Murder on the Bride's Side (20 page)

I looked up at Colin and Bridget. Bridget still held the necklace in her outstretched hand; its pendulous movement had slowed to a standstill. So, too, had my brain. How had the necklace gotten here—with my underwear, of all places?

Bridget spoke. “We’ll just say that we found it . . . on the floor. There’s no need to say that we found it in your bureau.”

The barest wisp of my mental fog lifted and I shook my head. “No, Bridget. That won’t work and you know it. Where are we going to say that we found it, anyway? The hall? Too many people can contradict that.” Pointing at the necklace, I said, “There’s no way that anyone would have missed
that
on the hallway floor.”

Bridget opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her short. “No,” I said, pulling myself up to a standing position. “We have to tell Detective Grant the truth and hope that he has enough sense to realize that I didn’t have anything to do with Roni’s murder.” I grabbed the necklace from Bridget’s hand. As I felt its cool weight, my confidence wavered. People had killed for
far less than what I now cradled in my palm. Before my cowardly side could overtake me, I squared my shoulders, turned, and marched out of the room. Bridget and Colin followed close on my heels.

In the living room, the family was still in attendance. Elsie stood with her back to the room, looking out the windows at the terrace. Anna lay curled at her feet. Blythe and Graham occupied two of the overstuffed chairs, leaning their heads close together to converse quietly. Megan sat alone on the couch, staring into space. Someone had started a fire in the fireplace. The gold-and-blue flames crackled and danced in the cobalt-and-white-tiled hearth.

It looked like a normal family tableau, but I eyed them again critically. Could one of these people have slipped that necklace into my bureau? And if so, why? To my far left was Detective Grant. My step faltered. The reason for this misstep, however, was not the sight of Detective Grant’s dour face, although that was a reason in and of itself to fall to the ground and assume the fetal position. No, the reason for my stumble was the sight
behind
Detective Grant. Peter and Chloe stood huddled together in an obviously private conversation. Chloe’s body language reminded me of a cat’s eyeing a bowl of cream.

A surge of anger overtook me. Perfect. Someone stuffs a $200,000 bauble in my drawer—a bauble stolen from a dead woman, no less—and where is my shining knight when I need him most? Chatting up the gorgeous blonde in the $2,000 suit.

Although I wasn’t aware of having made any noise, Chloe abruptly pivoted in my direction, the sudden movement causing
her ponytail to swing out behind her like a silken rope. It reminded me of a snake, a beautiful but deadly snake that you’d see featured on the Nature Channel. The kind that makes you cheer when a grizzly trods upon it.

Something in my expression must have alerted Peter to my mood, because his brows pulled together and he moved my way. Giving him what I hoped was a look of icy disdain, I marched over to Detective Grant and thrust out my hand. The necklace caught the firelight and glittered forth like a loop of flames. Around me, I heard gasps. The only discernible reaction in Detective Grant was an instant shrinking of his pupils into hard, cold dots of black. It took every ounce of courage not to throw the necklace at his feet and make a mad break for the door. Peter stood next to me and wrapped an arm protectively around my shoulder. I was torn between leaning into his warm strength and angrily slapping his hand away.

“This was in my bureau,” I said loudly. “We just found it.”

Detective Grant stepped forward and took the necklace from me. I was glad to let it go. Holding it up so that it hung in one shining rope, he shifted his gaze from it to me and asked simply, “Who, may I ask, is ‘we’?”

“Bridget.” I pointed in her direction.

Detective Grant’s gaze slid to Bridget. “Which of you found it?”

“I did,” said Bridget, with a nervous glance in my direction.

“I see,” he intoned. He dipped his large hand into his suit pocket and retrieved a plastic bag. Slipping the necklace inside, he then took out his notebook and pen. “Tell me how.”

“Elizabeth and I were in her room talking when I noticed
something shiny in the top drawer of her bureau. I looked inside and saw the necklace.”

“I see. And what was Ms. Parker’s reaction to this?”

Bridget lifted her chin. “Elizabeth took the necklace from me and immediately came down to give it to you, of course! I can’t imagine what
else
you think she would do!”

Yeah, Bridget!

