“Please, Miss Delamont,” she said, “this is neither the time nor place for such accusations. I believe you’ve already expressed this opinion in your interview. We will follow up on that information as well as everything else we’ve heard.”
Tara flung out her hands in a dramatic gesture. “It’s not just an opinion. My father had some dirt on her great-aunt. Something about the old lady stealing books and other stuff when she worked at a rich family’s house. That’s why Ms. Reed killed him—she didn’t want that story to come out and ruin her business.”
“What are you talking about?” Jennifer Delamont yanked the kerchief from her head and used it to fan herself. “I never heard any such thing.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Tara’s full lips curled into a pout. “It’s not like Dad told you. Or me, actually.” She tossed her head, dislodging another one of her braids. “I found out Dad had some incriminating info on Ms. Reed’s great-aunt.”
“How did you discover any such thing?” Jennifer asked, her gaze focused on her daughter. Her jaw, which had been clenched,relaxed, and I put two and two together. Apparently, Lincoln’s wife had been expecting a different revelation. She was obviously aware of her husband’s dalliance with Julie and was relieved Tara hadn’t uncovered anything about that particular secret.
“I saw it in Dad’s appointment book. Yeah, I snooped, but he’d left it in your suitcase for anyone to see. I found it when we were in my room getting ready for the party, and you sent me to look for some more pins for my hair. Remember? You told me to check the suitcase in your room, so I did. And there was Dad’s book, with a piece of paper sticking out of it, so …”
Jennifer pursed her lips. “You read it? That wasn’t right, Tara, no matter what.”
“I just wanted to see what letter or memo was so important that he’d keep it stuffed in his appointment book.” Tara focused on the tips of her slippers poking out from under her long skirt instead of meeting her mother’s gaze.
Poor thing, I thought, realizing that Tara had been dealing with suspicions of her father’s infidelity.She probably felt torn apart and figured it was better to know, one way or the other. I bet she hoped that piece of paper was a love letter or something. Just to have the proof.
“And this paper included something about my great-aunt?” I asked, keeping my tone as gentle as possible.
Tara lifted her head and shot me a fierce glare. “Yeah. He’d scribbled notes, like a memo to himself or something. It was info on someone called Isabella Harrington. That caught my attention because I remembered from Ms. Reed’s welcome talk that Ms. Harrington used to own this house. Anyway, Dad mentioned something about her stealing rare books and other stufffrom her former employers, and using the money she got from her crime to buy this house and set up a fancy library.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, my voice sharpening in spite of myself. “My great-aunt was no thief.”
“Oh yeah? Dad seemed pretty convinced.” Tara met my gaze without faltering. “I bet that’s why you stabbed him. You had to shut him up before he revealed your family’s dirty secret.”
I took a deep breath before I could trust myself to speak. “Nonsense. I wouldn’t kill anyone over an old scandal.”
“I think we’d better halt this conversation right now.” Detective Johnson cast a sharp glance at Tara. “You’ve already expressed this opinion to my partner, Miss Delamont, so there’s no need to say anything more. If there is any truth in it, we’ll find out soon enough. For now, I suggest you resist the urge to broadcast your suspicions. You don’t want to muddy our investigation with unsubstantiated rumors.”
“But it’s the truth,” Tara whined, before her mother grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room.
“So sorry for that. I regret that you’ll have to live with those two for the next week.” Detective Johnson buttoned up her jacket before gazing speculatively at me. “Of course, we have to investigate her claim, but I do apologize for the unsubstantiated accusation.”
“Investigate me all you want. I have nothing to hide,” I said, my mind racing with thoughts of Lincoln’s earlier insinuations of blackmail. I should’ve mentioned that up front, during my interview. If I brought it up now, it might look like I was trying to cover up my guilt.
Which doesn’t exist, I reminded myself.So why worry?
But I was concerned—for Alicia, if no one else. I’d confided in the housekeeper about Lincoln’s threat to expose a scandal from Isabella’s past. What if my careless confidence had spurred the older woman into silencing the bookdealer?
“We’ll clear out now,” Detective Johnson said. “From the house, I mean. Naturally, we’ll continue to gather evidence from the crime scene and will need to speak with you, your staff, and your guests again.”
“Of course. Whenever you want,” I replied, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of Alicia stabbing Lincoln Delamont.But then again, I thought, as the detective left the room,maybe Tara’s just pointing fingers to lift the shadow of suspicion off herself. She did tell her mother she wished her father was dead.
I shook my head, hoping to clear the haze that filled my mind. No, Tara might’ve been angry over his refusal to allow her to pursue her dreams of stardom, but surely that wasn’t enough to drive a young girl to kill. Besides, there were any number of people who might’ve wanted the bookdealer dead, including his wife. Jennifer could’ve become enraged when she realized her husband’s lover was one of the party guests. And then there was Julie, who’d been involved in a relationship with Lincoln—a relationship she’d thought quite different from what it actually was. Julie, who’d spent plenty of time in Chapters’ kitchen, could’ve easily grabbed a knife, found that key, and convinced Lincoln to meet her in the carriage house …
I exhaled and sank back down into the armchair. Every option for a culprit was worse than the last. A wife, a daughter, a coworker, or my friend—all of them had had a reason to hate Lincoln Delamont, as well as the opportunity to kill him.
The tap of shoes against the wooden floor made me sit up. “Scott, hello. I suppose you want to know which room to use?”
“If you don’t mind.” Scott set down a suitcase and adjusted the strap of the briefcase hanging over his shoulder. “The police helped me collect a few things from the carriage house. Just the essentials and my laptop, but it will do for now. If you can show me to a spare room, I’ll get out of your way.”
“I thought the Children’s Room,” I said, rising to my feet. “No one was using it, so it’s clean. Just follow me.”
Upstairs, I ushered him into the large bedroom, which had one wall lined with bookshelves, like every other room in the bed-and-breakfast. But the decor in this room was decidedly more fanciful than in the other suites. Antique toys served as bookends for the books, which included brightly colored paperbacks as well as leather-bound volumes of children’s classics shelved alongside hardbound picture books. Reproductions of famous illustrations by Beatrix Potter, Arthur Rackham, and Maurice Sendak decorated the pale-yellow walls, while the bed was a canopied affair that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a setting described by Frances Hodgson Burnett.
I fluffed the bed pillows as Scott dropped his suitcase in front of a wardrobe whose size and style suggested that it might lead to Narnia. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. I know everything looks like an antique, but the mattress is actually quite new.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” Scott surveyed the bookcases. “Plenty to read. That’s always a plus.”
