Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.
The room fell silent at David’s accusation. Next to him, Claire gasped. “David!” she cried in dismay.
“Shut up, Claire. It’s the truth and you know it.” Turning to Detective Grant, he continued. “Harry threatened Roni last night in this very room.”
“That’s bullshit!” Harry shouted. Seeming to forget his epic hangover, he jumped out of his chair. The sudden movement cost him and he swayed slightly. Stretching his hand out, he grabbed the back of the chair. His face was pale and his frame seemed as if it might collapse in on itself. “That’s bullshit,” he repeated, in a quieter, less sure voice.
“No, it’s not!” David replied, his voice rising. “Harry got stinking drunk last night. Claire and I were getting ready to go to bed when he came lurching in, slurring his words, completely belligerent. Then Roni came in looking for Megan and Harry went crazy. He started screaming at her. Not only did he threaten her, but he tried to hit her! If we hadn’t restrained him, I don’t know what would have happened.”
“We?” I blurted. “Peter stopped him. You had nothing to do with it!” Too late, I snapped my mouth shut, but the damage was done.
His cold eyes bearing down on me with laserlike intensity, Detective Grant cleared his throat. “You were here for this altercation, as well? How interesting. Exactly how many interviews do I need to conduct with you before I get the whole story?”
I assumed that this was one of those snarky, rhetorical questions and so did not answer. I was right. He continued without missing a beat. “Perhaps you could be so kind as to tell me your version of events, Ms. Parker.” He made no attempt to downplay the anger in his voice.
I looked over at Harry’s curiously blank face and I wondered how much of the exchange he even remembered.
“Well, um.” I glanced to where Peter stood with Chloe by the window. He moved away from them both and stood by my side. “We were talking to Harry when Roni came in.”
Detective Grant cut in. “Who is ‘we’?”
I gestured to Peter. “Peter,” I said feebly.
Detective Grant’s eyes slid to Peter. “I see. Go on.”
“Well, we were talking with Harry, who was a little drunk, but I wouldn’t call him belligerent. It was only when Roni came in looking for Megan that he got upset. We’d seen Roni yelling at Megan earlier, and it was pretty brutal.” I paused, hoping I could stop there, but Detective Grant nodded at me to continue. Great. “Harry told Roni that he didn’t like how she treated Megan.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Megan raise her head and face Harry. “Roni got mad and said that it was none of Harry’s business. Words were exchanged, but it was Roni who slapped Harry. Just to make sure that the argument didn’t escalate further, Peter pulled Harry away. But Harry didn’t threaten Roni. Not really. If anything, it was Roni who threatened Harry.”
“How so?”
“She said that she was going to tell Avery and... ” Crap, now what was I doing? I was getting Harry into deeper trouble.
“She said she was going to tell Avery and make sure that Avery cut Harry off,” David finished.
“This is preposterous!” Avery bellowed, glaring at David. “I know my son, David. How dare you insinuate that he would hurt Roni! What would you know, anyway? You go through life half drunk! Asking you to recall anything past your first drink of the night is a waste of time!”
David’s complexion, normally mottled, became one solid blotch of red. “If you don’t believe me, ask Claire. She was there, too,” he shot back.
Detective Grant turned to Claire. “Yes, Mrs. Cook. We haven’t heard from you yet. Please give us your version of events.”
Claire closed her eyes and sighed. She’d always had a soft spot for Harry, doting on him like a son. She sat fidgeting—a trapped animal. Would she back up David’s version of events or would she try to soften the blow? David shifted in his chair and stared at her. I couldn’t see his face from where I sat, but his posture was nothing short of aggressive. He leaned in close, his shoulders hunched forward. I thought he whispered something to her, but I wasn’t sure.
I tried to catch Claire’s eye, but she averted her glance. I knew that she’d made her decision.
“Harry was drunk,” she said, her voice miserable. She didn’t look at Harry or anyone else. She squeezed her eyes shut as if to block out what she was saying. “He called Roni a bitch and she slapped him. Hard. I thought that Harry was going to strike her as well, but Peter grabbed Harry’s hand. That’s when Roni said that she’d ruin Harry. She was going to tell Avery what had happened and make sure that Harry was cut off.”
“I see,” said Detective Grant, sizing up Harry with obvious interest. “Is this true?”
Harry glanced uneasily at Avery before answering. “I’m not going to lie to you, Detective,” he said. “I didn’t like Roni and I didn’t like the way she treated Megan. She was particularly nasty to her this weekend. Last night, I had too much to drink and said some things I shouldn’t have. I’m not sure of all the details, but I know I told Roni that she was hurting Megan.”
“Did you threaten her?”
Harry spread his hands out. “I honestly don’t know. If they say I did, then I guess I did.”
Claire cleared her throat—twice. We all looked at her. “There’s something else you should know,” she said.
“I’m listening,” replied Detective Grant.