Detective Grant seemed unimpressed by this assertion of my good character and resumed his stony-eyed appraisal of me.

“Detective Grant, I’m not sure I like where you’re going with this,” said Peter. “Elizabeth is an honest person. To state otherwise is ridiculous.”

“Mr. McGowan, I’m sure your loyalty does you credit, but I don’t believe that I’ve officially stated anything, ridiculous or otherwise.”

Peter tensed in anger, while I tried not to scoff at Detective Grant’s use of the word
loyalty.
Ignoring Peter’s look of annoyance, Detective Grant continued. “Interesting coincidence, though, wouldn’t you say, Ms. Parker? First you find the
body
, then you find the all-important
key
that suggests an outsider committed this crime, and now you find the
necklace.
” He tapped his pen on the notebook for emphasis.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence . . .” I sputtered.

This was greeted with a tight smile. “Well, now that’s something we can agree on, because neither do I. Who shares that room with you?”

My eyes flew to Megan. She was still sitting on the couch. Before I could answer, she stood up on trembling legs and said, “I do. I share the room.”

When he saw her pale face and large frightened eyes, Detective Grant’s hard expression softened. “When did you last see your mother’s necklace?”

“Last night,” said Megan. “She was wearing it during the reception.”

“Did you know that it was in your room?”

“No, of course not!” Her hands shook and she swayed slightly. Looking wildly around, she cried out, “I didn’t kill my mother! And I didn’t take her necklace! I swear I didn’t!” Her voice was unsteady and her eyes looked glassy. I peered closer at her, wondering if she’d already been smoking this morning.

In two quick moves Detective Grant was at her side. Gently taking her hand, he helped her back onto the couch. While I appreciated Detective Grant’s sensitive treatment of Megan, I briefly wondered why I didn’t warrant the same handling. After all, I was upset, too. Before my mind could provide the obvious answer, I forced it to focus on something else.

Seeing Megan’s dazed face, a wave of protectiveness overcame me. If she had been smoking, she’d probably still reek of it. The last thing she needed was for Detective Grant to smell it. I cleared my throat and said, “Detective Grant, perhaps you should continue the rest of your interview with me in private.”

He turned to face me. I couldn’t read his expression, but instinct assured me that it wasn’t good.

“Yes,” he said, with a sidelong glance at Megan. “Perhaps that would be best—”

Before he could finish, Claire and David entered the room. Claire entered first and David shuffled in behind her, warily eyeing the rest of us.

Seeing Detective Grant’s ominous expression, Claire hesitated. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Mrs. Matthews’s necklace has been recovered,” Detective Grant answered.

“What!” cried David. “How?”

“It was found in Ms. Parker’s bureau,” came the answer.

Claire and David turned to me, their faces wearing identical expressions of shock. “In
Elizabeth’s
bureau?” David said. “But . . .”

“But why would Elizabeth have it?” Claire finished, her eyes wide.

“That’s what I propose to find out,” said Detective Grant calmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to speak to Ms. Parker in private.” Turning to Elsie, he said, “May I use your study again, Mrs. Matthews?”

Elsie answered him with a curt nod. Crossing the room to me, she laid a hand on my shoulder. “Elizabeth, dear,” she said in a low voice, “you know you have our full support. I don’t know how Roni’s necklace ended up in your room, but don’t worry. No one could possibly think you had anything to do with this.” Looking into her face, I wished I shared her confidence. Peter gave my arm a reassuring squeeze as I silently followed Detective Grant into the study.

As before, I settled into the leather chair opposite the desk. Leaning against its heavy mahogany frame, Detective Grant opened his notebook and looked at me, his gray eyes inscrutable. He said nothing.

I refused to act intimidated. I forced myself to think of him in tap shoes dancing like Gene Kelly and singing “Gotta dance,
gottaaaa dance!” Strangely enough, it helped calm my nerves. “I was under the impression that you wanted to
speak
to me,” I said.

He tipped his head in tacit acknowledgment. “So, you found the necklace,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Actually, Bridget found the necklace.”

“Yes, but it was found in
your
bureau. Any idea how it got there?”

