Murder On The Bride's Side Part 16

"Should what?" Bridget demanded, hands on hips. "Let the police handle it? Well, we did that and look how that worked out!"

Elsie sighed and rubbed her eyes. "I have to agree with Bridget. I fear the police have made up their minds." Turning to me, her blue eyes grave and lined with worry, she grabbed my hand. There was a tremor in her normally firm grip. "Elizabeth," she said, "I don't know if you can help or not. But I'll be forever indebted to you if you can do anything for Harry."

All thoughts I had of protesting my ability to be of any real a.s.sistance died in my throat. I nodded. "Of course I'll help," I heard myself saying. I ignored the looks that Peter and Colin shot my way. Apparently, their opinions of my talents were not far from my own.

Bridget turned to me. "Okay, now that that's settled, here's what I had in mind. First, we need to get some electronic equipment . . ." The rest of her plan, which no doubt involved bugging bedrooms and G.o.d knows what else, was mercifully cut short by the arrival of Avery. Slumped low in his wheelchair, he stared at us with lackl.u.s.ter eyes. Behind him, Millie gently guided him to us. Her hair was still sc.r.a.ped off her face in a severe bun, and she still wore her starched nurse's uniform, but she was somehow different. I peered at her, trying to identify the change, when it hit me. Millie was wearing makeup. It wasn't obvious; only a slight addition of rouge, a touch of mascara, and a hint of eye shadow. However, given the stark plainness of her face, even these small changes made quite a difference.

Avery looked up at Elsie. Seeing the expression on her face, he simply asked, "What's happened?"

As if pulled by the same puppeteer's string, every head in the room swiveled in Elsie's direction to see how she was going to tell Avery that Harry was the lead suspect in Roni's death.

Elsie paused. It was enough to alert Avery that something was amiss. Elsie is many things, but she is rarely at a loss for words.

A wary expression crept into Avery's eyes. He sat up straighter in his chair and glanced around the room.

"Where's Harry?" he demanded.

Elsie's hands clenched. "Avery, I hate to tell you this, but the police are interviewing Harry downtown. Graham is getting a lawyer."

Avery turned to Graham, who put the mouthpiece of his phone to his chest and said, "I'm on the phone with Jake Martin now. He's one of the best defense lawyers in the state. Don't worry, we'll take care of this."

Avery shook his head in disbelief. "But I don't understand. Harry? Why do the police think Harry did it?"

Why would the police think Harry killed Roni? I silently echoed. Was he kidding? Given the kind of woman Roni was, it was more of a question of finding someone who hadn't wanted to kill her. I averted my eyes. I didn't want Avery reading my expression. I noticed I wasn't alone. Around me, numerous heads ducked low.

Elsie's did not. Staring calmly into Avery's questioning eyes, she said, "Because he didn't like her, Avery. Unfortunately, someone made sure the police knew that."

"But that's ridiculous," Avery began and then stopped. Taking a deep breath, he nodded his head in silent acknowledgment that what Elsie had said was true. Raising his eyes again, he asked, "Who told the police?"

No one answered. Again all eyes were on Elsie. Squaring her shoulders, she answered him with one curt word. "David."

Avery's complexion flared bright red and he gripped the rails of his chair so tightly that the veins on the backs of his hands popped forth in an angry blue maze. I glanced at Millie in concern. Her eyes were riveted on her patient.

At that moment, as though bidden by all thoughts in the room, David himself wandered in. From the empty cup clutched in his hand, I a.s.sumed he was in search of more coffee. An uneasy silence prevailed as we all stared at him. Pushing free of Millie's grip on his chair, Avery angrily wheeled himself to where David stood.

"You," Avery spat out. "You fed the police your perverted theory that Harry killed Roni, didn't you?"

"Avery . . ." David said. I don't know what he planned on saying in his defense because he got no farther. Avery latched on to David's hand and viciously yanked him down to his own eye level. David tried to pull away but failed. Avery was holding on to David's arm with a death grip. It was not without cost. Beads of sweat broke out on Avery's pale forehead. "I'll see you rot in h.e.l.l, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" he hissed.

