The chief cocked his head toward the dining room. “Bring in two of those chairs for us, Wade.”
The officer placed the mahogany dining chairs facing the sofa and sat in one of them.
The chief remained standing. “I understand you’re all here as a group to plan a wedding, and I’m sorry I have to give you bad news. Tonight we responded to an emergency call placed from this house. When we arrived, we found Fawn Finchley dead.”
Jennifer covered her mouth with her hand. “Fawn’s dead?”
Noah’s eyes bugged out. “Was it an accident or—?”
“We’re treating this as a suspicious death.”
Jennifer wiped the corners of her teary eyes. “You mean Fawn was murdered. Why would anyone kill her?”
The intonation surprised Val. What did Jennifer’s emphasis on her mean? That Fawn had been too nice to kill or too insignificant?
Sarina shrugged. “Maybe she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Or with the wrong people,” Granddad muttered.
The chief stepped closer to the sofa. “I’d like to know when each of you last saw Fawn Finchley.”
Sarina tapped her fingers on the arm of the sofa. “I saw Fawn near the bandstand around eight, just as the opening ceremonies were starting, but I didn’t talk to her. There was a crowd between us.”
“That was long after I saw her,” Jennifer said. “We all walked to the festival from here around five o’clock. We hung around there for a while and stopped to pick up the crab hats. Then we split up. I went to meet my fiancé for dinner at a restaurant on Main Street.”
“Is your fiancé from this area?” the chief said.
Jennifer shook her head. “He lives and works in Washington, D.C. His parents have a vacation house on the bay fifteen minutes from here. He’s staying there this weekend.”
“What’s his name and how can we reach him?”
“Payton Grandsire.” Jennifer rattled off her fiancé’s phone number.
Grandsire. If Payton was the son of the Mrs. Grandsire Val knew from the racket and fitness club, then Jennifer would have a formidable mother-in-law. Penelope Grandsire’s bread-and-butter shot, the one she relied on to win points, wasn’t a backhand or a lob, but a straight-in-the-kisser bullet at her nearest opponent. Of course, she couldn’t intimidate every player with that shot, only those who wanted to keep their own teeth.
“What did you do after dinner, Ms. Brown?” the chief asked.
“Payton went back to his parents’ house, and I walked to the festival park for the fireworks. I looked for Fawn and Sarina, but I didn’t find either of them. For a second I thought I saw Fawn in the crowd, wearing a crab hat, but it could have been someone else about the same size.”
About the same size. Val tensed, remembering the crab hat lying near Fawn’s body. Large enough to cover most of the head and part of the face, the hat would make hair color and style hard to discern in dim light. Could the murderer have mistaken Fawn for someone else wearing a crab hat? Fawn and Jennifer were close in height, both of them shorter than average . . . as was Val. All three of them had worn a dark top and a crab hat tonight. What’s more, Val and Fawn had both worn jeans.
Val flashed back to the moment when she’d sensed someone following her this evening. Chef Henri had seen her in an outfit similar to Fawn’s. An image of his face contorted with rage sprang into her mind. Her throat narrowed. She clutched her neck. The strangler might have intended to kill her, not a weekend guest.
Chapter 4
Val grasped the edges of the ottoman to steady herself. The idea that someone hated her enough to want her dead made her feel weak. A few months ago, a murderer had stalked her and, having failed to kill her on the first attempt, kept right on trying. Would she once again have to look over her shoulder at every turn?
The chief left the sitting room to confer with the medical examiner. With Officer Wade still in his seat, everyone in the room remained silent, giving Val a chance to collect her thoughts.
Henri might have tailed Fawn to the house, believing her to be Val. Once here, though, Fawn had gone inside the house to melt chocolate for her fondue snack. It wouldn’t have taken long for her to do that in the microwave. Meanwhile, Henri might have crept around the perimeter of the house, checking if others were inside or if his prey was still alone. Then Fawn went out to sit in the backyard.