“None,” I said, sticking out my chin. “As I said before, I had nothing to do with this awful incident. And neither did Harry. No one here did. I don’t know why you insist on looking at the Matthews family. Roni obviously received a note from someone staying at the Jefferson! Plus there was the key! Can’t you find out registration information from the key?”

“No.” Detective Grant said. “Whoever used the room checked out. Once checkout is complete the keys are useless; they contain no personal information.”

“But nevertheless, it still proves someone outside the family killed Roni!”

“Ah, yes, your all-too-pat outsider theory.”

“It’s not
my
theory!”

“Isn’t it?”

“That note isn’t a theory!”

“No,” he said with a smile that made me uneasy, “I definitely wouldn’t call it
that
.”

I pressed on, deciding it was best not to ask what he meant. “And what about the phone call I overheard? Have you forgotten that? Now, there’s someone you might want to track down. For all you know, the call could have come from the Jefferson!”

“Actually, I did look into the call. And while several calls came into Mrs. Matthews’s cell phone from the Jefferson, they were all of a duration of five seconds or less. The call you overheard was from a ‘gentleman’—and I use that term loosely—in New York by the name of Jimmy Michaels. From what I have been able to learn, he and the late Mrs. Matthews were indeed romantically involved.”

“Well, there you have it!” I cried excitedly. “It’s not as if New York is on the other side of the world. Who’s to say that this Jimmy Michaels didn’t come down here to confront Roni and booked himself a room at the Jefferson?”

“I say he didn’t.”

“You say? How do you know?”

“Because Mr. Michaels has an alibi for the time of the murder. He was with his wife.”

I considered this news and quickly dismissed it. “So what? Lots of wives lie to protect their husbands. She probably didn’t know that he and Roni were lovers.”

“Oh, I’m fairly certain that she did
not
know that fact. However, I’m still inclined to believe the young woman.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she was giving birth to their fifth child at the time in question and Mr. Michaels was at her side the whole time playing the role of the devoted husband.”

I made a noise.

Detective Grant nodded. “Yes, I would tend to agree with you there. But the fact remains that he has an alibi. I’m sorry, but with your discovery of the necklace it’s clear the ‘outsider theory’ is nothing more than someone’s clever diversion. Unless, of
course, you are proposing that the murderer, overcome with remorse, snuck back into the house and planted the necklace in your bureau.”

Put that way, I had to admit it did sound kind of stupid.

“But there was a note and a key.
Both
from the Jefferson,” I argued stubbornly.

“True,” he conceded. “Someone, perhaps, who wanted us to believe that this crime was committed by someone
outside
the family.”

I shook my head in denial at this scenario, but on a certain level, I knew what he was saying had to be the truth.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” he asked in an oddly gentle voice. “You wouldn’t be the first person to try and help out after the fact, you know.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I just know from experience that strange things happen in a murder investigation.”

Was he kidding? Did he really think I was somehow involved? All of my pent-up emotions of the last few hours boiled over. I was still reeling from the horror of finding Roni’s body, my frustration at the line of inquiry the police were taking, and my dread of Peter’s apparent infatuation with Chloe.

“This is absurd!” I said, roughly pushing myself out of the chair. “I didn’t take the damn necklace and I most certainly did not kill Roni!” Stomping up and down the width of the study, I jabbed the air with my finger as I rattled off my grievances. “I don’t know who did kill her or why the damn thing landed in my drawer, but I will not be made someone’s patsy! For Christ’s sake, I barely knew the woman! Yes, she was horrible to Megan
and Harry, and probably to Avery, as well. I didn’t like her. But that doesn’t mean any of them killed her, and it certainly doesn’t mean
I
killed her!”

Other than a slight tensing of his broad shoulders when I burst out of my chair, Detective Grant did not move. He merely watched me, his hooded eyes alert and appraising.

More than ever, he resembled a boxer sizing up his opponent.

“While you may not have known
her
very well, you do know this family quite well. In fact, some might even consider you a part of this family.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I snapped. I knew I wasn’t making any points with him by losing my temper, but I couldn’t stop. My mind had rejected Elinor as a role model; it had instead chosen Marianne.