around in the bottom when Detective Aragón came into the room.

“Ms. Rosings?”

I hastily scooped my things back into my purse, stood up, and followed his gesture beckoning me into the hallway. Katie Hutchins was there, looking a little dazed. I felt a surge of relief and had to resist the urge to hug her.

“Hi, Katie,” I said, trying for a normal tone. “I came to see if you'd like a ride home.”

She gave a wavery smile. “That's so sweet of you, Ellen! Thank you.”

I took her by the arm and started toward the exit, mouthing a silent “thank you” to Detective Aragón over my shoulder. He didn't respond, just stood watching us go, looking somewhat disgusted.

We didn't talk until we got into my car and were on the way home. I glanced over at Katie, who was still looking shell-shocked.

“Pretty rude of them to drag you out this late,” I said. “I thought only TV cops did that sort of thing.”

“Oh!” Katie said with a rush of pent-up feeling. “They just kept going on and on about my earring like it was a matter of national security! I couldn't believe it! You know I told you I'd lost an earring on Wednesday.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, they wanted to know exactly how I'd lost it. They kept asking me again and again. Can you imagine? If I knew how it fell out of my ear, I wouldn't have lost it, would I?”

“No, probably not.”

I couldn't watch her face while I was driving, but I could hear the frustration in her voice. She sounded sincere. I found myself wishing I had waited to talk about it until I could sit down with her and watch her reactions, then chided myself. I had just spent over an hour working to get her released. Hardly the time to start doubting her.

“And then that Detective Aragón came in and wanted to know which earring it was, right or left. So I told him it was the left, and he demanded to look at both my ears!”

I turned onto Paseo de Peralta and cruised along behind a low-rider. “He's just trying to be thorough, Katie.”

“What on earth does it matter what my ears look like?”

So he hadn't told her where her earring was found. That made sense, I supposed. He probably shouldn't have told me.

“I don't know,” I said, “but the police have to check everything. Maybe they were just making sure your earring didn't have anything to do with the murder.”

“And they
still
haven't given it back to me!”

I listened while she continued to vent her indignation. She was recovering her spirits, which made me feel relieved. I'd rather listen to her rant than have her sitting crushed and silent, as she'd looked at first.

“And poor Bob! They wouldn't even let me call him. I thought you were supposed to get a phone call.”

“That's if you're arrested.”

“Oh.”

“Katie, if they do this again, just tell them you want to talk to your lawyer. That'll get them off your back.”

“I didn't think of that. Hmph.”

I turned onto our street and pulled over in front of the B&B. The porch light gleamed a welcome, and I saw Bob looking anxiously out the front window.

“Thank you for the ride, Ellen,” Katie said. “You're a gem.”

“You're welcome. Good night.”

I watched her into the house, then drove around the corner and up the alley to the back of the tearoom. It was getting close to midnight, and I was definitely ready to crash.

I let myself in and stood listening to the house for a moment. No stereo tonight, and no light under the dining parlor door. Maybe Sunday was a day of rest for ghosts as well. Christian ghosts, anyway. Captain Dusenberry probably fit the bill.

I went up and started getting ready for bed, thinking over the police station escapade as I brushed my teeth. I had taken a bit of a risk speculating about Katie's earring, I realized. If she had been guilty, my guesswork might have led to her arrest. Which would have been the right thing to happen, but I'd have felt awful about it.

Maybe I was going too far, meddling in people's fate. It was my fate, too, though. I wanted to get this murder resolved so I could move on and make a go of the tearoom. I had lots of plans, but they were all on hold.

I had donned my satin pajamas and was just about to climb into bed when my cell phone went off, muffled Mozart trying to fight its way out of my purse. I fetched the phone and crawled into bed before looking at the caller ID. It showed “Unavailable.” I was tempted to leave the anonymous caller to the appropriate fate, i.e. voicemail, but on the third ring I relented and flipped the phone open.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” said a male voice, as if expecting to be recognized. I frowned, trying to place it.

“Yes?” I prompted.

“It's me. Tony Aragón.”

“Oh,” I said, glancing at my bedside clock. Ten to midnight.

“Sorry to call this late. I figured you'd still be up.”

“Just barely,” I said, wondering if this was a prelude to the arrival of another squad car. I eyed my wardrobe and the dresser that held my t-shirts and jeans. If I was going to be hauled into the police station, I wanted to get into some comfortable clothes.

“Oh. Well, sorry. I just … maybe I should call back.”