Blood Will Tell

by Mary Bowers

  “Think what?” Ed asked.

  “That Mr. Kip Stanley better watch out for himself. Some ladies have a string of bad luck when it comes to their boyfriends’ health, if you know what I mean.”

  Ed looked like he didn’t know what she meant.

  “How did they react to Harriet?” I asked.

  She made a little explosion in her nose. “Just about like everybody else, only with Kip, he’s so full of manners you never know what he’s really thinking, and Miss Linda Small just tries to act like she’s above it all. Sophisticated, too high-society to care. She ignored the squatter. Kip seemed like he was trying to get to know her, always coming out of the house when he saw her come out, going over there for a visit when I was cleaning his house. To get out of my way, he said. Why don’t you go see Linda, I said. She’s at her yoga class, he said. I’ll just go knock up Harriet instead. Funny thing for an American to say. English expression, meaning to knock on the door, not the person. Makes you wonder if he’s ever lived in England.”

  “He’s an expert on round tables,” Ed said, mystifying Gretel, and failing to interest either of us.

  “I’m keeping an eye on those two,” she said, wrapping it up and giving me a wink. “I’ll let you know what I find out. I’m cleaning their houses tomorrow.”

  Ed was scandalized, and I told Gretel not to bother reporting in, I wasn’t investigating, but she ignored both of us and left.

  She tends to be abrupt.

  Chapter 15

  The police finished with Sherman Frey by late afternoon and let him go, but not back to Frieda’s house. Oh, they were suspicious of him, but there was too much disconnected evidence sprinkled around for them to be able to make an immediate arrest. They needed to sort it all out, and they’re very methodical. And patient. They supervised while he packed some of his things, and then since everybody knew by then that he was Carr’s uncle, he moved in with him. But the cops told him not to leave town. Politely, of course.

  Willa came down the drive and gave me a check as I was leaving. I was relieved and reluctant at the same time, and I told her she didn’t have to do that. She wasn’t responsible for Harriet’s debts.

  “Of course I am,” she said. “I’m responsible for her ever having come here at all.”

  “No you’re not. She is. Was. By the way, did the cops interview you yet?”

  “Oh, yes. That nice detective, Burt Bruno, is in charge. Lucky for us, right? He’s very good.”

  My heart sank. Burt Bruno thought I was crazy. Fortunately, I wasn’t directly involved in this mess, so I decided to keep a low profile whenever the cops were around. There was no reason that I could think of why he’d want to interview me.

  To Willa, I said, “Yes. Lucky for us,” and I thanked her again for the check, got into my SUV and drove away before any unmarked cars could come along.

  When I got back to Cadbury House, there was Homicide Detective Burton Bruno, leaning against a post on the veranda, waiting for me.

  I got out of my car muttering to myself and stomped up to the house. I intended to point out to him immediately that he was out of his jurisdiction.

  Also that I had nothin’ to do with nothin’.

  * * * * *

  “Hey, Taylor,” Michael said before I could throw any punches. He was coming out of the house with a glass of iced tea in each hand, and with a sideways nod of his head, he led us around to the river side of the house and went back in one of the French doors there. “You two take these and I’ll go get another one for myself.”

  “Thanks,” Bruno told him. I was surprised he didn’t add, “Take your time.”

  “I had nothin’ to do with nothin,’” I declared before sitting down.

  He lifted black eyebrows and said, “You fed her her last meal.”

  “And it didn’t kill her. At least, that’s what I hear. I really have no idea how she died. Or why. Ed said she was stabbed.”

  “She was. But more and more, this is beginning to look like one of yours,” he said dismally, setting his tea glass down and settling back to gaze into the watery distance.

  I stubbornly waited. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking.

  Egrets cried in the distance. Fish leapt playfully in the river. Something or other caused ripples across the water’s surface and no-see-ums got in my face and I waved them away.

  “Oh, all right!” I finally said. “One of my what?”

  “One of your crazy mixed-up murders that make no sense.”

