“Look out!”
My warning came too late. Top Hat took a step forward and shoved Paul in the chest, knocking him over in surprise. He bolted away from me, toward the nearest side hall. There was no one between him and the exit, meaning that if he got away, he was likely gone for good.
I gave chase, but after only a few strides, I knew I’d never catch up with him. I was never much of an athlete, and after walking around the party for as long as I had, my legs and feet were tired.
Top Hat reached the hall and glanced back. I was still too far away to reach him, and Paul was just regaining his feet. A relieved look came over Top Hat’s face as he turned to run down the hall . . .
. . . And instead ran directly into a blond man in a red smoking jacket and sailor’s cap.
“Lance!” I shouted. “Grab him.”
Top Hat tried to dart past the muscular Hugh Hefner, but Lance lowered his shoulder and tackled him like a linebacker might. Top Hat grunted, his hat tumbling from his head, as he crashed against the wall and then sagged to the floor, gasping for breath.
“I take it I missed something?” Lance said, standing over the man in a way that was quite clearly a warning for him not to get up.
Paul rushed past me and pulled Top Hat to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said, sounding peeved before looking to Lance. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Paul led our suspect over to where Margaret stood. She’d hurried over when she’d seen the scuffle, and looked absolutely horrified that something like this could have happened in her already doomed party. “Where can I take him?” he asked her.
She pointed to the exit across the hall. “Turn right from there, and the third door on the right will do.”
Paul nodded and led Top Hat through the ballroom, and then down the indicated hall, and away from the party of onlookers who were talking in excited, loud voices.
I hesitated only a moment before giving Lance a quick, “Thanks. I’ll fill you in in a minute.” Then I hurried after Paul and our possible thief and murderer. There was no way I was going to miss this.
I caught up to them just as Paul reached the third door. He shoved it open and pushed Top Hat in before him, clearly still angry about being knocked over. He started to follow him in, but stopped when he saw me approaching.
“Krissy, you know you can’t be in here.”
“I deserve this,” I said. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have known to look for him.”
“I need to ask him questions that pertain to the murder investigation. You can’t be in the room for that.”
“This isn’t really an official investigation, is it?” I asked, almost pleading. “You aren’t on duty. This isn’t the police station.”
“But . . .”
“Please, Paul.” I wasn’t above begging if I had to. “I saw him when no one else did. I found him for you. He might try to lie about what I’d seen. If I’m in the room, he won’t be able to. He knows I saw him, I could see it in his eyes.” I might not have seen much more than the man looking nervous, but that was beside the point. As long as he thought I knew more than I did, it would be enough.
Paul sighed and rubbed at his temples. “It’s a bad idea.”
“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “You did ask for my help, if you remember.”
“And I’m starting to regret it.” I was about to protest when he held up a hand, and said, “Fine. But if you come in, you don’t speak unless I tell you to. You don’t ask questions. You don’t get involved in this in any way that might compromise my investigation. As far as we know, this guy is innocent of any wrongdoing. I won’t have you making things worse. Understand?”
“But he ran!”
“Krissy . . .” He sounded close to changing his mind.
“Okay, I’ll be good. I promise.” I beamed at him.
Paul didn’t look convinced, but stepped aside to allow me admittance. I entered the room, Paul right behind me, and took a quick look around.
The room looked to be a study or perhaps a conference room. There was a computer with a pair of large monitors attached to it against the wall under the window. Bookshelves stuffed with books were built into two of the three walls. I had to restrain myself from walking over and checking them out. More horror movie posters hung in the room here, though these were the old popular ones like Frankenstein and Dracula. A table in the middle of the room held a pair of skulls with candles glowing in their eyes. Wax dribbled down onto the table in what looked like bloody rivulets.
“Take a seat,” Paul said, indicating a chair on the far side of the table.
“I didn’t do it,” the man said as he sat. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Then why did you run?” Paul gestured for me to sit in one of the chairs next to the one he sank down in.
“I . . .” The man frowned and looked down at his hands.
“Mrs. Yarborough claimed someone stole her jewelry. She is quite upset about it. Do you happen to know anything about that, Mr. . . . ?”
“Clements. Reggie Clements.” The man sighed, looking somehow lost without his top hat. He continued to study his hands and didn’t answer Paul’s first question.
“Okay, Reggie. I’m Officer Paul Dalton of the Pine Hills Police Department. This is Kristina Hancock. She’s currently assisting me in the investigation of Jessica Fairweather’s murder.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“I’m not going to accuse you of anything without reason,” Paul said. “But you did run from me. And refusing to answer questions only makes you look guilty. Do you understand the predicament you are in?”
Reggie nodded. “Yeah.”
“So, I’ll ask you again. Did you steal Margaret Yarborough’s jewelry?”
Reggie’s eyes flickered from his hands to me. I could see the urge to lie all over his face, so I raised my eyebrows at him. He scowled and looked back down at his hands.
“Yeah, fine,” he said. With a sudden jerk, he shoved a hand into his pocket, causing both Paul and I to tense. Instead of a gun, however, he withdrew a handful of jewelry. He tossed it onto the table in front of us before sagging, defeated, into his chair.
