“That’s when the cop pulled in,” Charles spoke up again. “Too little, too late, but we did clear out as soon as we realized our mistake. We’re not imbeciles.”
“Wait just a damned minute.” Nate shoved a hand through his hair, dragged it down his jaw. “Why would you think the death was staged and why the hell did you assume that gave you permission to crawl all over my scene?”
All eyes turned to me.
Traitors.
I squirmed as Nate approached with menacingly long strides. “Maddox Storm, I should have known,” he growled by way of greeting.
“Nate, it’s not what you think.”
His gaze lowered and got stuck.
I curled my toes into the squishy ground, conscious of my naked feet, but of course that’s not what had caught his eye.
He moved around me to get a better look at the bodies on the ground. “Is that…?” He squatted, tipped Joe’s chin up to the silvery moonlight. “Maddox, this is your husband.”
“I didn’t kill him,” I blurted out for some unearthly reason.
“No one killed Joe or Miss Crawley,” Jenna jumped in. “They fainted.”
Nate reached over Joe to feel Miss Crawley’s throat for a pulse. Satisfied that we weren’t a pair of psychotic murderers, he took another look at Joe, then glanced up at Jenna. “Fainted, huh?”
“Yip.” She lifted her face away from him to study the starry night. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
FIVE
I flopped into the armchair before the unlit hearth in the library with an uneasy sense of déjà vu. Oh, I wasn’t facing Detective Bishop across the stately leather-inset desk and he hadn’t brought out his notepad, yet, but the intensity of his sharp gaze made me feel like a guilty bug under a microscope all the same.
Jack had taken everyone’s statements earlier, but I was the only one who’d been hauled back in for a bonus round with Nate.
“I suppose I’m your number one suspect,” I sighed, trying not to appreciate how his biceps rippled beneath that long-sleeved ribbed t-shirt as he perched on the arm of the chair opposite me.
“Why would that be?” He watched me with those smoky grey eyes, dragged a hand through his messy brown hair and down over his chiseled jaw. “Because you stood by and watched your guests trash my murder scene, knowing full well they might have misconstrued the situation as some elaborate production in your mystery weekend schedule?”
“You give me far too much credit,” I retorted, not doing myself any favors in the intellect department, but goodness, did he honestly think I’d masterminded tonight to deliberately thwart his investigation? “How was I supposed to know they’d assumed poor Lydia Fieldman’s murder was just all part of the fun? And FYI, I distinctly told them that the murder would occur between nine and eleven in the morning. It’s not my fault they thought I’d lied to spice things up a bit.”
“It never is,” Nate muttered beneath his breath.
I glared at him. “I heard that.”
“Okay, so I’ll humor you,” Nate said, a slow smile hitching his mouth. “Let’s say you’re completely blameless in all things. Why would you think you’re top of my list?”
I clammed up. We’d been down this road before and I was a whole lot wiser than the last time. Nothing was off-record when it came to Nate. Anything I said could and probably would be used against me.
Nate tipped forward, cocked his jaw, warmth creasing into the corners of his eyes as he looked at me. “Hey, this is me. Even when you were my number one suspect, you never really were.”
I swallowed hard. That reveal had come straight after our first—and only—kiss. Nate had worried how it would look, him being the lead investigator not investigating me—the number one suspect. I’d been horrified at the unjust accusation, naturally, but that wasn’t the lump in my throat now. I was thinking about his lips slanting over mine, the dip in my stomach, the desire threading through me, his ragged breath against my cheek, the hungry look in his eyes.
“Maddox?” he prompted.
I pulled myself together and dusted off the cobwebs in my head so I could think straight. This was exactly the sort of thing Nate excelled at, distracting one with charming grins and sizzling memories and, before you knew it, you’d offered up your first born child. Or, as the case may be, innocent information that he’d somehow twist to incriminate you. I liked Nate, I really did, but everyone had their faults.
“It’s late and my brain is scrambled.” I made a show of checking my wristwatch for emphasis. “Just drop it, okay?”