  “Have you talked to anybody about Harriet? She was the kind of person everybody she met wanted to murder.”

  By that time, Michael was back with another glass, and he settled beside me.

  “Tough case?” he asked sympathetically.

  “Let me count the ways,” Bruno sighed. Detective Bruno is a darkish man with a pessimistic manner and a tendency to understate things. It lulls some people. They think he’s slow mentally just because he’s slow physically. He went on, counting off his own fingers as he made his points. “The dagger we found on the beach, stuck upright into the sand for us to find, was not the murder weapon. Apparently, the killer climbed down a rope to plant it, if you can believe it. Just why is still a mystery. Most of the doors and windows in the house had been unlocked without setting off the alarm. We checked with the security company. The alarm was set at 11:45 pm, then turned off again at 12:25 am and never reset.”

  “Well that narrows it down,” Michael said. “Who had access to the house and knew the security code?”

  “Oh, everybody,” Bruno said breezily. “Security in Santorini functions at the Kindergarten level. Every gate keypad, and the security code for the big house, is the same: hashtag 1-2-3-4. Even the garage door keypad is coded that way. Easy to remember. Somebody who used to live there had Alzheimer’s, and apparently it was catching, because they all have a hard time remembering anything else. If it wasn’t for Mr. Ryder, they’d be giving guided tours for burglars every night of the week.”

  “Did you get anything from Dan’s security cameras?” I asked.

  “You knew about them?” Bruno asked.

  “I just found out. I was at Ed’s house, and everybody on the block came in for a meeting. That was when Dan told us about his cameras. Apparently, nobody knew until then. We had the classic ‘It must have been one of us,’ moment, except for me and Gretel, of course, since we weren’t in Santorini last night.”

  “Well, not except for you,” Bruno said conversationally. “I’ve only got your word for it that you just found out about the cameras, and you could have come in at night and avoided them. I hear the lady stiffed you for the dinner.”

  I glared at Michael as he laughed along with Bruno at this delightful bit of humor.

  “Actually,” Michael said cheerfully, “I can give her an alibi for last night, but it’s good to know you’re keeping a skeptical mind in the matter.”

  “Are you two through?” I said, glaring at both of them. “I still don’t understand why you’re here, Bruno. Looking to take samples of the food we gave her last night? They ate it all, except for dessert, and they didn’t eat any of that. The dishes have already been sterilized by the dishwasher and put away. And if you heard about the allergic reaction she had, she did that to herself. We have ten eye witnesses.”

  He was gazing at me cryptically, his muddy-brown eyes opaque, almost unseeing. “We know about that. The hospital is processing the bloodwork, but when you’ve got a knife wound in your heart, routine tests from the night before are just more paperwork for the file. No, I’m here just to sound you out a little. You tend to get ideas. You know these people. And sometimes I think you get a little help from your friend. By the way, where is she?”

  He was talking about Bastet, and I could see his lousy sense of humor getting the best of him again. I refused to play along.

  “What was that about a dagger on the beach?” I asked instead. “If he climbed down a rope – presumably with the dagger
clenched in his teeth – what an image! – and he then went over the dune instead of going down the walkover, you’ve got footprints in the sand.”

  He smiled in his sad way. “We have dimples in the sand. They don’t go all the way out to the hard-pack. They end in the soft sand at the far side of the dune. The wind wasn’t very strong last night. It tends to show that he went that way, anyhow. And I suppose it points to someone fit enough to clamber down a rope in the middle of the night.”

  I gave him a hard look, trying to figure out if he was playing with me. “Nobody went down that rope, and you know it,” I said wearily. “You said every door in the house was unlocked. Why climb down a rope from a third floor balcony when you can just walk out the patio door on the ground floor?”

