Joe crossed his arms and tilted his head as he examined me. I noticed for the first time that he had purple circles under his eyes, either from extreme fatigue or crying. Maybe both.
“I really want to get to my room,” he said, looking in the direction that Presley had just wandered.
“Maybe you two could take a walk and chat first?” Savilla suggested, as if we were two old friends going for a stroll instead of suspect and interrogator going off alone. “Or we could see if the sheriff is available to arrange a better time to chat?”
The words were perfect, the right level of threat and encouragement.
Joe hesitated one more second before realizing that I was the better option than actual law enforcement. “Sure.” He put on a fake gentlemanly tone. “A moonlight stroll in the garden, perhaps?”
“What about the solarium?” I suggested, swallowing back the lump of fear rising in my throat. Did I really want to be alone with a potential murderer? I found my voice. “It’s still moonlit, but out of the chilly night air.”
I didn’t add that it was also close enough to the ballroom for an officer to hear if I screamed.A ridiculous thought, I chided myself. Even if Joe had something to do with Brett’s death, he wouldn’t dare threaten me. I was the girlfriend—or whatever—of the lead investigator, after all.
Then I thought of Dr. Bellingham and Katie Gilman alone together at the back of the property four months ago, and aboutbursting out of a hidden tunnel to find him hovering over her, threatening her despite the fact that they were both pageant judges and Katie was related to a Finch. Some men had no qualms about hurting women, regardless of their position or rank.
But no, this was different. It had to be. I knew Joe. I did.
EIGHTEEN
Stiffening my back and my resolve, I tromped quickly through the Color Gallery toward the back of the house and took a left, Joe silently following behind me. After a few minutes, we were walking down stone steps and into the glass-paned solarium, which didn’t seem to have been properly cared for in the months since Mr. Finch’s death. Only the innermost rows of plants, the succulents, remained alive, while every potted plant by the windows was either completely gone with brown stalks proceeding from dry dirt, or struggling between life and death.
The familiar spider design of the archways rose above us, the structure like eight legs meeting in the center of a giant arachnid. The moon was bright and streamed through the high windows between the arches, and several old-fashioned lamps hung from the ceiling.
I stepped into the center of the room, where two chairs faced one another. As I nudged one chair, Joe passed behind me and I bumped into him. Because he was several inches taller than me, my shoulder wedged him in his rib cage.
“Watch it.” Joe scowled at me.
As he took a seat, I could see all the different versions of Joe I’d known over the years: the six-year-old who’d rescued abird, the class clown in middle school who couldn’t keep out of trouble, the boy I’d really liked for about three ridiculous weeks in high school, and the wanderer who couldn’t seem to get his life together.
“Youwatch it,” I told him, falling back into our childish dynamics. Perhaps it was a defensive instinct, a response to the fear of being alone with him, or perhaps I was just finding my courage. Regardless, I was determined to get answers in the next few minutes. This guy was guilty of something, and I wasn’t about to let Lacy—or anyone else—take the fall for a crime she didn’t commit.
“What’s your problem with me?” Joe asked, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees.
“Besides the fact that Brett Brinkley died after drinking a cocktail you made him?”
Joe shook his head and settled back into the wicker chair. “I didn’t kill Brett.”
That’s what a murderer would say.
“Whatever,” he breathed, as if he could read my mind. “I’m exhausted and need to check our inventory in the kitchen before getting a few hours’ sleep.”
“I was in there earlier, talking to my aunt,” I said, not mentioning the fact that I’d gone through his things and taken a CD. “I noticed that you had a pretty big order of rhubarb.”
He squinted at me, likely trying to figure out what I was playing at. “Yeah, so I over-ordered. I’ll use it for a couple of pies tomorrow and throw out the rest.”
“The roots and the leaves are poisonous. I saw a bunch of stalks with leaves still attached.”
“Everything is poisonous in large enough quantities. Apple seeds, peach pits, tomato leaves.” Joe listed them off on his fingers as he kept his eyes on mine. “That doesn’t mean that I somehow used a giant pile of rhubarb to… what? Kill Brett?” Healmost laughed as he realized what I’d been thinking. He inched closer to me. “Is that what you suspect me of? You think maybe I dried out the leaves, ground them up, slipped a fine powder into his drink when he came to the bar? He ordered two or three drinks, so maybe I’d been slipping it in all night until it finally took effect.”
I squirmed uneasily. I didn’t like this Joe. I much preferred the one who would down an entire bottle of ketchup on a dare.
Joe was just getting started though, his eyes widening as he mocked me. “Maybe I even made sure that my bartender would call in sick, so I would have to fill in for him. That way I could act surprised that I needed to be on bar while I did my deadly deeds.”
Joe looked like he was about to issue a maniacal laugh just to make fun of my line of reasoning, but when he saw how uncomfortable his words were making me, he pulled back. “Look, I don’t know if you’re jealous that DeeDee’s been helping me with the business or?—”
“You think I’m jealous?” I couldn’t believe his nerve. So what that my aunt had been helping a young entrepreneur get a start? So what that I was flailing about what to do when I graduated and hadn’t even broached the topic with her?
A rush of heat crept up my throat. Shoot. Was Joe right? Did I want my aunt to be helpingme? Did I want her to work bymyside to get a practice up and running? I hated that Joe might be more aware of my motives than I was.