Actually, it was early, one o’clock in the morning kind of early. I’d brought everyone back to the house ages ago, but Nate had only just returned. The body had been removed, apparently, but the Forensics team was still busy out there.
“I can’t help you out of whatever bumbling mess you’ve made now if I don’t know what it is.”
Angry heat flushed prickles up my throat. That kiss? Hisssstory. “I haven’t bumbled into anything! I just had a suspicion about the rope, so I checked it out when I got back, and I was right. The rope I was supposed to hang Jenna with is missing from the wicker basket.”
“There are so many things wrong in that sentence.” Nate pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head. “I’ll need to take a look at the basket.”
I nudged my chin sullenly toward the corner. “I smuggled it in here for safekeeping earlier, while Jack was taking statements.”
“You didn’t mention this to him?”
“He was busy.”
Nate gave me one of those looks of endless patience before he pushed to his feet and went on over to examine the basket.
“You’ll be pleased to hear that it’s unlikely we would’ve been able to pull prints from this,” he said. “You probably didn’t smudge any potential evidence.”
“I knew that.” I so totally did not, hadn’t even thought I might be smudging the murderer’s prints, but that confession would go to my grave with me.
Nate pulled his phone out and made a call. To a member of the Forensics Unit by the sound of it.
When he was done, he turned to me. “They’ve confirmed the rope has a trick clasp that was knotted over and a store tag. The Treasure Chest?”
“They have a dress-up costume section in the back.” My stomach cramped. There was no more denying it. I’d invited a killer into the house. “That’s where I bought it.”
“One of your guests is our murderer.” His brow creased deeply. “Which brings me to the reason I actually asked you in here, Maddox. Have you considered alternative accommodations for these people?”
“I already made the call.” I’d have to put up the cost, but what else could I do? Who’d want to spend the remainder of their weekend at a crime scene? “Fortune Paradise has rooms available.”
“Good,” Nate said. “I won’t have you spending the night under the same roof as a murderer.”
My spine stiffened, but I didn’t comment on that possessive statement. It had been one heck of a night and I had no wish to prolong it.
“Come on.” I stood and led the way from the library into the adjoining lounge.
My gazed skimmed the room while I waited for the chatter to subside. Jack had stationed himself in the archway between the lounge and reception area, as if guarding the exit against would-be escapees. Miss Crawley had made a remarkable recovery, but Joe still wore a somewhat dazed expression.
Jenna rushed up as soon as she saw me. “What’s the plan?”
Nate stepped forward. “We’re getting rid of everyone so we can wrap things up.”
“And he means that in the nicest possible way,” I told Jenna. “You, of course, are welcome to stay the night if you still want to.”
She sent me a curious look. “Did you just stick up for him?”
“No, that was a subtle reprimand,” I assured her. “Too subtle, obviously.”
Unimpressed, Nate placed himself in the spotlight and called for attention. �
��On behalf of Hollow House, I’d like to apologize for the disruption and any inconvenience. You’ll be pleased to know that Ms Storm has made arrangements for you to transfer to another hotel, the Fortune Paradise, and, um…”
He stalled as he glanced over the room, probably taking note of the sea of night-robed guests, possibly Charles Sitter’s bobbed nightcap in particular. “Right, so you may want to get dressed, pack your bags, and, well, if you could please do so as soon as possible—”
“Unacceptable.” Charles shoved his hands into the bulky pockets of his robe and puffed his chest out. “No one packs Charles Sitter the Fourth off anywhere, my young man. I’m staying right where I am.”
Ella Parker lifted her head from where it drooped on her husband’s shoulder. “Not going anywhere,” she slurred. “Staying right here.”
I dismissed the Parkers as the least of my concerns. Her husband was lights out, head thrown back against the sofa pillows, and Ella wasn’t far behind. They’d stay wherever I put them and likely not remember how they got there come morning.
“Fortune Paradise?” Julie Brown sat straighter, adjusting her spectacles. “That gaudy hotel with all the flashing neon lights?”
