by Emma Belmont
Maris tilted her head a little as she dug into the scramble with her fork. “Honestly, I think Felix was just excited. He was pretty upset when he realized what he’d done.” She took a bite. The eggs, soft cheese, and scallions were luscious. “Mmm,” she muttered, nodding at Cookie. “Wonderful.”
Just then, there was the sound of tires on the gravel in front. Maris stood, poked her head into the hallway, and saw through the door’s window that the sheriff’s SUV was parking in front. Back at the table, she quickly dabbed her mouth with a napkin and took a sip of tea. “It’s Mac,” she said to Cookie.
“Oh right,” the chef said, her black eyes lighting up. “The re-enactment.”
Maris met Mac just inside the front door’s vestibule. “Good morning,” she said, with her usual cheer.
“Good morning,” he said, as he came in. He used his thumb to point back over his shoulder. “Isn’t it a little foggy to be eating outside?”
Maris gestured for him to come inside. “There’s been a bit of a falling out.” She led the way to the dining room. “Breakfast is served. Please help yourself.”
As Mac entered his smiled broadened. “That smells absolutely delicious. Good morning, Cookie.”
“Good morning, Sheriff,” she said and indicated the buffet. “Eggs scrambled with cheese, potatoes, and scallions.”
Though he grinned at her, he shook his head. “Much as I’d like to, I’m afraid I’ve had my breakfast.” He glanced at the carafe. “But is that coffee?”
“Yes indeed,” the chef said.
As Mac poured his coffee, Maris returned to her breakfast. It hadn’t escaped her notice that he had a manila folder tucked under his arm, and also a large envelope with a button and string clasp. Though he lingered next to the scramble, he moved past the warming trays and took a seat. He obviously hadn’t remained fit and trim by overeating.
“Next time you pay a visit at breakfast time,” Maris suggested, “plan on having something to eat here. I guarantee it’ll be worth the wait.”
Mac smiled at them both. “Well, thank you. I think I’ll do that.” He took a sip of his coffee and slid the manila folder forward. “I’ve got two things to share this morning. Neither as good as this coffee.” He opened the folder. “A search warrant and the autopsy report. The county crime scene unit will be here later to conduct the searches.”
“A search warrant?” Maris said. “I assume that’s because of the autopsy results.”
Mac nodded. “The autopsy report is on top.” Maris quickly scanned it.
Cookie set down her tea. “Searches? What could you possibly be looking for?”
“Nitrobenzene,” Maris and Mac said together. She’d placed her finger on the word near the bottom of the report.
“It was most definitely murder,” the sheriff said. “The blood work revealed nitrobenzene in Reggie’s blood. I’d thought maybe cyanide because the residue in the wine glass smelled bitter. But the coroner tells me it would have tasted just like a sweet wine, except with almonds added.”
“Almonds,” Cookie said slowly, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen.
“So it was nitrobenzene in the wine glass too?” Maris asked.
Mac nodded. “Confirmed by the forensics team.”
“Almonds,” Cookie declared. “It was on the tip of my tongue. Tarte aux Amandes. It’s what we had for dessert, a classic French almond tart.”
Mac arched his eyebrows at her. “Interesting.”
“The sweet smell of the dessert was everywhere that evening,” Maris added.
“And it was quite good,” Cookie said.
The sheriff smiled at her. “So we have the method now, nitrobenzene in the wine. And the opportunity, during the mystery game. But what we still lack is the motive.”
“Well,” Maris said, lowering her voice, “as far as motive goes, something developed last night during the Wine Down. It’s why Pammy is eating out in front, BJ under the balcony, and Felix out back.”
“Oh?” Mac said, closing over the manila folder.
“It turns out that Felix is starting his own gaming company,” Maris said. “He’s asked both Pammy and BJ to be his partners. BJ was extremely upset with the timing of Felix’s business move, although Felix said he’d been working for months to get an SBA loan—which was approved last week. But by accepting the loan and starting his own company, it seems to me that Whiz Kid Games was no longer Felix’s employer, but his competition.”
“Also interesting,” the sheriff said. “Especially since the murder would have to have been premeditated. Someone had to have brought the poison with them, and then waited for an opportunity.”
“I guess they found it,” Cookie said. Since both she and Maris had finished their breakfasts, the chef stood, picked up her plate and Maris’s as well. “Well, you two young whippersnappers,” she said in her tremulous old woman voice. “Shall we?”
Though Mac seemed a bit surprised, he undid the tie string on the large envelope and took out the gaming booklets. “Ready when you are.”
17
By the time Maris returned to the dining room, Pammy was coming back as well, bringing a mostly full plate. Maris noted the red rimming the artist’s eyes behind her big round glasses. She stopped in the hallway and ducked her head when she saw Maris, then looked down at her plate.
“Sorry about the wasted food,” she said quietly. “I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”
“No worries at all,” Maris told her as she took the plate. “Cookie composts for her garden.”
Pammy smiled a little. “Oh good.” She noticed the game pamphlets on the dining room table. “The game,” she said, her brows lifting. Then she frowned. “Are you going to play it?”
Mac must have heard them from the dining room, since he chose that moment to join them. “Not exactly,” he said. “We’re going to re-enact it.”
