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“Perhaps I discovered you’re the killer,” she said to the other woman as sweetly as she was able, “creating a story for yourself.”
Abigail glared, snapping, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Christopher’s eyes got wide. He gazed from woman to woman. Maggie pursed her lips. Jane opened her mouth to respond but paused instead. Was that… no, it couldn’t be. But it was. Lucy stood in the far corner, near the snack table, waving Jane over to join her in the shadows.
She just stopped herself from doing a double take. Oh, wow. The former loan officer had drastically changed her appearance. Her friend had chopped off most of her hair and bleached the strands white. Or she wore a wig.
“Excuse me. I would love to try that artichoke dip.” True statement. She shuffled away before Beau could stop her and made her way to Lucy. But dang it, so did Beau.
He kept pace directly behind Jane. “Why the hasty exit? You never back off from a showdown.”
“I didn’t back off. I postponed. There’s a difference. And I specifically remember mentioning that artichoke dip.”
He nodded, pretending to believe her. No matter. Jane was a woman on a mission. Her target had vanished, and she quickened her step. When she turned the corner, there was still no sign of Lucy. But there were signs on Maggie’s walls directing guests to a bathroom. Was Lucy inside it?
In front of the door, Jane stuck out her arm. “I’m going in, and you’re staying out.”
“Jane—” Beau began.
“Period,” she burst out, and he went quiet.
Triumphant, she slipped into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. Black and white square tiles covered the floor, a sharp contrast to the powder blue tiles on the walls. A pendant light cast the room in an amber hue, yet it was the stained-glass window that really transformed the space.
Lucy stuck her head beyond the curtain hiding a clawfoot tub and whispered, “Jane!”
Heart thumping, Jane turned on the sink. “What are you doing here?” she whispered back. “I’ve been so worried about you. And I’m glad you keep arranging our meetings, I am, but why not take the safer route and call?”
“My calls are being monitored, and I don’t want to be tracked. Listen. I found a note Hannah wrote suggesting she’d provided Maggie with paperwork naming her the inheritor of the Treasure Room.”
What! Jane’s thoughts raced. The two had been that close? “Maggie hasn’t come forward with it.”
Which meant what? Hannah had changed her mind, or someone had lashed out because she refused to change her mind? Maybe Maggie planned to keep the information private until the investigation concluded, fearing she’d become a suspect as soon as she was named the Treasure Room’s beneficiary. The mechanic could’ve grown tired of waiting for Hannah to pass naturally, so Maggie had taken matters into her own hands.
Maybe Maggie and Abigail had worked with Mason, Jacob, and the mayor. Motive abounded for each, so why not pair up for a common goal? Take out Hannah, and taunt/torment Jane before taking her out too. When everything blew over, Maggie could gain possession of the Treasure Room, and the entire group could enjoy a cup of tea together to celebrate a job well done.
“This case is getting more interesting by the day,” Jane muttered.
“Do you have a clear lead?” Lucy asked, brimming with hope.
“Well, it’s currently a six person tie between Maggie, Abigail, Mason, Jacob, the mayor, and a fireman named Donnie. Or all six combined. But I’m inching closer to pinning the winner, I feel it.” In fact, she’d go back to the party and search for any hidden paperwork in between questioning each of her suspects. “Come to the Garden tomorrow. Conrad could use your testimony. Think of the immunity you could buy!”
Lucy pursed her lips, but she didn’t automatically deny the request. “I can’t promise. But maybe.” She turned toward the window and opened the pane. Someone–Lucy herself?–had already removed the screen.
Before she could dive through the opening, Jane asked, “Hey, did you notice the killer’s feet? Was he wearing shoes?”
“I think he was, yes.” Lucy’s brow wrinkled. “I mean, he must have. Right? I never once noticed his socks. Though, to be honest, I was distracted by the blood and violence.”
Hmm. Not really a definitive answer. They’d try the question another way. “Did you escape through the backdoor of the teashop?”
“Yes. Why?”
Abigail hadn’t seen her, then. “Did you lock the front door?” she continued.
“No. Why?” Lucy insisted.
The killer must have done it. “Did you spy a pair of men’s dress shoes on your way out?”
“I think…no?” Regret and anger flickered over the former loan officer’s features. “I don’t know. So much of the episode is clear as crystal, but some parts are a blur of panic and terror. Now answer my questions.”
