My pulse pounded in my head. How could Bernie be the local expert on Otis? How could he know all these people? No wonder Wolf questioned him. My spirits plummeted.
Surely Mars’s best friend hadn’t tried to poison him. Did Mars suspect Bernie of killing Simon? He must have known about the stepfather. Would Mars have told me about his suspicions? Maybe that was the real reason Mars had taken Bernie’s car. Could the story about Natasha and the soup kitchen have been a diversion? Had Mars borrowed the car hoping it would contain clues?
“Bernie,” I hissed, “what are you doing here?”
“The same thing you are, I imagine. Gathering information about Otis.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted so very much to think his motives were pure and that he meant to help us find the killer. But I couldn’t overlook the fact that we’d seen him brunching with the widow Pulchinski. I searched his face, desperately wishing I could read his intentions and know if they were benevolent or evil.
Nina cut to the chase. “What have you found out?”
Bernie turned and raised his hand to signal a man at the bar. Medium height, bald with bushy eyebrows, and brawny enough that I would want him on my side in a fight. He sauntered over, a giant mug of beer in his hand.
“Ambrose,” said Bernie, “tell my friends what Otis told you.”
Ambrose sat down. He took a long swig of beer and rested the mug on the table, never letting go of the handle. “Wish one?”
I couldn’t tell how drunk he was. He hadn’t staggered to the table from the bar, but if he was slurring his words that badly, I wondered if we’d hear an accurate representation.
“All of them.”
That simple sentence went a long way in redeeming Bernie. He might rely on a drunk for information, but he didn’t intend to hide anything from us.
Or had he paid the drunk to lie?
“I told that idiot Kenner that Otis was sleeping with Wolf’s wife.”
“The one who’s missing?” I asked.
Clearly pleased with himself, Ambrose said, “Yeah, boy! And I told Wolf that some political type wanted his ex-wife tailed.”
“Are either of those true?” asked Humphrey.
“Not the one about Wolf’s wife.”
Bernie prodded Ambrose. “Now tell them what Otis really said to you.”
“He said he knew that being a PI would pay off someday and that his ship would come in soon. Bought all the boys a round of drinks that night.”
I sat back in disgust. That meant nothing.
“And?” Bernie reached over and helped himself to a slug of my beer.
“And that the bigger and richer the client, the more they’ll pay to keep things quiet.”
I folded my arms across my chest and thanked my lucky stars I hadn’t paid for these brilliant insights. So far, the only thing I’d learned was another reason for Wolf to doubt my innocence. He probably thought Mars was the political type having his ex-wife followed and that I had killed Otis to prevent him from revealing a dark secret he’d uncovered.
I’m not much of a poker player. Either my face showed how unimpressed I was or Bernie could read my thoughts.
“Tell them about the cat,” he said.
Ambrose snickered. “Oh, yeah. His wife had this kitten she couldn’t get rid of and it was driving her nuts. She’d been bugging him to take it to the pound, but ol’ Otis had a soft spot for the little guy. Said he’d found a lady who could give it a good home but she didn’t know it yet.”
“He targeted me? He wanted me to have Mochie? Why? He didn’t know me.”
Bernie threw me a smug look.
Ambrose stared into his empty beer mug like he was searching for one last drop. “Ole Otis knew a lot about people who didn’t know him. He was good at his game. He was only sorry it had taken him so long to figure out how to make big money at it.”
“Oh, no.” Humphrey kicked me under the table and motioned with his head.
I looked up.
Wolf was heading straight for us. His demeanor grim, he said, “Sophie, I need a word with you, please.”
Like a twelve-year-old at my first dance, I scooted around the table and imagined that he might lead me to a cozy nook for another kiss. I couldn’t suppress a smile and I was glad I’d listened to my mom and worn a sexy sweater.
Wolf escorted me out of the pub. “I want to apologize for my behavior.”
I melted. He realized he’d been abrupt and gruff. I admired men who could see their flaws and knew when to apologize. I stepped toward him and was about to place my hand on his coat when he said, “I never should have kissed you. That was inexcusable and unprofessional.”
So much for that. Even my sexy sweater hadn’t made a difference. I consoled myself with the thought that maybe he did murder his wife. “There are a few things I should tell you. I should have done it earlier but well, I took off too soon,” he continued. A chilly breeze penetrated my sweater. In spite of his obvious inattraction to me, my heart raced. I was afraid of what he was going to say.
“You were probably right about the turkey trophy being the murder weapon. We found traces of blood on the tail, as you said, and according to the medical examiner it’s consistent with Simon’s injury.” I stood up a little straighter. I’d been vindicated on one tiny item but it felt good. At least he knew I didn’t make it up.
“What about the soup?” I asked.
“We found the poison in only one soup bowl. That doesn’t clear you or implicate you.”
“Wolf, I’ve been wondering about blood spatter. You interviewed all of us right away. If one of us had been the killer, wouldn’t he have had blood spatter on his clothes?”
Wolf’s head jerked back. Apparently my question surprised him.
“I’m always underestimating you, Sophie. But it’s not unusual for blood spatter to be absent in cases where the victim is killed by a single blow to the head. That’s what we think happened to Simon.”
But I hadn’t known that and the killer might not have, either. He might have worn a dark shirt and rushed to wash it—just in case.
“We’ve been a little slow processing everything because of the holiday. I’m sure they’ll get to your clothes next week.”
I’d forgotten all about them. “How about my car? My folks will be going home soon and I’ll need transportation for work.”
“Better rent one. I doubt they’ll turn it over to you until the perpetrator is in custody.” He focused on the door of the inn and said softly, “And that could be a while. What are you doing here?”
“Asking questions.”
“Suspect everyone, trust no one,” said Wolf.
“That’s a terrible attitude. Your suspects are my family and friends. I’m not turning on them.”