Taking a deep breath, Claire said, “After Roni’s fight with Harry, I took David upstairs and put him to bed.” She glanced briefly at David with an oddly challenging look. “I was... upset. I didn’t like the way Roni was behaving and I didn’t think she was being... fair to Harry.” Claire seemed to be choosing her words with care. “I went back downstairs to talk to Avery. I thought he should hear what had happened and not just from Roni.”
“I see,” said Detective Grant. “And did you talk to Mr. Matthews?”
Claire glanced nervously at Avery. “No. I knocked on his door but there was no answer. I opened it up and peeked inside. I saw that Avery was asleep and decided not to wake him. I thought I would tell him in the morning.”
“What time was this?”
“Around two.”
“Did anyone see you?”
Claire nodded toward Chloe. “Yes, Chloe did. I came down the back stairs, the ones that go to the kitchen. Chloe was there.”
Detective Grant looked at Chloe for affirmation. “Is this true, Miss Jenkins?”
Chloe nodded, her mouth turned up into what I considered an obsequious smile. “Yes. I saw Mrs. Matthews come downstairs around then. I was in the kitchen getting everything ready for the brunch.”
“You work late hours,” Detective Grant said with a note of admiration in his voice.
Chloe tipped her glossy head in acknowledgment. “I do whatever it takes to ensure that my events run smoothly,” she replied, feigning modesy. Honestly, I wanted to smack her.
Detective Grant turned back to Claire. “So you went to talk to your brother but decided not to wake him after all. What did you do then?”
“I heard a thump. It sounded like it came from upstairs. I rushed back upstairs, worried that David had... had fallen,” Claire finished diplomatically.
Detective Grant looked at David. “Had you fallen, Mr. Cook?”
“Of course not! I can’t imagine why anyone would think I would have,” David replied indignantly.
Detective Grant made no response. Turning again to Claire, he asked, “Did you go back upstairs through the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
Detective Grant turned his head to Chloe for her to verify this, but Chloe only shrugged her graceful shoulders. “I didn’t see her, Detective.” An uncomfortable pause followed as we all struggled with the implication that Claire might be lying. Perhaps sensing the impact of her words, Chloe hurried on. “But I was also moving back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, so I could have easily missed her. For what it’s worth, I also heard a thump.”
Detective Grant stared down at his notebook, tapping it lightly with his pen. He read a few pages before raising his eyes to where Megan sat slumped in her chair. “I’d like to go back to your night, Miss Matthews,” he said. “You say that you and Bobby went to the summerhouse. What time was that?”
“I’m not sure. It was late.”
“Did you see anyone? Did anyone see you?”
“I thought I saw someone on the terrace. To be honest, I was trying not to be seen. I... I really wasn’t up for my family just then.”
What? I sat up straighter in my chair. Megan had seen someone on the terrace? Had she seen Roni or Roni’s killer? An airless silence filled the room and we all stared bug-eyed at Megan. Detective Grant took a small step forward. “Who did you see on the terrace, Miss Mathews?” His voice was bland but his expression was not. His jaw was tense, the muscle twitching.
“I don’t know. It was dark. But... ”
“Yes? Who did you see on the terrace?”
Her eyes flickered to the expansive couch where David, Claire, Elsie, and Harry sat. “I... I don’t know,” she said. “I just saw a figure.”
“A man or a woman?”
“A man... I think. I don’t know. I really couldn’t say one way or another.”
Detective Grant gripped his pen so hard his fingers showed white. “What was this figure doing?”
“Standing by one of the patio chairs.”
Somebody gasped. Megan looked at us with confused eyes. We hadn’t told her yet that Roni’s body had been found on one of the patio chairs. Her eyes widened as she made the obvious connection.
“I’m going to ask you again, Miss Matthews,” Detective Grant said in a low voice. “This is very important. Do you have any idea who it was that you saw?”
Megan’s eyes flickered toward the window. She paused a little too long before answering. “No,” she said in a firm voice. “It was too dark. I’m sorry.”
“What time was this again? Think carefully.”
Megan considered before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I didn’t think to look at my watch.”
I could see from Detective Grant’s expression that we were thinking exactly the same thing.
Megan was lying.
A uniformed policeman entered the room from the terrace. Rain dripped off his black plastic parka, leaving tiny pools of water in his wake. Elsie glared at him. “Young man! I would ask that you please not drip water all over my carpet.”
The policeman, a young man with flaming red hair and no discernible chin, ducked his head. “Yes, ma’am,” he said politely. He carefully skirted the perimeter of the room where the carpet did not reach, until he stood next to Detective Grant. Having watched this progress with an expression of bemusement mixed with annoyance, Detective Grant gave an audible sigh. “Yes, Johnson?”
Officer Johnson leaned forward in an attempt to keep his message private and muttered in Detective Grant’s ear.
Elsie rapped her cane sharply on the floor. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s not polite to whisper?” she burst out.