Startled, Pammy put a hand to her chest. “Oh, I see.”
Maris heard the back porch door, and a moment later Felix appeared in the living room’s doorway, looking at them all. He held an empty plate, as well as his coffee cup. He paused, looking as if he’d interrupted something.
“Mr. Ong,” Mac said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d join us. I have some information for everyone, as well as a request.”
He could hardly meet Pammy’s gaze, but she indicated the pamphlets in the dining room. “They want to do a re-enactment of the game,” she said to him.
“Actually,” Mac said, “the whole evening.” As Cookie returned from the kitchen, she took the plates from Maris and Felix. “We’re just missing Mr. Ridder,” the sheriff said.
Maris nodded. “He’s eating out on the side porch. I’ll go see if he’s done.”
Outside, she found him looking at his phone, as usual. “BJ?” she said to him, prompting him to turn it off, “the sheriff is here with some new information. I wonder if you could join us inside?”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.” He stood and picked up his plate. “Autopsy results?” he asked, matter-of-factly.
Maris followed him inside. “Yes, that’s right.” It seemed that the game developer had calmed down since last night’s angry tirade.
Inside, Mac had gathered everyone in the living room. “Mr. Ridder,” he said. “Good.” Then he removed the manilla folder from under his arm.
As Maris deposited BJ’s empty plate in the kitchen, Cookie finished loading the dishwasher. As they completed the cleanup, Maris could hear Mac going over the same forensics and autopsy reports that they’d reviewed earlier. By the time she and Cookie joined them, the questions had started.
“What in the hell is nitrobenzene?” BJ asked.
“It’s a solvent,” Mac said, “mostly used in combination with other things.”
“What other things?” Felix said.
“Household polishes and cleaners, for example,” the sheriff told him.
“In his glass?” Pammy said, making an awful f
ace. “How could he have drunk it?”
Mac tucked the manilla folder back under his arm. “It would have tasted sweet and smelled like almonds.”
“You’re kidding,” Felix said, frowning. “Then none of us would have been able to taste it.”
“Exactly,” the sheriff said.
“But who would have known we’d be having an almond dessert?” BJ asked, glancing around at everybody. Mac turned to Cookie and Maris, his eyebrows arched.
Cookie shook her head. “We didn’t know until the chef announced it.”
“The only one who might possibly have known was Reggie,” Maris said. “All we knew was that Plateau 7 would be catering.”
Mac took out his notepad and jotted down something quick. “All right then.” He closed it and looked at them all. “Felix and BJ, I’ve already mentioned to Pammy that we’re going to re-enact the game that you all played that evening. It’ll help me to get a better idea of everyone’s whereabouts. It’ll only take about an hour, if you three have the time.”
BJ only shrugged, but Pammy said, “I haven’t made any plans.” Then she looked at the floor. “It didn’t seem right.”
“Me either,” Felix said. “We were all supposed to be having fun.”
“Was that before or after you decided to make your own company?” BJ said snidely.
“BJ,” Pammy said, sounding exasperated. “Could you just drop it?”
In the tense silence that followed, Maris fetched the gaming pamphlets from the dining room and started passing them out.
“Did anyone leave the dining room during the meal?” Mac asked.
Everyone paused for a moment, then shook their heads.
“You couldn’t have pulled me away with a tractor,” Cookie said, making everyone murmur in agreement.
“It really was good,” Pammy agreed.
“Say what you will,” Felix put in, “Reggie knew food.” There were nods of agreement from Pammy and BJ.
Maris added, “The only one who came and went was Chef Fournier. He was staging the courses in the kitchen.”
“How long did dinner last?” the sheriff asked.
Again there was silence, until BJ said, “Not long enough.”
“I’d estimate,” Cookie said, “about two-and-a-half hours, tops.” She gazed around the room and got a few nods of agreement.
“All right,” Mac said, looking at his pamphlet, “take me through this.”
For the next hour, they all positioned themselves in the various rooms and went through their movements, made easier to remember by the game books. Maris served invisible wine in real glasses, and everyone tried to remember where they’d seen them during the evening, particularly Reggie’s. As Mac occasionally took Reggie’s position on the floor, even Mojo joined in again.
From time to time, they all spoke their character’s lines and the sheriff would visit the different rooms, noting locations, people, and glasses, in order of game play. Maris noted that little real conversation took place today, unlike during the actual game. But despite the fact that it was just a quick run-through, it felt complete.
In the end, however, the sheriff had to conclude what Maris had already suspected. There’d been virtually no time in the evening when they’d all been together—until they’d quit. In fact, there’d been ample opportunity for each of them to have circulated unseen by most of the other players. Not even Maris and Cookie could swear to the other’s location for the entire evening. As Reggie had intended, the game had used the Victorian B&B to its full.
“I’d say this was a bust,” Felix said, tossing his pamphlet to the coffee table. “In terms of game play, it works well. It was designed to get people moving around and coming together in little groups. It’s a shame we weren’t going to publish it.”
Mac got up from the floor, as Mojo gave a plaintive little meow. The sheriff gave him a scratch behind the ears. As he straightened, he picked up the glass and said, “Thanks for your time, everyone. I appreciate the help.”