Chief Yardley returned to his seat next to Officer Wade. “Where were we? Ms. Brown, you couldn’t find your friends at the festival. What did you do then?”
“When the fireworks ended, I waited around for a while, hoping to see Sarina or Fawn or Noah. I didn’t, so I walked back here alone and went up to my room. While I was reading and sending e-mails, I heard someone in the hall bathroom . . . Sarina, I assumed, because she and I share that bath.”
“What time was that?”
“No idea.” Jennifer looked at the woman next to her. “Do you know, Sarina?”
“I don’t generally check my watch when I use the facilities.” Sarina turned toward the chief. “I’m sure you want to know how I spent the evening.” She didn’t wait for him to confirm that. “After we bought the crab hats at the festival park, I walked back to Main Street to visit the so-called art galleries. I stopped at the wine bar for a light meal and went to the fireworks. When they ended, I waited for the crowd to clear out and then walked back here.”
The chief turned to Noah. “And you, Mr. Hurdly? How did you spend the evening?”
“After we all split up, I walked around the festival area for a while and then went to Main Street to eat. While I was waiting for my meal, I got a text from Fawn.”
Jennifer leaned forward. “Fawn texted you? About what?”
“She wanted to talk to me and suggested we get together for dinner. I told her no. I’d ordered my meal already and figured I’d be ready to leave by the time she got there. I assumed we’d have another chance to talk this weekend.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If we’d had dinner, maybe we’d have watched the fireworks and walked back here together, and she wouldn’t be dead.”
Sarina dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “You can’t blame yourself for what a crazy killer did.”
“Did Ms. Finchley text you often, Mr. Hurdly?” the chief asked.
“No! I just met her this afternoon. She must have gotten my phone number from the wedding party contact list Jennifer sent out a few days ago.”
“Any idea what she wanted to discuss with you?”
“Her text didn’t say. You can read it for yourself.” Noah pulled out his phone, poked at the screen, and handed over the phone.
The chief looked at it, frowned, and passed it to Officer Wade. “Copy that text message . . . exactly. Between the abbreviations and misspellings, I can only guess what it means.”
For the first time since they’d gathered in the sitting room, Val felt she had something to contribute. “Noah, you had a te—” she stopped herself from saying tête-à-tête, though that’s what it had been. “You had a talk with Fawn this afternoon. Do you think she wanted to continue that conversation?”
“Possibly. She needed some legal advice.”
Sarina’s usual frown smoothed out as her eyes widened. “Fawn asked you for legal advice this afternoon?”
She’d doubtless assumed, like Val, that Fawn had been flirting with Noah. He might have thought that too, until Fawn set him straight. No wonder he’d been in no hurry to meet her for another chat.
Jennifer shook her head. “Poor Fawn. She was drowning in debt. She co-signed some loans with her deadbeat husband. When she said she wanted a divorce, he emptied their accounts, took off, and left her to pay off the loans.”
Noah nodded. “That’s what she told me.”
Sarina raised her eyebrows. “She didn’t act like someone drowning in debt. Always smiling. Half the time jumping for joy.”
“How well did you know her, Ms. Rafael?” the chief asked.
�
�I met her two weeks ago, when Jennifer invited the bridesmaids to dinner. I already knew the other two, but not Fawn.”
Jennifer nodded. “Fawn and I recently reconnected. We went to the same high school, but lost touch for ten years. Then we bumped into each other at the airport last month. We went for a drink . . . well, quite a few drinks. I asked her to be a bridesmaid so I’d have one old friend at the wedding.” She sighed. “I won’t, after all.”
Val felt sorry for Jennifer, who’d instantly drafted someone she hadn’t seen for a decade into her wedding party. She also had to put up with a bad-tempered maid of honor.
“Any idea how to reach Ms. Finchley’s next of kin?” the chief asked.
Jennifer rubbed her temples. “Her parents, the Schranks, might still be living in Franklin. They didn’t like Bo Finchley. Fawn broke off contact with them when she ran off with him. Her mother’s first name is Mercy. I don’t remember Mr. Schrank’s first name, but I can tell you where they used to live.”