I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds as I eyed the small pile. Everything appeared to be made of nothing but diamonds—the necklace, the bracelet, and even the two rings. If there was metal in there somewhere, it was well hidden beneath the shine. I couldn’t imagine how much those few pieces of jewelry cost, and a part of me didn’t want to know.
“I took the stuff, I admit it,” Reggie said. “But I didn’t kill that girl. I’d never seen her before in my life.”
“She did almost run you over earlier,” I said, pointedly ignoring the look Paul gave me. “If you’d just come from Mrs. Yarborough’s bedroom, jewelry in hand, you might have panicked, thought she knew more than she really did.”
“Come on,” Reggie said. “I barely saw her. Even if I’d wanted to go looking for her, I wouldn’t have known where to start. And besides, if you were watching me, you’d have seen that I didn’t go back until a few minutes after the body was found. I was in the ballroom the whole time.”
“Wait,” Paul said, drawing Reggie’s attention back to him. “You went back? To Mrs. Yarborough’s room?”
“What else was I going to do?” Reggie shook his head as if we were the dumbest two people he’d ever spoken to. “I’d taken the jewelry and then the girl goes and gets herself killed. I couldn’t stand around with stolen goods in my pocket. You’d eventually start searching people, and then what would you think? I doubt you’d simply look the other way. I didn’t want to get arrested over some trinkets.”
Trinkets? The diamonds in those pieces could probably buy my house.
“Go on,” Paul said when Reggie stopped talking.
“Well, while everyone was busy freaking out, I snuck back upstairs, into the old lady’s bedroom where she’d left the stuff out like she wanted someone to come a
long and steal it. I was about to put it all back when I heard some people arguing. They sounded like they were coming my way, so I hid in the closet, which was open at the time. I barely made it inside and closed the door before they entered the room to yell at each other.”
“What were they arguing about?” Paul asked.
“How should I know? I was stuffed in a closet with dresses hanging all around me. The sound was muffled.”
“But you said they were yelling.”
“Not yelling yelling,” Reggie said. “More like that hushed yelling you do when you don’t want anyone else to overhear your argument. And besides, my blood was pumping pretty hard. I was scared they’d catch me and you’d show up and accuse me of murder.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m convenient.”
Paul looked annoyed that his integrity had been slighted, so I asked the next question.
“Did you happen to see who it was then? You had to be curious.”
“I was,” Reggie admitted. “But by the sound of things, they were standing too close to the closet. I wasn’t going to risk getting seen just so I could eavesdrop on a lovers’ quarrel.”
Lovers’ quarrel? “Does that mean it was a man and woman arguing?” I asked.
“Yeah, a man and a woman.”
“But you didn’t recognize their voices,” Paul asked.
He shrugged. “What can I tell you? Sound was muffled. And I really don’t know a lot of the people here all that well. It wasn’t anyone I knew, I don’t think.”
Paul studied Reggie for a long moment, using those stunning blue eyes of his to dissect the thief. It was a wonder Reggie didn’t break down and confess to everything, including the assassination of President Kennedy, under his gaze. I could see why Paul had chosen to become a police officer, other than the fact his mom was the police chief.
“You still had the jewelry,” he said, indicating the small pile of diamonds on the table. “If you went back into the bedroom to return them, why do you have them now?”
I thought it was a good question, but Reggie had an answer.
“I waited in the closet for a few minutes after the two finished their fight, then slipped out to replace my haul. But when I checked the dresser where I’d found it, the box they’d come in was gone. I panicked then, certain someone would be coming back at any moment, so I beat it out of there. If they were already looking for a thief, how long before they went to you and you used your tools to find my prints on the stuff?”
Paul’s face remained passive. No sense telling Reggie that not only didn’t we have police tools with us, but he was off duty and focused on a murder. Chances were good he would have gotten away with the theft if he hadn’t panicked.
Reggie sighed. “I tried to leave the house, but by then, no one was getting out. The jerk at the door threatened to call you over if I tried.”
“So, you have no idea who killed Jessica Fairweather, then?” Paul asked.
“None.”
As unlikely as it all sounded, something about Reggie’s story rang true. I wasn’t about to declare him innocent of all crimes—he had stolen Mrs. Yarborough’s jewelry—but I did think he had nothing to do with the murder.
Paul’s pocket vibrated then. He jerked his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, and then sighed. “I have to take this.” He stood and started for the door. He paused halfway there and turned back to frown at me. “Krissy, let’s go.”
I wanted to stick around and ask Reggie a few more questions, but there wasn’t much I could ask him. He hadn’t seen anything as far as he was saying, and I doubted any amount of prying would get him to change his tune. He might have heard a man and woman arguing, but since he didn’t know what was said, or who exactly had said it, there wasn’t anything more to go on. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn the argument had been Margaret Yarborough accusing one of her help of stealing her jewelry. It would explain why the box was missing.
“Thanks for your time,” I said, standing. I followed Paul out of the room. He closed the door and clicked on his phone. He held up a finger to me and then walked down the hall a ways where I wouldn’t be able to hear. I stayed put, dutifully guarding the door while he listened to whatever was being said. He replied a few times, his entire body tense, and then he sagged with a heavy sigh. He said something that looked like, “I understand,” before clicking off and returning to where I waited.