Heaving his body backward, David broke Avery's grip. Avery struggled in his seat, intent on getting at David. Stunned, I watched him plant his feet on the wheelchair's footrest and push himself forward. Millie saw the movement, too. Her face a mask of horror, she burst out, "Avery! No!" Rushing to him, she firmly pushed him back into his seat by the shoulders. "You must remain still. Please," she added in a lower voice. Turning his chair so that he no longer faced David, she said, "We must get you some orange juice. You need to get your blood sugar up." She quickly pushed him toward the kitchen. No one pointed out that there was a large pitcher of orange juice on the sideboard.

Once they were gone, Elsie rounded on David like an irate tiger. "Get out of here," she said, her voice shaking with anger.

David shifted his sizable bulk aggressively, but there was uncertainty in his eyes.

Elsie took a menacing step toward him. Through clenched teeth, she bit out, "I'm only going to ask you once." She took another step toward him, raising her cane high above David's head. Earlier, when Elsie had confronted David, I wondered if she was going to bash him over the head with her cane. This time, there was no doubt. David's eyes opened wide as he reached the same conclusion.

The room fell silent; all action came to a halt. Julia and Blythe stopped soothing Megan, their hands frozen in midair. Megan's sobs ceased and Graham stopped pacing.

"Claire!" I yelled, as David stumbled backward away from Elsie, lost his balance, and fell into an ungainly heap.

Claire ran in from the terrace, her cell phone in her hand. Her eyes went from Elsie's outstretched arm and cane, to David sprawled on the rug. The color drained from Claire's face. "Mother! You didn't!"

"No, I didn't," replied Elsie, with more than a little regret in her voice. "But that doesn't mean I won't. Now get this jacka.s.s out of my sight, or I swear to G.o.d there'll be another body going over to the county morgue today!"

"Go upstairs, David," she hissed. "Now."

For once David didn't resist Claire's advice. Pulling himself to his feet, David shot Elsie a look of malice and turned and left. When the sound of his footsteps echoing to us down the long hallway faded, Claire turned to Elsie. "I will not allow you to threaten my husband," she said. "I don't know what he said to that detective about Harry, nor do you. Until we do, you leave him alone. Do you understand?"

Elsie did not speak. Slowly, she lowered the cane and nodded. "Fine, Claire. I'll leave him alone-for now. But if I find out that he was responsible for getting Harry arrested, I'll-"

"You won't do anything," said Claire, turning to go. As she left the room, headed after David, I heard her mutter, "I will."

CHAPTER 17.

No good deed goes unpunished.

-CLARE BOOTHE LUCE Minutes later, Claire and David left. They were having lunch downtown. If there was to be any kind of calm, it was obvious that David would have to be kept away from Elsie. And vise versa.

My hope that David's departure would result in a chance for sensible ruminations was ridiculously short-lived. No sooner had the front door slammed than Bridget yanked Colin, Peter, and me into the foyer. Anna skittered after us, her tail wagging in antic.i.p.ation of a walk.

Bridget lost no time. Laying her palms on the hall table, she leaned toward us, her gaze stern. I'd seen that look before, and it did not bode well: Bridget had gone into battle mode. "Colin," she said, her voice brisk, "I want you and Peter to keep everyone downstairs. Elizabeth and I are going to search everyone's room, starting with David's."

"Are you crazy?" I yelped. Next to me, Anna sensed my agitation and barked excitedly.

"Hush, they'll hear you," Bridget admonished. It was unclear if she was talking to me or the dog. "Look, this may be our only chance. We don't know how long Claire and David will be gone. If we want to help Harry, we need to work quickly."

Words failed me. I turned in mute appeal to Colin, but he had been struck dumb as well. Only Peter retained the power of speech.

"You want us to what?" he stammered. It wasn't a brilliant oration, I'll admit, but inasmuch as it was five words more than I was capable of stringing together, my heart swelled with pride.

"Come on, guys," Bridget pleaded. "Harry is at the station right now; they're probably getting ready to arrest him. He's my cousin, for Christ's sake! I have to help him. I don't know what else to do!"

"But what do you think you'll find?" asked Colin.