“Give that information to Officer Wade, please.” The chief stood up. “I want to thank you for your cooperation. I hope you’ll stay in Bayport, even though this young woman’s death will make that hard for you. The first forty-eight hours after a crime are crucial. I can’t force you to stay here, but if you don’t, you may have to return to provide information. Please contact us if you recall anything that slipped your mind tonight—something Ms. Finchley said, someone you glimpsed her speaking to this evening, or any details about her, even if they seem unimportant.”
The chief cautioned them not to talk to the media about the crime or the victim. He would release that information when appropriate.
Once the police and the guests had left the sitting room, Val moved from the ottoman to the sofa. “Why don’t you go to bed, Granddad? I’ll stay until the police are finished here.”
He yawned. “No, get on your way to Monique’s house. There’s nothing you can do here. But don’t oversleep in the morning. You gotta be here to make breakfast.”
Ten minutes later, Val was on the road to her cousin’s house. Monique lived on a peninsula with a creek on one side and the bay on the other. Val never drove there at night without remembering the time an SUV driver had followed her from town and forced her off the narrow road, the first of several attempts to get rid of her.
Tonight, when she saw headlights in the rearview mirror, she thought about Chef Henri. What kind of vehicle did he drive now to replace the classic car he blamed her for wrecking? If he’d meant to kill her and realized his mistake after strangling Fawn, would he try again? Possibly, but not tonight. He wouldn’t have lurked around the house with the police there.
Still, Val kept an eye on the rearview mirror. She breathed more easily when she turned into Monique’s driveway and the car that had been behind hers kept driving toward the end of the peninsula.
The hall light was on, though the rest of the sprawling ranch house was dark. Monique had left a note for Val, telling her to sleep in little Mandy’s room. With no one else around, Val was spared from talking about the murder, at least for tonight, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. If only she hadn’t suggested Granddad rent his spare rooms—well, she had. And now she would deal with the consequences, one of which might be that Fawn was dead instead of her.
* * *
At six thirty in the morning, Val went into her cousin’s retro kitchen–family room. The coffee machine sputtered, gurgled, and filled the room with an enticing aroma. Monique stood at the counter, the rest of the family apparently still sleeping. Tall and slim, she looked like a model even in wrinkled pajamas. Her long hair was sleek and shiny enough for a shampoo commercial.
She looked up from scrolling through photos on her fancy camera’s display. “Hey, Val. Did you sleep well?”
“Better than I expected. What are you doing up so early?”
“Looking at the photos I took yesterday.” Monique filled two mugs with coffee and put them on the counter. “I’ll be running around all weekend, taking pictures. They’ll be for sale on the festival website. I hope to place a few in Chesapeake Bay Magazine and the local newspapers.”
Val sat at the counter, cradling the coffee mug. “You’re branching out from wedding photography?”
“I’d like to.” Monique took the seat next to her at the counter. “Tell me about your grandfather’s weekend visitors.”
“They came to plan a wedding here.” Between sips of coffee, Val described each of the guests briefly. She put her mug down. “Now for the dramatic conclusion. I’m not supposed to give any details about this, but the bridesmaid died suddenly last night in our backyard.”
Monique’s eyes widened. “That’s horrible.”
“The police haven’t said how she was killed, but they’re treating it as a suspicious death. Don’t tell anyone until the police make it public.”
“I can’t believe you’re connected with another murder.”
“Even worse than just connected to it, I might have been the intended victim.” Val summarized her encounter with Chef Henri. “I’m afraid he might have mistaken the bridesmaid for me in the dark.”
“Did she really look like you? Was her hair like yours?”
“No one’s hair is like mine except Granddad’s forty years ago. Fawn had light brown hair, flipped up at the ends, but her crab hat would have covered her head. The bride and I were about the same size as her. We all wore crab hats, so it’s hard to say who the real target was.”