“It’s very modern and upbeat,” I spoke up quickly. “And I’ll cover the expense, of course.”
Jonas’ elbow slid off the bar counter as he turned to fully face me. “We paid for a weekend at a country manor, not some cheap roadside motel.”
I ran a hand across my forehead, soothing the ache that had begun to pulse there. “You’ll get a full refund, Mr Mayer.”
“Jonas,” he corrected with a wave of his hand. “We’re long past formalities.”
“Jonas…” I gave a small nod, smiled.
“I flew up from Denver for this,” Mason chimed in.
Great! I sucked in a deep breath. “We can certainly discuss a refund for that as well.”
Nate turned his back on the difficult crowd and stepped closer to speak in a low voice, “You’re not obligated to pay for his damn plane fare, Maddox.”
“I’m not sure it matters at this point,” I grumbled. “He’ll have to fight the bank for it, anyway.”
“Maddox, dear?” Miss Crawley had crept up on us to peer around Nate’s shoulder. “I don’t believe you have a proper grasp on the problem here.”
Unfortunately, I believed I did. My ungrateful guests had taken one look across the lake and decided they deserved an upgrade. “We simply can’t afford rooms at Lakeview Spa Retreat. Mr Hollow would need to take out another mortgage and he already has two.”
She shook her head, unsettling a silvery curl from its neat coif as she stepped around Nate. “You’re dealing with the GRIMMS.”
“Thank you, Miss Crawley,” I pushed through a gritted jaw. “I’m well aware how grim the situation is.”
“Hey, it’s not that bad.” Jenna linked an arm in mine. “If they want to be stubborn about Fortune Paradise, I’ll have Jack put them up in a holding cell for the night. We’ll see how much they like that.”
“GRIMMS.” Miss Crawley huffed delicately (and yes, apparently that is possible.) “The Grand and Illustrious Mystery Masters Society.”
My mouth sagged open.
“Grand and Illustrious?” Jenna scoffed. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”
Miss Crawley did not let Jenna’s scorn distract her. “I did a little digging into your guest list after I retired earlier this evening.”
“You have resources to do background checks?” Nate said.
“I’ll plead the fifth on that,” she said, a smile twitching her lips. “In this case, however, Google proved sufficient.” She patted my arm. “I wasn’t snooping, dear, I was just being thorough. Nowadays, one can never be too careful about who you associate with.”
“What exactly are you saying?” I asked her. “That some of my guests are members of this GRIMMS?”
“All of your guests, dear. Well, besides me, if we’re being accurate,” she added. “My membership lapsed in ’94.”
I turned from her, my enlightened eyes skipping over the room.
Jack was still stationed in the archway; Burns was napping in the stately gold and brown damask wingback chair. Joe had wandered over to join Jonas at the bar and was in the process of pouring himself a drink. Ensconced on the same sofa as the dozing Parkers, Mr Hollow was nursing a large glass of port and looking no more disgruntled than usual. Julie Brown perched on the edge of her chair. Mason Sash and Charles Sitter stood near the French doors that opened onto the terrace.
And Lydia Fieldman, of course, was dead.
My gaze retraced the path from guest to guest and hardened. One of them was a murderer. All of them were deceivers, pretending to not know each other.
Or maybe I was being paranoid.
“Is GRIMMS mainly an online club?” I asked. “I mean, is it possible they don’t even recognize each other as fellow members?”
“Jonas Mayer, perhaps,” Miss Crawley told me. “The others, however, are Honored Masters and besides their induction ceremony, the society hosts an annual banquet and attendance is mandatory for the Honored Masters.”
I glanced at her. “Were you an Honored Master?”
“Goodness, no. I only dabbled in master sleuthing, something of a hobby.” She chuckled softly, then grew serious. “The point I was trying to make, dear, is that you’ve given them a genuine murder mystery to solve instead of the usual whodunit out-of-the-box variety.” She pursed her lips, giving me a sympathetic look. “They’re not going anywhere, I’m afraid.”
