“Excuse me while I see if Alicia needs any help in the kitchen.” I motioned toward the desk. “Please, help yourselves to the hors d’oeuvres and drinks. And go ahead and start the discussion if you want. I won’t be long.”
As I left the room, I reached out and patted Julie’s rigid arm. “Glad you’re here.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Thought I’d better be. I know how people would talk otherwise.”
I opened my mouth to say something about no one thinking Julie was a murderer, but clamped my lips shut instead. I might not believe she was guilty, but I knew others could be eyeing her as the culprit.All the more reason for me to keep looking for evidence that will point the finger elsewhere, I thought.
In the kitchen, I conferred with Alicia about any additional food for the event before stepping out the back door. A little fresh air sounded like the perfect antidote for the headache throbbing behind my eyes.
A police officer was no longer stationed at the back door. But there was still one officer monitoring the area around the carriage house. I strolled over to the perimeter established by yellow caution tape. “Everything quiet out here?” I asked the woman.
“No sign of trouble so far.” The officer shifted from one leg to the other.
It had to be uncomfortable to wear a full uniform, including a gun holster, in the June heat. “Can I get you some water?” I asked, allowing my gaze to sweep over the carriage house. Police activity had torn up the grass around the building, but at least the azaleas that flanked the front door had remained undamaged.
“Why sure, water would be great,” the officer replied, pushing her hat back so she could wipe her damp forehead with her hand. “Pretty hot out here tonight.”
“Yes, it is. I’ll grab you a bottle, or at least have one brought out to you.” As I considered whether I could spare the time tocarry out the water myself or would need to ask Alicia’s help, my attention was captured by a flash of purple in one of the azalea bushes. It wasn’t a blossom, as those were already faded and, anyway, they had been pale pink. This looked like sunlight bouncing off a small, faceted object …
“Hold it. There’s something caught up there, next to the door.” I pointed toward the azaleas.
The officer turned to examine the shrub. “Yes, there is. Wonder how the investigators missed that.” She pulled a pair of evidence gloves from an inside pocket of her jacket and slipped them on.
“It was dark out, even with the patio floodlights. They probably couldn’t see that little thing buried in all that thick foliage.”
“Likely so.” The officer reached into the azalea and plucked out the object. Gripping it between her thumb and forefinger, she held it up to the light. “Looks like some sort of costume jewelry.”
A swear word escaped my lips.
The officer, shaking out the small evidence bag she’d taken from her pocket, narrowed her eyes. “You recognize it?”
“Yes.” I audibly swallowed before speaking again. “That looks like one of the fake gems I noticed last night at the party. It was glued to a costume.”
“Worn by?” The officer dropped the bit of purple plastic into the evidence bag before focusing her intense gaze on my face.
“The victim’s daughter,” I said reluctantly. “Tara Delamont.”
Chapter Eleven
When I returned to the library, a lively discussion was already under way.
“I still don’t think it would be possible,” Bernadette said.
“What’s that?” I asked, taking a seat next to Kelly Rowley.
“Bernie doesn’t buy the premise of Tey’s storyBrat Farrar,” Ophelia said.
I settled back in my chair. “Which part?”
“The idea that one person could successfully impersonate another,” Bernadette replied, her face brightening as she gazed over my shoulder. “Oh hello, Mr. Kepler. Glad you could join us. It will be nice to have an author’s input in the discussion.”
“Not a fiction author, though. And please, call me Scott.” He crossed the room to stand next to me. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked, motioning toward the adjacent empty chair.
“Of course not,” I said absently, my thoughts occupied with my concern over the discovery of that piece of Tara’s costume.Surely the girl didn’t kill her own father …I took a deep breath to calm my nerves as I scooted my chair over slightly to allow Scott to sit down. “Now, what were you saying, Bernadette?” Iasked, leaning forward. “Something aboutBrat Farrar? I do love that book. One of my favorites from Tey.”
Bernadette pursed her lips. “Oh, nothing against the story or the writing. It’s just that I don’t think anyone could impersonate a missing family member so well that they couldn’t be detected.”
“Really?” Pete clasped his hands over the slight bulge of his belly. “Knowing how foolish people can be, I can accept that particular plot point without much effort. I mean, just think of some of our patrons.” He shared a knowing look with Sandy.