“That was Buchannan,” he said.
I knew without being told that it couldn’t be good news. Anytime Officer John Buchannan was involved in anything, it was never good. “And?” I prodded.
“And he’s stuck.”
“What do you mean by stuck?”
Paul’s frown turned into a genuine scowl. “The idiot tried to get up the driveway in his patrol car, rather than his truck, even though I specifically told him to. He got stuck in the mud.”
I tried not to laugh, I really did, but couldn’t help myself. The image of Buchannan, sitting in his car, wheels spinning uselessly in the mud, was simply too laughable. The man deserved it for all of the times he’d accused me of doing something I didn’t do. I had a feeling that if and when he arrived here, it would be more of the same.
“It’s not funny,” Paul said. “He said he slid sideways about halfway up and his tires got stuck. He tried to drive out, but only made it worse. He’s blocking access to the driveway, thanks to those trees. Until they get a tow truck, it looks like we’re on our own.”
That sobered me up pretty quickly. “So no one is coming to help?” And there was still a murderer on the loose. That was definitely not funny.
Paul shook his head. “Nope.” He pushed his bobby hat back so he could rub his hands over his face as if he could scrub away his weariness. He looked horribly overworked, especially since he’d come to this thing thinking he was going to get a night off and spend time with a girl he obviously liked. Instead, here he was, searching for a murderer, in a house full of people who had little interest in making it easy on him, with a girl he’d once gone out on a date with.
It wasn’t exactly the best way to relax, that was for sure.
“We need to find the boyfriend,” I said, confident that once he was found, everything else would fall into place. He might not have killed his girlfriend, but since he’d chased after her and was currently missing, he might have seen who did. Hopefully, when we found him, he’d still be alive, and willing to talk.
“Maybe.” Paul stopped rubbing at his face. He still looked dead tired. “Can you wait here a few minutes? I need to ask Mrs. Yarborough if there is somewhere I can keep this guy until I can sort this thing out. I don’t believe he killed Miss Fairweather, but I can’t be certain of it. I don’t need him running around, trying to escape.”
“Sure, I’ll stand watch.”
Paul nodded and then poked his head into the conference room where Reggie waited. “Wait here,” he told him. “I’ll come for you in a few minutes.”
If Reggie replied, I didn’t hear it. Paul closed the door and then gave me a weary smile before walking down the hall to go in search of Margaret. I tried not to admire how his costume fit him snuggly in all the right places, but failed miserably. Besides, there was nothing wrong with looking, even if I no longer had a chance with him and was at the party with someone else.
He vanished down the hall, leaving me alone to stand guard. Reggie was probably stuffing the jewelry he’d stolen into his shoe or something. Paul hadn’t thought to take it with him, and I wasn’t about to go inside to retrieve it, either. As long as he didn’t try to run, everything would be okay. All I needed to do was stand outside the door and wait for Paul to return.
And miracles of miracles, I actually did what I was told.
8
Once Paul returned to take our jewelry thief somewhere secure, I went back to the ballroom in the hopes of talking to Will to explain what was going on. I felt bad for abandoning him, but what could I do? There’d been a murder, and apparently, to
top it off, some good old-fashioned thievery. I couldn’t sit back and do nothing.
Most of the guests were still milling around the ballroom, with the occasional groups leaving to explore. I don’t think barbed wire or threat of prosecution was enough to keep many of the people within the room. Not many of them seemed the least bit distraught that Jessica Fairweather lay dead just down the hall. Either I was dealing with a whole lot of heartless people, or she’d really rubbed everyone the wrong way. I was guessing it was more of a combination of both.
It didn’t take me long to spot Will. He was standing over by the punch bowls with Darrin, Carl, and two gorgeous women dressed in extravagant gowns with those small little masks on a stick. A flare of jealousy shot through me until one of the men put his arm around one of the women. The mysterious wives then.
The women were smiling and looking around like the conversation was an absolute bore. Darrin’s, Carl’s, and Will’s faces were strained, as if they were trying to have a good time but just couldn’t manage it. At least someone seemed to be a little upset by what was going on.
I gave Will a moment to see if he’d look my way, and when he didn’t, I decided to find the hero of the day, Lance, instead. I’d eventually want to officially meet Will’s friends and their wives, but not yet, and maybe not tonight at all.
My blond Hugh Hefner stood near the wall, talking with an Asian version of the Hef. They both looked surprisingly comfortable in their jackets, as if they’d worn them before. When I started their way, Jules noticed me and waved me over.
“Where are the bunnies?” I asked.
“Lance wanted me to come as Pamela Anderson.” Jules rolled his eyes. “He thought it was funny. I, on the other hand, would have felt like a fool running around in a red bikini.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. “Besides, I need to work out a little more before I attempt anything like that.”
“Think of the scandal,” Lance said with a grin. “Can you imagine? I’d bet half of the men here would have a heart attack. If I thought I could find one in my size, I very well might have tried on one of those Baywatch outfits just to see the looks on their faces.”
Death by Pumpkin Spice Page 7