There was a knock at the front door. When Maris went to the hallway, she saw who it was. “Mac, the crime scene team is here.”
As she went to let them in, she could hear Pammy behind her. “Crime scene team? What are they going to do?”
“I have a search warrant,” the sheriff replied. “The team is going to search the premises.”
18
As Maris and Mac looked on from the second floor’s large hallway, the crime scene unit went methodically from one room to another. Cookie had returned to the kitchen, and Pammy, BJ, and Felix had decided to wait downstairs. Maris could hear quiet murmurs of their conversation. Though she couldn’t make out any distinct words, their tone seemed to have returned to polite.
“There’s really very little chance that they’ll find anything at this point,” Mac said, arms crossed as he watched through the doorway. “But we’ve got to give it a shot.”
Maris thought back to how she’d washed everything in Reggie’s room. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might be destroying evidence. It’d just seemed the right thing to do so that the other guests didn’t see the rumpled sheets and an unmade bed.
“When I made Reggie’s bed…”
Mac held up a hand. “No worries there. The forensics team had been over everything. They gave me the all clear.” He fixed his gray eyes on her, smiling. “And I gave the all clear to you.”
They both returned to watching the search. In each of the guest rooms, the two female investigators methodically went through everything: from the luggage and dressers to the trash can. Though cameras and evidence bags stood by, nothing of suspicion or importance had yet turned up.
Even so, the gloved investigators in their dark blue windbreakers remained alert. The younger blonde went through the trash and looked under the bed, while the older, heavier brunette went through the contents of the luggage and also everything the bathroom. She opened every bottle and sniffed it, no matter if it was shampoo or mouthwash.
It seemed that none of the guests had used the dressers, although they’d all hung clothes in the armoires.
The team had already searched BJ and Felix’s room, and seemed to be almost finished with Pammy’s.
“Sheriff,” said the younger woman from inside Pammy’s room. “I think you should have a look at this.”
He immediately strode inside and Maris shifted sideways for a better view. The young lady held up what looked like some sort of black cloth in her gloved hand. Mac peered at it as she turned it around so he could see it from different angles.
“Men’s socks,” she said.
“Yes,” Mac said, glancing around the room. “Where did you find them?”
“In the bed,” the other woman said, pointing to the bottom of it. “Under the sheets, at the very bottom.”
“Good work,” Mac said, nodding. “Bag and tag, please. Then I’d like to have them.” He turned back to the door as her partner retrieved an evidence bag. “Maris, would you mind asking Ms. Sheehan to join us up here?”
Though Maris turned to go, she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. During the last couple of days, she’d seen nothing to indicate that Pammy was involved with any of the men. But Reggie’s death had been upsetting and stressful for everyone, including herself. Was it possible that she’d missed something?
By the time Maris reached the living room, conversation came to a stop, and all three guests looked up at her. She turned her gaze to the artist. “Pammy, the sheriff would like a word.”
“With me?” she said, almost jumping to her feet. She glanced at BJ and Felix, who looked equally surprised. “Well, I don’t know what I can tell him.”
Maris gave her a kind look and gestured for her to precede her. They climbed the stairs in silence, and Mac met them at the top. He had the thin black socks in a clear plastic evidence bag. Before he could question her, Pammy gaped down at the bag.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“If I’m not mistaken,” he said, h
olding them up. “They’re men’s black dress socks.” He turned the bag so she could have a better look. “Do you recognize them?”
“Me?” she said, her voice pitched high. “Why would I recognize men’s socks?”
He lowered the bag. “Because they were found in your bed.”
Her head cocked back as though he’d thrown cold water in her face. She even had to sputter. “My bed?” She stared into the bedroom where the two investigators were packing up. “Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so,” Mac said. “Any idea who they might belong to? Or is it possible that you wear men’s socks?”
Pammy scowled at him. “No I don’t wear men’s socks. Don’t be ridiculous.” He held them up again, but she vigorously shook her head. “I don’t know where they came from, or whose they are.” She looked at Maris. “They were in my bed?”
Maris nodded. “It’s true. I was here when the team discovered them.”
Pammy shook her head again, but this time hugged herself around the middle. The older investigator cleared her throat. They all had to back up a pace as the two women came through.
Mac handed the bag to the younger woman. “Thanks,” he said to her, before they made their way down the stairs and left.
“They’ll be examined for even the smallest amount of organic material,” he informed Pammy. “DNA will hopefully reveal to us who they belonged to.” He paused and regarded her. “If they belonged to Mr. Atkinson, you might want to tell me that now. Sometimes that sort of action can sway a judge.”
“A judge?” she blurted out. She looked frantically from him to Maris and back again. “They couldn’t be Reggie’s because he said–” She stopped suddenly, as her pale skin flushed a deep red. “Anyway,” she said angrily, “they’re not his.”
Mac raised an eyebrow and glanced at Maris. “All right, Ms. Sheehan. I don’t have any other questions for now.”
“Fine,” she said, not looking at either of them. “I’m going for a walk.” In moments she’d stomped down the stairs and slammed the front door on her way out.
