Something was missing.
I closed my eyes and imagined the conversation with Mrs. Finch, the scent of vanilla and caramel and something else.
“It’s not a secret that she and Mr. Finch enjoy their liquor,” Jemma said.
“My predecessor was called out here a couple of years ago when things got too rowdy one night after the pageant,” the sheriff acknowledged. “But the police report didn’t mention Mrs. Finch.”
“Who did it mention?” I asked.
“I’m afraid that’s classified.”
“But this crime scene, or whatever it is, isn’t classified?”
“I can use my discretion about who I allow to help me with a case.”
“And you’ve selected me, a family member of a primary suspect?”
“You know what they say: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” He seemed to immediately regret the words. “Not that you’re the enemy.”
Jemma was watching us like this was a tennis match, her head bobbing back and forth between us, a small smile on her lips.
“Look, I haven’t slept in almost thirty hours and…” He let out a long breath. “I’m not exactly beloved in Aubergine after beating one of their hometown boys for the job. This is my first real incident”—I wasn’t sure that was the word I would use for whatever this pageant had become, but sure—“and I would appreciate any insights you can give.”
It wasn’t exactly a truce, but it was a show of vulnerability.
My eyes fell on something I’d noticed last night when pouring Mrs. Finch glass after glass. Open on the side table was the honeypot with the purple bee and white flower.
I took a tissue from a box nearby and picked up the honey jar, sniffing it. Grapes. That was the missing scent. “Last night Mrs. Finch took her whiskey neat, but it looks like she used honey this morning.” I handed the jar to the sheriff. “Better have this tested.”
“And maybe a few shards of glass,” Jemma added. “Just in case something was in the cup before she poured the drink.”
“My officers are already on it.” The sheriff scratched at his jaw. “Can you tell me who else was in her apartment yesterday evening?”
“Savilla, Katie Gilman, Doris Davis—but she left after a few minutes.”
“Was Dr. Bellingham here?” the sheriff asked, startling me. Did his list of suspects match mine? When I didn’t answer, he clarified his thinking. “The other two judges were present, so I assumed…”
“No, but later, I was with Dr. Bellingham in the ballroom,” Jemma interjected. “He was on the dance floor with contestants all evening.”
“At the Jewels and Gems party,” I added. “I was there too but left early.” I skipped mentioning the ledger I’d taken from the Finches’ cabinet or the insurance policy I’d found. But I recalled the Polaroids in my purse.
Lacy was right. He needed to know about those.
“Hopefully whatever the lab finds will match whatever is in Mrs. Finch’s system.”
I opened my clutch. “What were her symptoms?”
“The medics said she was unconscious. Elevated blood pressure, irregular heartbeat. She’d broken out in a cold sweat. Signs of poisoning.”
Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled out the Polaroids and read the message—the words implying that my Aunt DeeDee had killed not one but two people—one more time,before handing them over to him. I considered briefly whether or not I wanted Jemma to see the coded message, but I was fairly certain that she’d had nothing to do with them. Yes, she wanted to win, but I felt in my gut that she wouldn’t risk being caught cheating—or murdering—to do so.
“These were in my bed when I woke up this morning, but they could’ve been placed there before I got to my cottage last night.” I laid them on the settee.
The sheriff studied the images. “This thing in the center of the photos… it’s a sash?”
“A pageant winner’s sash. My aunt’s, specifically. It’s hanging in her office.”
“Has anyone else seen these?”