“We’ll see about that.” I braced myself for the fallout and addressed them in a firm, no-nonsense voice. “I’m truly sorry for the upheaval, but remaining here is not an option. If you’d prefer to find your own accommodation, then we’ll cover any cost up to the same value as Fortune Paradise.”
“You can’t kick us out,” Charles said in a haughty tone.
Julie Brown stuck her nose up so high, she had to peer at me through the bottoms of her spectacles. “You’ll regret this.”
“You will,” Miss Crawley murmured. “The Honored Masters are responsible for approving—and blacklisting—new venues. If they veto Hollow House, you’ll never host another murder mystery weekend again.”
“That won’t be an issue,” I informed her. “I’m done with murder, real or otherwise.”
Nate stepped in. “Folks, come on, don’t let’s forget that someone is dead.”
“And we intend to find out who did it,” Jonas said. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve solved this case and seen justice done for Lydia.”
“Couldn’t have said it better,” Charles grunted.
“Good God,” Nate breathed out. “I’m dealing with a litter of Sherlock Holmes wannabes.”
I raised my voice and spoke to the room, “I’m sure you appreciate the situation is beyond my control.”
“You’re the proprietor, are you not?” said Julie. “I don’t see anyone else throwing us out in the cold of night.”
“We’ll sue,” Jonas threatened.
“They will,” Miss Crawley said. “They’ve done it before.”
Who were they going to sue?
The state?
“Hollow House is a crime scene,” I reminded them. “There’s nothing I can do if the police have decided to close us down until further notice.”
“Balderdash.” Mr Hollow fumbled for his cane and lurched to his feet. “No crime has been committed at Hollow House. That tree stands a good five yards past the border of my property.”
Are you kidding me?
I hustled myself on over there before he could do any more damage. George Hollow was an irascible old dodger, and my partner. Fifty-fifty on paper, but that was for the inn as an ongoing business concern. The stake I’d bought with Joe’s money specifically excluded any fixed assets, such as the house and grounds, and that tilted the balance of power heavily in Mr Hollow’s favor. Actually, it also excluded non-fixed assets like furnit
ure and the family portraits, thank goodness.
Mr Hollow saw me coming. His shaggy white brows burrowed in and he straightened his rail-thin frame.
I’d changed into flats after scrubbing the mud from my feet and the top of my head levelled out with this chin, which made it technically impossible for me to scowl down on him. That didn’t mean I couldn’t give it my best effort.
“What are you doing?” I whispered somewhere in the region of his ear.
“Setting the record straight,” he said with a harrumph.
“I’m trying to calm the situation and avoid a lawsuit.” I pulled back to glare up at him. “And you are not helping.”
“Be that as it may,” he said after a moment’s consideration, “I’ll not have people thinking there’s been another murder at Hollow House.”
“But there has been another murder at Hollow House,” I said, thoroughly exasperated.
“No, there hasn’t.” He stomped his cane on the floor for emphasis and said loudly for everyone to hear, “That woman was not murdered on my property. Hollow House is not a crime scene.”
“Stop doing that!” I was ready to tear my hair out. I lowered my voice, leant in close again. “How am I supposed to kick these people out when you keep telling them I’ve got no legal reason to do so?”
“Oh, let them stay,” he said with a benevolent air. “They’re not nearly as tedious as I’d feared. If I can put up with them, then so can you, Maddox, since you’re the one who invited them.”
“It has crossed your mind, has it not,” I snipped, “that one of them is a murderer?”
“Of course it… What…?” He swallowed with visible difficulty, paled as he snuck a furtive glance around and then promptly slumped back down in his chair.
Okay, so maybe it hadn’t crossed his mind. Seriously?
Ella Parker gave a sigh of pure contentment without bothering to wake up, tucked her legs in on the sofa and snuggled deeper into her husband’s side.
Julie Brown popped up from the edge of her chair. “Now that everything’s settled, I’ll be off to bed.” She nudged her spectacles and gave a restrained yawn. “It’s been quite an evening.”
The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) Page 4