With deliberate slowness, Detective Grant turned his head to face Elsie. He reminded me of a sleek panther about to spring. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong?” he retorted.
Elsie’s chin jutted out. “Not to my face.”
“Then consider this the first time.”
Elsie’s eyes narrowed. “Inasmuch as a murder has taken place in my house, I think I have a right to know what is going on.”
“Correction. You have the right to know what I deem necessary.” Before Elsie could respond to this, Detective Grant turned to Avery. “Mr. Matthews. The coroner has finished and is getting ready to leave. Would you like a moment before he does?”
Avery’s face sagged. He gave a feeble nod.
“If you’ll follow me, sir,” Detective Grant said, gesturing toward the terrace. Avery exited the room, heading toward the makeshift tent erected by the police. Millie followed him at a respectful distance. Turning back, Detective Grant looked at Megan. “Miss Matthews, would you like a moment as well?”
Megan did not immediately respond. Raising her head, she met Detective Grant’s eyes. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t think I can do that.”
Detective Grant nodded and stepped out onto the terrace, shutting the door behind him.
There was a two-second pause before all hell broke loose.
Elsie led the charge. “You ridiculous buffoon!” she hissed at David. “I knew you were a wretched person, but I didn’t know how wretched until now.”
“Me? I’m the bad guy?” David spit out indignantly. “I didn’t do anything! That detective wants the truth. If we try to hide facts, then we’ll only bring his wrath down on all of us.”
“Have something to hide, do you, David?” said Graham from his chair.
“Me? Hiding something? Don’t be stupid,” David snapped back.
“I don’t know. You seemed in a pretty big rush to direct the detective’s attention to Harry. Why is that?” Graham’s voice was deceptively calm. If you ever wanted a read on Graham’s emotions, you watched his eyebrows. They were a barometer of his emotions. Right now they were bristling. When Bridget and I were little, bristling eyebrows meant it was time to run for cover.
David’s own brows pulled together ominously and he aggressively shifted his shoulders. “I’m not trying to direct anything. I’m only trying to help.”
In a deceivingly casual move, Graham stretched his long legs out in front of him and stood up. Next to him, Blythe tensed. “Graham... ” she warned.
“No, I’m interested in hearing about how David wants to help.” He crossed the room and stood directly in front of David’s chair. Graham moved so quickly that David had no time to react. He sat pressed against the back of his chair, forced to stare up into Graham’s face.
“For instance,” Graham went on, “when you get blind stinking drunk, how are you helping? When you verbally abuse my sister, how exactly are you helping?”
“Graham, please,” said Claire.
“Now listen here,” David barked, but Graham wasn’t listening.
“And when you stupidly try and pin this tragedy on Harry, how the hell do you think you are helping?”
These last words were shouted, and David shoved his large frame out of his chair and faced Graham. His body was trembling and his hands were balled into fists. “You know what?” he hissed menacingly. “I don’t care what you think of me because I know that I’m innocent. I was with Claire all night. I have an alibi. Do you?” He turned to the rest of us and sneered threateningly. “Do any of you?”
A soft cry escaped from Megan, and David’s eyes landed on her. Strangely, upon seeing her pinched expression, his face blanched with regret. “Megan,” he said, his voice oddly constrained, “I am so sorry about... about all of this. If there is anything I can do... ”
“Anything you can do!” Megan shot back. “Just what do you think you can do, David? From what I’ve seen, you’ve done quite enough!”
“From what you’ve... ” He stopped abruptly. “Megan, I know you’re... upset. But I’d like to help.”
“Help,” Megan scoffed. “Here’s an idea, David—how about you do the right thing? For once, why don’t you just do the right thing?”
“I—” David began.
“Leave it. I can’t deal with you now,” said Megan quietly.
“Megan?” began David.
Graham cut him off. “David! Shut the hell up! Can’t you see that every time you open your mouth you only make things worse?” Graham’s eyebrows were now standing straight out and I looked for a place to seek shelter. Before I could find one, the terrace doors swung open, letting in a chilly gust of rain and wind and Avery.
“It’s gone,” Avery gasped.
“What’s gone?” Elsie said.
“The necklace, Roni’s necklace. The one she was wearing last night. The one I gave her. It’s gone!”
We looked mutely at one another.
“Someone killed her for her necklace?” asked Elsie. Her voice held a tinge of hope. If Roni had been killed for the necklace, then the realm of potential suspects would widen considerably. Right now, it was decidedly claustrophobic.
Detective Grant stepped into view behind Avery. “We haven’t come to any conclusions yet,” he said, “but I’d like a guest list from last night’s reception.”
Elsie nodded and hurried off to the study.
“How much was that necklace worth?” asked Blythe.
“I just had it appraised for two hundred thousand dollars,” came the reply.
Someone gave a low whistle.
My sentiments exactly.