“Don’t you think a murderer would check that the person he’s about to kill is the one he wants dead?” Monique didn’t wait for an answer. “You sound paranoid. Understandable, after the murders the last few months.”
Val welcomed her cousin’s skepticism. “Okay. Let’s test if a crab hat could have disguised Fawn’s identity. If I can grab pictures of Granddad’s guests from social media sites, can you use your photo editing software to put crab hats on them?”
“Sure. I’ll need Fawn’s photo, but why don’t you just ask the rest of them to put on crab hats? Then take a picture of them.”
“They’d want to know the reason. I’d rather not tell the bride she might have been the intended victim unless I know for certain that she resembled Fawn with the hat on. The maid of honor and the best man are my control group for this experiment. In crab hats those two won’t look as much like Fawn as Jennifer and I do.”
“I think you’re worrying for no reason. Do you really think a celebrity chef would murder you in cold blood?”
“I’ve met some vicious chefs. W. H. Auden said murder is more common among cooks than members of any other profession.”
Monique laughed. “You have trivia for every occasion. Chef Henri can’t get away with murder during the day at the festival. Too many witnesses. But in case your hunch is right, don’t walk anywhere alone at night.”
“I won’t. What are you doing with Mike and Mandy while you take pictures at the festival?”
“Maverick’s parents are driving here from Philadelphia today to babysit this weekend. They’ll stay in the guestroom. That’s why I put you in Mandy’s room and the two kids together.”
“Once the police are finished with my bedroom, I can move back in, but I’d be less nervous if I wait until the guests leave Monday.”
“Stay as long as you like. The kids love the bunk bed in Mike’s room. They take turns sleeping on the top bunk.”
Val hopped down from the stool at the counter. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll see you at the festival.”
“Aren’t you going to stay for breakfast? I’m making something special. The kids always want cold cereal, but it’s time they had more variety. I’m going to fix oatmeal with chicken broth and avocado and cheese. Doesn’t that sound yummy?”
Cold cereal sounded yummier. Monique ruined perfectly good comfort food like oatmeal with her elegant variations. At least Val had an excuse for not eating her cousin’s concoction. “Busy morning. I’m making breakfast for Granddad
’s guests and going to the café to get the food ready for the booth.”
“What are you fixing for breakfast?”
“Lemon ricotta pancakes with blueberry syrup.” One of Val’s favorite breakfasts, but maybe someone else would say she was ruining perfectly good pancakes. “Thanks for the coffee. Come by my booth and take some pictures.”
“I will. See you later.” Monique went back to looking at photos on her camera.
Early in the morning the road to Bayport was nearly empty. Val made it to her grandfather’s house by seven. The guests expected breakfast by seven thirty. She parked in the driveway and went in the side door sandwiched between the sitting room and dining room. Not a creature stirred in the house.
She moved the twelve-cup coffee maker to the counter in the butler’s pantry between the kitchen and the dining room. If any guests came down early, they could help themselves. She started the coffee brewing and set out mixing bowls, flour, and sugar on the island counter in the kitchen.
She was zesting a lemon when ferocious barking startled her into zesting the skin on her finger. RoboFido had detected motion. The noise stopped within seconds. It hadn’t taken Granddad long to turn off the gizmo, but he might not have done it soon enough for Noah, whose room was above his. Unless the best man was a deep sleeper, the barks would have woken him up. Better him than Sarina. She would storm down the stairs in protest at the noise.
Val washed the zester and rinsed the knuckle she’d scraped.
Granddad came into the kitchen. “I remembered to turn off Fido before I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, but I forgot this morning. Did you hear the barking?”
“Loud and clear. How did you sleep?”
“Badly. Kept thinking about that nice girl lying there dead. You know, she reminded me a lot of you.”
Not a welcome comparison.
“She really didn’t look anything like me.” Val took a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.
He sat down at the kitchen table. “I wouldn’t say that. You’re about the same size. She was cute like you, not hot like the bride. Her disposition reminded me of the way you used to be.”
Final Fondue (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) Page 4
