Shandy greeted me, fervently barking as he bounced up and down behind Ellen’s front door. I tapped the oval window set in the door and told him to hush, but of course that had no effect.
Ellen appeared and used one foot to gently hold the Yorkie to the side so I could enter the house.
“Oh hush, Shandy. You know who this is,” she said, as she closed the door behind me.
Indeed, the little dog stopped barking as soon as he sniffed my scent. Bounding forward, he licked my shoe before rolling over to offer up his belly.
I bent over and scratched his fuzzy tummy. “You’re a mess.”
All four of Shandy’s paws waved in delight. “I probably shouldn’t reward you for bad behavior,” I said indulgently.
“It doesn’t matter. I always do. Guess that’s why he doesn’t behave,” Ellen said.
Straightening, I faced off with her.
Something in my expression must have given me away. Ellen pursed her lips and looked me up and down before motioning toward the adjacent front parlor. “Let’s sit in here.” She marched into the room, Shandy trotting at her heels.
I fingered the three letters I’d stuck in the pocket of my slacks before settling into one of Ellen’s comfortable armchairs. “I do have some new information.”
“So you said.” As soon as Ellen sat in the armchair that faced mine, Shandy jumped up into her lap.
I sank back against the suede cushions of my chair and allowed my gaze to wander over the room. Although Ellen had retained many of the Victorian features of her home, including the wainscoting, deep moldings, and hardwood floors, she hadn’t decorated to match. Her furniture was a comfortable blend of casual and modern, in muted tones accented by pale wood. I suspected Ellen had chosen this simple palette to set off the vivid paintings and other works of art that enlivened the space. From previous conversations, I knew she’d collected many of the artpieces during her travels. Everything from Indian wall hangings to Asian ceramics and German cuckoo clocks lent the house an eclectic and exotic air that matched Ellen’s own personal style.
Mysterious, I thought, narrowing my eyes as I stared back at Ellen.
She met my gaze with a confident smile. “You mentioned something about a document you found in one of Isabella’s books. Would you like to share that first?”
“No, before we get into that, I think I’d rather discuss this letter I found in the kitchen last night.” I pulled the documents from my pocket and extracted the letter to Damian, laying the others on the French wine barrel that had been cut in half and topped with glass to serve as a side table. “It’s a letter Damian Carr received from a restaurant in Beaufort. A rejection letter, sadly.”
“For a chef position?”
“Yes. Well, sous-chef, but at this place that’s still a coup.” I held up the letter. “The thing is, Damian lost the job because of his temperament, not his cooking skills. Someone warned off the owner, claiming Damian was difficult to work with. Alicia seems to think that maybe Lincoln Delamont was involved.”
Ellen absently stroked Shandy’s back as she continued to hold my gaze. “How is that possible? Delamont wasn’t in the restaurant business, at least as far as I know.”
“No, but he apparently knew this owner.” I explained Alicia’s theory about Lincoln bad-mouthing Damian due to their previous altercation. “I guess that gives Damian a strong motive for murdering the guy.”
“Which means he stays on the suspect list.”
“Unfortunately. I’ve bumped Jennifer Delamont up to the top of the list, too.” I offered Ellen a brief summary of my discussion with Tara. “It wouldn’t be surprising for a woman who’s been treated with disdain for so many years to finally snap.”
“Especially if she’d always been belittled, and then had her narcissistic jerk of a husband shove his latest girlfriend in her face.”
“Exactly.” I glanced over at the two other letters. “It’s one thing to keep up appearances if everything remains a secret, but when you realize you can’t pretend anymore”—I looked back at Ellen, noticing with interest the wrinkle that had formed between her brows—“it can set off unpredictable repercussions.”
“Very true.” Ellen lifted one hand off Shandy’s back and pressed it against the padded arm of her chair. “Which means now we have Jennifer Delamont with motive and a definite opportunity, if what her daughter says about encountering her near the carriage house is true. But there’s also Damian Carr, who appears to have a strong motive as well.”
“And could’ve walked to and from his apartment easily enough,” I said. “Likely without being seen.”
“Yes, I imagine he knows the area well enough to move about unobserved.” Ellen tapped the arm of her chair. “I’m friends with the owner of that particular restaurant. Perhaps I should give him a call and see if I can find out if it was indeed Delamont who convinced him to reject Damian.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Shouldn’t I share the letter with the police first? They could question him officially.”
Ellen lifted her hand and flicked it, as if tossing away something. “If you feel you must. I just thought that if we discoveredthat Delamont was not involved in Damian’s loss of a great job opportunity, it would spare the young man another interrogation by the police.”
“There is that.” I studied the older woman for a moment, wondering just how willing she was to bend the law. “If you can call the owner and find out anything, great. I’ll hold off giving Detective Johnson the letter until I hear from you.”
“Good. No use causing more trouble for Damian. It’s all just speculation right now, isn’t it?” Ellen flashed me a bright smile.