  “No, our guys think whoever it was actually did climb down that rope, believe it or not. Something about stress at the knot. They’re testing it for DNA, but even if you’re trying not to leave evidence, climbing down a rope, you’d wear gloves. I’m not hopeful. The footprint-dimples go right over the dune and lead up to the knife. Dagger. Stiletto. It’s a fancy thing, with jewels, and it didn’t just wash up from a pirate ship. And it was tucked up against the dune with a mound on the other side of it, so the early-morning shell-seekers wouldn’t nab it. So again we are left with the question, why?”

  I shrugged. “Overkill?”

  He nodded very gently. “A torturous mind. Misdirection. Obfuscation.”

  “And somebody who’s seen too many Errol Flynn movies,” I added.

  “That’s what I meant when I said this seemed like one of yours. I suppose it’s too much to ask for your opinion on just what the heck happened in that house last night?”

  “How would I know?”

  “You probably don’t. Not yet. But I got a feeling you will.”

  He finished his iced tea, set it down on a little table and stood up, saying, “Let me know if you get any ideas. And,” he said, addressing himself to Michael, “it might not be a good idea to let people know she’s even thinking about it. Keep an eye on the little lady, will you?”

  “I always do.”

  “Who are you calling little?” I grumbled. “I’m taller than you. Troglodyte.”

  He found that amusing too.

  * * * * *

  “What do you think that was all about?” I asked Michael when we heard Bruno start up his car and drive away.

  “He had to talk to us, Taylor. After all, we are involved.”

  “Just because we gave her dinner? We had no reason to want her dead, especially since she didn’t pay us. Dead people don’t pay. Ever. By the way, Willa gave me a check to cover the dinner as I was leaving Santorini. I don’t feel good about accepting it, really. Do you think I should cash it?”

  “Of course. Willa would be hurt if you didn’t. And she can easily afford it.”

  “I suppose you’re right. So how long was Bruno here before I got home? Did you talk to him at all before I got here?”

  “A little. I checked the locator app and saw you were on your way home, so he decided to wait for you, but he did mention the dagger on the beach. I think that’s what bothers him the most; it gives the whole crime scene a made-up look. It took a lot of time and effort to do that little stunt, so the killer must have had something very definite in mind. He must have known he wouldn’t be fooling anybody with that dagger, so what was the point? The medical examiner thinks she was killed with an ordinary kitchen knife. There’s one missing from the knife block in the kitchen of that house, and it would have been about the right size. Apparently, the dagger is very fancy, and the killer went to the trouble of getting some of Harriet’s blood on it, but the blade doesn’t match the wound.”

  “I see what you mean. It’s nuts. Everybody knows they measure things like that.”

  We were both quiet for a while, rocking and sipping and thinking.

  Finally, Michael said, “So it probably wasn’t misdirection at all. It might have been to demonstrate that he could get in and out of houses at will, and he still has at least one knife.” He turned to look me in the eye. “It could have been a warning.”

  Chapter 16

  By Saturday, two days later, I was beginning to hope that I was going to be left out of things for a change. Bruno didn’t contact me again, and even Ed hadn’t called. In the best of times, he’s fretful. With all that was going on in Santorini he was probably a nervous wreck, and when he’s nervous, he’s needy.

  When my cell phone rang and I saw it was Gretel, I got a sinking feeling. She was calling to report in. I hadn’t forgotten that she was cleaning Linda’s and Kip’s houses on Friday, and had said something about snooping around.

  “It was Kip,” she said before she even said hello.

  “Oh, good,” I said. “Since you’ve identified the killer, we can forget about it and get back to normal. You told the police?”

  “I haven’t even told you yet,” she said indignantly. “Aren’t you curious about what I found?”

  I sighed and said okay, sure, tell me.

  “He’s got all kinds of that stuff laying around. He’s working on a book or something, and he’s got research about ancient myths all over his desk and a paperweight that look like a Greek ship and this ugly thing on the wall that’s supposed to be a cyclops, and everything. And,” she added with relish, “he’s got a gun on his desk. A big one.”

  “I’m not following you. How does that make him the killer? She was stabbed, not shot.”