"I don't know, really," Bridget admitted. "I realize it's a long shot, but then again you never know-we might actually find something that helps Harry. Someone killed Roni. It wasn't Harry. We need to find out who it was!" she finished, slapping her hand on the table. The lacquered blue-and-white vase shuddered in response, sending yellow rose petals plummeting to the table.

Bridget stared at me, her eyes pleading. The idea of rummaging through the Matthewses' personal belongings made my stomach twist in protest, but she was right-there was a murderer on the loose. I knew Harry didn't do it, and despite Bridget's conviction that David was the killer, I wasn't convinced. Which meant that the killer was probably in the house this very minute. The hairs on the back of my neck rose at this thought. The last thing I wanted to do was get caught searching the room of the person who'd brutally stabbed Roni. However, from the steely expression in Bridget's eyes, I realized that she was going to search with or without me. I couldn't let her do that alone.

I glanced at Colin and Peter. From the expressions on their faces, I think they felt as positive as I did about our endeavor. My left temple throbbed. Then my right. Then both eyeb.a.l.l.s. After that, I gave up tracking the pain.

"I need aspirin," I mumbled.

"There's some in my dopp kit," said Peter. "Grab yourself a few while you're in there searching."

"Very funny. Have you any idea-" I began but was interrupted by Bridget.

"Come on! Enough chitchat. Let's move!" Grabbing my hand, she yanked me down the hallway and up the stairs. Anna padded happily along. With a cautious glance in both directions, we crossed the hallway to the door of David and Claire's room. I felt like we were teenagers again, sneaking back into the house after curfew. Except this time, the repercussions if we got caught were far worse than being grounded.

With a quick twist of the k.n.o.b, Bridget swung the door open and marched into the room. After glancing uneasily over my shoulder to make sure we hadn't been noticed, I threw myself in after her and shut the door behind me.

David and Claire's large room held a mahogany queen-size four-poster bed and two ma.s.sive dressers. The walls were a soft white, and the linens and upholstery were various shades of green and blue. On either side of the bed, a long window overlooked the side terrace. To the left of the bed was a blue-and-green-striped club chair and matching ottoman. A crumpled blanket and sheet thrown across the chair indicated that it had also served as a bed.

Bridget crossed to one of the dressers. Yanking open the top drawer, she stuck her hands in and felt around. After a second, she gave a triumphant cry.

"What is it? Did you find something?" I asked, pushing my frame off the door.

"You could say that," Bridget said. In one hand she held a pair of men's black dress socks. In the other was an empty vodka bottle. "I'd say it's a safe bet that this is David's dresser," she said, proudly thrusting the bottle toward me.

"I would have thought the black socks would have told you that."

"Whatever. I'll search this one. You get Claire's."

"Claire's?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yes, Claire's. I don't suspect her, of course, but David might have hidden something in her things."

"Hidden what?" I asked.

"That's what we're looking for!"

Reluctantly, I thrust my hand into the drawer and prayed that "something" wasn't in there.

We were in the room for only about ten minutes, but it felt like two hours. My palms were sweaty and my nerves were shot. Every noise, every creak sent a fresh wave of adrenaline pumping through my veins. I half expected someone to burst into the room and attack us. Pathetically, our efforts yielded two empty vodka bottles and a pack of rubbers. Finding the latter among David's things had escalated my headache to that of a migraine. It also explained the nausea.

Unfortunately, our dismal results did nothing to dampen Bridget's enthusiasm. If anything, she grew more determined.

"Okay, so we didn't find anything," she said, as we cautiously slid out into the hallway. "We'll just have to keep searching."

My right temple throbbed again and I remembered that Peter had aspirin in his room. "I'm going to Peter's room," I said, turning in that direction.

Bridget followed. So did Anna. "Hey," she said, "I don't think we need to search there, do you? Unless . . . do you think that David might have planted something in Harry's things?"

"What I think is that you're crazy," I replied. "I just need some aspirin."

