“What’s up?” I asked, closing the door behind me.
“Interfering cops, that’s what.” Alicia slammed a frying pan down onto the gas stove.
Thank goodness the burners are heavy metal, I thought, before forcing a smile. “Have they been in the house again this morning?”
“Yes, asking all sorts of stupid questions.”
I strolled over to the counter where the percolator bubbled and hummed. “What about, or can’t you say?”
“Some coat and hat they found out near the carriage house. Stuffed into a plastic bag that was shoved inside that gardening bin under the windows. Guess they thought the killer used it as a disguise or something. ’Course, as I told them, I know nothing about it.”
I poured coffee into one of the white ceramic mugs Alicia had set out on the counter. “Neither do I, which is what I’ll tell them when they ask.”
“I’m sure they will. They seemed pretty darned interested in figuring out who hid that stuff there.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” Realizing I was stirring the creamer in my coffee furiously enough to whip butter, I removed the spoon and placed it on the tray set up to collect dirty utensils. “If the killer used those items to cover their clothes …”
Alicia shook her head. “No blood on them, from what I heard. Or overheard, I should say.” She cracked an egg into the pan with one hand before glancing over her shoulder at me. “I may have listened in on a couple of the younger officers. Chatty lot, I must say.”
“Which means they probably weren’t worn during the murder.” I pondered this as I sipped my coffee. “Maybe the killer was going to use them for a getaway but decided against it. Or realized they could slip away without any disguise.”
“Could be. Or it might just have been a guest from another event. Someone could’ve stored those items there for some kind of surprise, then forgot all about them.” Alicia waved her spatula through the air like a baton. “It was an old trench coat and fedora, from what I heard.”
“Overheard,” I said, my lips quirking upward.
“Well, if you want to get technical …” Alicia tugged her hairnet over some loose curls spilling down the back of her neck. “Anyway, the coat and hat looked like items from the thirties or forties, according to those cops. Like something a guest might’ve worn to the party we held for the Dashiell Hammett weekend.”
I took a long swallow of my coffee as I watched Alicia expertly flip the eggs. The older woman seemed determined to find areason the garments would’ve been hidden in that garden bin—a reason unrelated to the previous night’s party and murder. Which raised my curiosity as well as the hair on my arms.
“I suppose that’s possible,” I said, deciding that alerting Alicia to my suspicions was not a smart move. “They took the coat and hat away for analysis, I suppose.”
“Yep. Sending them to the lab, they said.” Alicia lifted the perfectly cooked over-easy eggs with the spatula and slid them onto a plate. “Could you carry this into the dining room? Mr. Kepler’s in there all by his lonesome. I thought I’d make something to order.” She turned and held out the plate. “There’s also some toasted English muffins and bacon in the warming oven.”
“Sure.” Taking the plate from Alicia, I looked her squarely in the eyes. “The carriage house key never showed up?”
“Nope. Nor that knife. Got asked about them again too.” Alicia wiped her hands on her apron. “Vanished into thin air as far as I’m concerned, I told them.”
“I’m sure the police will eventually sort it out.” I kept my tone light. Staring into the housekeeper’s dark eyes, I tried to imagine her as a murderer. It seemed improbable.
But definitely not impossible, I thought, as I collected the muffins and bacon from the warming oven.Not if it meant protecting Isabella Harrington’s reputation and the solvency of Chapters.
I carried the full plate into the dining room, where Scott sat at one of the tables, reading the morning paper.
“Ah,” he said, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. “Smells delicious.”
“Ms. Simpson went all out for you this morning.” I set the plate in front of him. “Eggs cooked to order, no less.”
“Thanks.” When Scott looked up, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes.
“No problem. The others haven’t come down for breakfast and I think Alicia was eager to cook for someone.”
“Well, I can certainly understand Jennifer and Tara Delamont not being interested in food.” Scott picked up the pepper grinder. “They’re the only other guests here, right?”
“Yes. The Rowleys are staying on their yacht. Although, surprisingly, I had a message from them about tonight’s scheduled book discussion.”
Scott, grinding pepper over his eggs, didn’t look up. “You’re going ahead with that?”
“I thought maybe I should. It’s not the guests’ fault everything has gotten so messed up. I thought I’d try to keep to the schedule as much as possible.” I gnawed the inside of my cheek for a moment. “The Rowleys and the local people have all agreed to come back, so we’ll have around six participants tonight. Of course, you’re welcome to join in if you wish.”
