I expected the drink would be accompanied by some type of dessert, so I wasn’t surprised when Ophelia bustled out of the kitchen, holding a glass of lemonade in one hand and a small china plate in the other. “Sugar cookies,” she said, placing the items on the white side table next to the sofa. “Just out of the oven ten minutes ago.”
“They look delicious,” I said, and they were. I nibbled on one of the cookies while Ophelia and Bernadette settled into two armchairs that faced the sofa.
Allowing my gaze to wander, I experienced the emotion I always felt when I visited this house—envy. Despite Chapters’ historic beauty and charm, it sometimes seemed too large for comfort. This bungalow, with its pale-jade walls and white cotton curtains edged with lace, felt more like a home than my rambling house. The airy rooms were filled with wicker plant stands and simple, whitewashed wooden furniture. Watercolor seascapes and vases overflowing with Ophelia’s flowers offered pops of color.
“You said you had some questions for us,” Bernadette said. “About the other night, I suppose?”
I took a swallow of lemonade before answering. “Yes. I was away from the house for a bit, getting ice. Which means I’m notsure where everyone was at the time of the murder. I thought maybe you could clear that up for me.”
Ophelia shared a look with her sister. “The thing is, we probably aren’t going to be too much help with that question. We were inside Chapters most of the time you were gone, I’m afraid.” She tugged the hem of her pink-and-lilac floral-print skirt over her knees. “I’d misplaced my reading glasses, you see.”
“Again,” Bernadette added, stretching out her stocky legs. Unlike Ophelia, who was dressed for a garden party, Bernadette wore khaki shorts and a plain white polo shirt.
Ophelia fiddled with the lace trimming the collar of her ivory silk blouse. “Now, Bernie, you’ve been known to lose track of a few things too.”
“But not every day.” Bernadette met my interested gaze with a shrug. “It’s true, though. We were in the garden for a bit, but then Fee realized she’d misplaced her glasses when she tried to read one of your flower markers. So it wasn’t too long after you drove off that we headed into the house to search for them. We’d just arrived back outside on the patio when you called everyone into the parlor. So I’m afraid we can’t help you with where everyone was while you were gone. But”—she kicked off her sandals and put her feet up on the tufted hassock in front of her chair—“we may have some other information that could prove helpful.”
I set down my glass and slid to the edge of the sofa. “Oh? Like what?”
“Well, earlier in the evening, right before dinner actually, I overheard Lincoln Delamont having a rather heated conversation with your chef. I think you were in the dining room talking about Tey and the inspiration for the dinner menu at that point.”
Ophelia smoothed down a flyaway strand of her fire-engine-red hair. “It was more like an argument, from what you told me, Bernie.”
“They were fighting?” I asked. “What about?”
Bernadette narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure. I was coming back from the powder room when I heard raised voices in the library. I thought that was odd—”
“You stopped to listen, right?” Ophelia asked.
“Just peeked in to see who it was.” Bernadette cleared her throat. “I was worried it might be some strangers, wandering in while we were all preoccupied with the party.”
I tightened my lips to prevent a smile. Bernadette had been curious, as I would’ve been, but since she was always accusing her sister of being too nosy, I assumed she didn’t want to admit that. “You saw Damian Carr and Lincoln in the library? Thatisodd. I’d have thought Damian wouldn’t have left the kitchen at that point, and anyway, he told me they didn’t know each other.”
“Seems like they did. At least well enough to have a disagreement,” Bernadette said. “But, unfortunately, I didn’t really hear what it was about. I didn’t linger long. I thought it best to beat a retreat before they noticed me.”
Ophelia demurely crossed her ankles as she leaned forward in her chair. “Bernie mentioned all this to me later, after we both overheard Lincoln embroiled in another argument, this time with his wife.”
“Another confrontation on the same night? He was a contentious guy, wasn’t he?” I sat back and grabbed another cookie.A replacement for lunch, I told myself.
Bernadette nodded. “I wasn’t surprised to find out he’d been killed. Seemed like the type to make a lot of enemies.”
“What was the argument with his wife about?” I asked, reaching for my glass of lemonade. The cookies, while delicious, were a little dry.
“Poor Mrs. Delamont was berating him for flirting with Julie Rivera over dinner. And he was, you know.” Ophelia cast me an apologetic look. “Julie didn’t seem to be encouraging him, but still …”
I wasn’t about to share what I knew on that subject. “Jennifer Delamont was having words with Lincoln about it? When exactly was this?”
“Just after you’d driven off,” Bernadette replied. “They were standing right outside the garden, near the holly hedge, so they weren’t in the middle of things. As I mentioned earlier, Fee and I had just wandered that way to check out your flowers. Anyway, the argument didn’t last very long. Lincoln stormed off— practically knocked Fee down as he passed us.”
Ophelia pressed her hand to her cheek. “It’s true. He bumped right into me and kept walking without saying a word.”
“He headed off in the direction of the carriage house and disappeared behind the hollies,” Bernadette said, flicking a short lock of her steel-gray hair behind her ear. “That was the last we saw of him.”
Finishing off my lemonade, I waved off Ophelia’s question about needing more before I replied. “Which means Lincoln was involved in at least two arguments before he was killed.”Three, I thought, remembering that overheard conversation between him and Julie. But I wasn’t about to mention that to the Sandberg sisters. I was there to gather information, not spread rumors.
“We told the police all of this, of course,” Ophelia said. “I hated to add your chef and Mrs. Delamont to their list ofsuspects, but one can’t lie to the authorities. I just don’t think that’s the proper thing to do.”
“No, you were right to tell them,” I said. “It’s better that they have all the facts. And if someone is innocent, they have nothing to fear.”