She didn't seem to hear me. "I wonder if that's what he did," she muttered to herself. "I wouldn't put it past him. He steals the necklace, then panics and hides it in your room. Maybe he thought he was putting it in Harry's room. He goes around half drunk, I could see him making a mistake like that. It might explain why he was so intent on pointing the finger at Harry this morning."

I ignored her and entered Peter and Harry's room, aka the green room. The room was actually painted cherry red. Its name came from Elsie's father. He had been color-blind, a limitation he steadfastly refused to acknowledge, and to him, the red looked green. He always referred to it as the green room, and eventually the name stuck. Even if David was three sheets to the wind, I doubted that he couldn't notice he wasn't in a bright red room.

I opened the leather dopp kit on the dresser and dug through it. I pulled out bottles containing vitamin A, B, C, herbal supplements, and No-Doz, but no aspirin. I was wondering when Peter had become such a health nut when I realized that I was digging through Harry's kit. I quickly repacked it and found Peter's kit and the aspirin two drawers down. Shaking two tablets from the bottle, I glanced up at Bridget. Seeing that she was intently searching the closet, I dumped two more into my palm for good measure.

As soon as Bridget declared that the room was "clean," we returned to the hallway. Thirty minutes later, we had finished all the rooms-David's, Harry's, Millie's, Elsie's, and even Roni's. All we had learned was that David preferred light vodka, Harry was a health nut, Millie was painfully neat, and Elsie had a stash of miniature Snickers bars in her nightstand. Roni's room, which we'd hoped would shed some light on her murder, was the worst. Her flowery perfume still lingered in the room-a faint, sickly reminder of her presence. We were forced to nix a search of Avery's room as it was downstairs and we doubted we could get in and out unseen.

We returned to my room. I collapsed on my bed, the four aspirin starting to take effect. Bridget restlessly paced the floor.

"Nothing," she moaned. "We found nothing. If only we had more time . . ."

I was only half listening. Events and facts swirled in my head. I was missing something-something important-something about the time of the murder. If I could just remember what it was. Suddenly, the increasingly murky surface of my brain cleared and the solution to the puzzle swam to the surface.

"Wait!" I cried, pushing myself off the bed so suddenly that Bridget started backward. "I think I have it!"

CHAPTER 18.

Santa Claus has the right idea; visit people once a year.

-VICTOR BORGE Within minutes, I was once again seated opposite Detective Grant in the study. Only this time, I was in a good mood. Although Peter would need to speak with Detective Grant himself, I hadn't pulled him into the room with me yet. First, I wanted to confirm that my suspicions were correct.

"You said that the murder was committed between one and three A.M.?" I said.

"Yes," said Detective Grant slowly.

"Then Harry couldn't have done it!" I cried triumphantly.

"I see. And how do you figure that?" he asked, leaning back into the desk and folding his arms across his wide chest.

"Wait and I'll tell you!" In two quick strides, I was across the room. Swinging open the heavy door with a flourish, I looked out into the living room for Peter. Once again, Chloe stood close to his side. I swallowed the words I wanted to shout and instead merely bit out, "Peter! Can you come here?"

Within seconds he was in the doorway. I ushered him in and shut the door. With a wary glance at Detective Grant, he asked. "Are you all right? What's happened?"

As there weren't enough hours left in the day to coherently catalog all the things that were currently wrong with me, I opted to ignore his first question and focus on the second. "According to the coroner, Roni was killed between one and three A.M.," I said. "If that's true, then Harry couldn't have done it! You and I were with Harry right after his fight with Roni." Peter nodded. I continued. "Immediately after which, Harry took a shower while we waited for him in the hallway. And then . . . he went to bed. And . . ."

Realization dawned in Peter's eyes. "And I was with him the rest of the night!" he cried.

"Exactly!"

Detective Grant did not share our enthusiasm. His bulky frame remained reclined against the desk. "Yes, but that doesn't mean that he didn't leave the room once you fell asleep" was his calm reply.

"But he didn't-he couldn't have!" said Peter.

Detective Grant's brows snapped together. "Why not?"

"Because I couldn't get to sleep last night. I stayed up reading until around three! After that, I tried to sleep but Harry snored like a jackhammer. Trust me, if he had stopped, I would have noticed."