  “The dagger! It must have been his. He collects stuff like that.”

  “Does he have a collection of daggers?”

  “I bet he does. He’s got all that other stuff.”

  I covered my eyes. I had been doing inventory in the cupboards in the kennel, and I was sitting on the floor with a clipboard in my lap. One of the dogs started barking and I missed the next part.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “I said you are making progress, aren’t you? I mean, what have you been doing?”

  “Running Orphans of the Storm.”

  “How can you be wasting your time when there’s a killer loose in Santorini? Your friend Ed lives there. Aren’t you worried about him? He could be next. Except that I’m pretty sure Willa’s next, not Ed. She looks like she’s next, anyway.”

  I had gone back to writing on the clipboard, and stopped suddenly. “Why do you say that?”

  “She has the look about her. Doomed. She looks doomed. I mean, she always looks kind of half-dead, but she’s worse now. Is it true she’s going to marry Ed?”

  “I’m sure that’s not why she looks doomed. You know those two. I can’t figure out what they’re going to do, and neither can they. I suppose you could say they’re engaged, but they don’t seem to be hot and heavy about it. And she’s probably just looking haggard because of what happened to Harriet.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, you were right about Linda and Kip. They’re together. Together together. I got a look at her calendar on the wall in the pantry, and he’s got her booked up for dates. And while he wasn’t looking, I found his calendar in his desk drawer and took cell phone pictures. I didn’t think to take pictures of Linda’s calendar, but by the time I got to Kip’s house, I had my rhythm going. My detective rhythm. I’ll take camera shots of Linda’s calendar next week, if you want me to, and they haven’t been arrested yet.”

  “Gretel!”

  “I’ll text them to you. It looks like they’re even taking a trip together soon, although that’s kind of sketchy. He just wrote ‘BVI.’ It took me a while to figure it out, but while I had the vacuum cleaner going, I got it! The noise from the vac always helps me think; I don’t know why. Anyway, it must mean British Virgin Islands! He wanted to leave yesterday, but then he erased it, but I could still read it. I bet the cops won’t let them go. But get this – he re-wrote it in for next Wednesday and there’s no return date on the calendar.” She paused in triumph.

  “Listen, please don’t text that to me,
” I said. “Obviously, Kip is a well-traveled man, and he’s always doing research in strange places. It’s not suspicious that he would have trips planned – even open-ended ones, and he and Linda are consenting adults. They can run away to the islands and get away for a while if they want to.”

  “But they didn’t even tell anybody they were going!”

  “Maybe he was going to surprise her. Or maybe he wasn’t even taking her. Maybe ‘BVI’ means something else. Gretel, I appreciate you being interested and all, but honest, I’m not working the case, if that’s what you want to call it. I’m not involved, and I don’t want to get involved.”

  There was a pregnant pause. I closed my eyes and waited for the explosion, or the freeze-out, or whatever she was going to come up with.

  “Fine,” she said, opting for the freeze-out. “I’ll just have to figure it out for myself, I guess. I bet Ed will be willing to help me.”

  “Listen, forget Ed and go to the police with what you suspect,” I said hastily. Gretel was about as subtle as a vaudeville act; if she was snooping, everyone would know, and she might put herself in danger.

  “Just forget I called,” she said, and she hung up.

  I dialed Ed immediately, still sitting on the floor in the kennel. He picked up right away, so I knew I’d beaten Gretel to him.

  “Listen, Ed, Gretel just called me, and she’s convinced herself that Kip is the killer. For some reason, she thinks the murder weapon will be traced back to him. She’s talking about teaming up with you to snoop around.”

  “Is she? Wonderful. Willa and I will be fascinated to hear her theories. Will you be coming, too?”

  “Coming to what?”

  “The meeting. I was just about to call you about it. I thought Gretel would have told you. But no, I haven’t called her yet. Actually, I wasn’t going to call her at all, but it’s a good idea you’ve got there, Taylor. She must know a lot about all of us, being all around our houses week after week.”