Detective Stewart had taken out his notebook during my tirade and was jotting down notes.
“Is that all you have?” I asked, although I knew his answer before he gave it.
“No,” he said. “There’s the fact that other than the actors, your aunt was the only one who knew when the lights were going to be turned off. She herself turned them off.”
“But I already told you, you could guess that the lights were going to be turned off after reading the invitation. It said that there would be ‘screams in the dark.’ I think that’s why when the lights did go out no one was really surprised. We were all halfway expecting it. Now, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to assume that if I was expecting it, then so was the murderer. All he or she had to do was keep an eye out and be at the ready.”
The traces of a smile—or a grimace—played on his lips. I think he was enjoying this. However, all he said was, “It’s a possibility.”
“It’s more than a possibility,” I countered, ready to argue the point more, but he held up his hand.
“I’m not done,” he said. “There’s also the matter of your aunt’s past.” His hazel eyes grew serious. “She assaulted a man with a gun, shooting him in the leg.” No smile played on his lips now; his expression was deadly serious.
“That was self-defense, and the courts cleared her of any crime,” I said. “A fact that you undoubtedly already know.”
“I’ve been with the force long enough to know that being cleared of a crime is not the same as being innocent of a crime. And I don’t particularly care for people who mete out vigilante justice.”
My stomach twisted, but I pressed on. “She wasn’t circumventing the law. She was helping a friend get out of an abusive environment. While they were there, the man came home, drunk and volatile. He threatened them. She was protecting herself and her friend.”
“She could have killed him.”
“Not according to my aunt.” I heard myself blurt out the next words before my brain could stop them from tumbling out. “She told me that she was too good a shot to have killed him. She knew where to hit him so that he wouldn’t be able to chase them.”
This stupid indiscretion earned me not just one raised eyebrow, but two. His brows were practically parallel with his hairline.
“And that brings me to a point, unfortunately, you already know about,” he said soberly. “The reflective tape on Mr. Ramsey’s suit coat matched the roll we found in your aunt’s office. Add to that the fact that the murderer is not only used to handling a gun, but is proficient at it and—”
I stuck out my chin. “And what?”
“And,” he said, his hazel eyes sympathetic, “we have the makings of a very strong case against your aunt.”
He might as well have kicked my stomach with his heavy, lumbering boots. I gasped before I could answer. “This is nonsense. Any one of the guests that night could have put the tape in her office.” My tone sounded firm, but even to my own ears, I didn’t sound convincing.
“I am sorry, Elizabeth. I know that you believe in your aunt’s innocence and I promise you that I’ll check out what you’ve learned.” He tapped his notebook. “But I really think that your aunt should get a good lawyer.”
“This is ridiculous. I haven’t been in town five days and I’ve already met several people who had a reason to kill Gerald Ramsey. My aunt can’t be the only suspect!”
“I never said she was the only suspect, I just said that she is one.”
I frantically searched my mind for other options. Grabbing at one, I said, “What about Gerald’s first wife, Tory? Wasn’t there something about her death that implicated Gerald?”
A surprised expression crept into Detective Stewart’s eyes. An appreciative one quickly replaced it. “How did you … ?” He shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” With a sigh he continued. “Yes, as a matter of fact there were questions surrounding the death of the first Mrs. Ramsey. She was having an affair at the time and the police thought that her car accident might not have been all that it appeared. But Mr. Ramsey had an alibi, as did her lover. Nothing ever came of it.”
“Didn’t she have any family? Could there be someone out there who might have thought Gerald had something to do with her death and …”
“… waited twenty years to kill him?” he finished.
I was saved a response, which I suspected would have included a vulgar suggestion as to what he could do with his notebook, by the jangling of the shop’s door. It opened, admitting none other than Ms. Jackie Tanner.
Peering in our direction, she sang out, “Elizabeth! I thought that was you!” She was still wearing the yellow hat. All that was missing from her outfit were the field glasses I was sure she employed to stalk her victims. As she bore down on us, Detective Stewart squirmed in his chair.
Marching to our table with a determined stride, she yanked a nearby chair over and sat down. “What a coincidence this is,” she chirped happily. “What are you two doing here?”
Under the cover of the table, Detective Stewart pressed his foot gently on mine. “I was just getting a cup of coffee when I happened to see Ms. Parker here.”
I followed his cue. “Yes. Aunt Winnie’s told me so much about the wonderful food here that I just had to sample it.”
Jackie looked pointedly at our food-free table. “I see,” she said. Turning on Detective Stewart, she continued. “Now, Detective, tell me, when are you going to arrest someone for this terrible murder? It just gives me palpitations to think that I stood in that room with a murderer!”
Detective Stewart raised his eyebrow at her use of the word palpitations. I wondered if he was thinking the same as I—that a more likely description of her feelings would be “rush of excitement.”
“We are working toward a solution,” he said, glancing at me.
Jackie did not miss the look. “Are you two working on this together? How exciting!”
Detective Stewart stumbled over himself to clarify his meaning, but Jackie went on. “You sly thing, Elizabeth! You never said a word earlier.”
“Ms. Tanner,” began Detective Stewart.
“Now, don’t you worry about a thing, Detective Stewart. I am the soul of discretion. Your secret is safe with me.” From beneath the folds of her hat, she winked at him and without hesitation peppered him with questions intermingled with various comments and observations.
Detective Stewart was no match for her. He blanched when she referred to me as an undercover field agent. He clenched his jaw when she wondered if the killer would ever be found. His face flared red when she suggested that maybe the local law enforcement manpower wasn’t up to this kind of investigation.
I leaned back in my chair and enjoyed the remarkably entertaining spectacle of a usually intimidating Detective Stewart being verbally trounced by Jackie. Finally, he could take no more. She wasn’t listening to his responses anyway. In a jumbled rush, he pushed his chair back and, muttering something about a previous appointment, bolted from the shop.
Watching him go, I chuckled. Apparently, I had unlocked the secret to unnerving Detective Aloysius Stewart—tea shops and Jackie Tanner. His namesake would have been sorely disappointed.
CHAPTER 18
There is danger when a man throws his tongue
into high gear before he gets his brain a-going.
—C. C. PHELPS
I DIDN’T NEED to look out my window the next morning to know that another storm was brewing. The intense pounding in my head told me that. Trying to avoid all contact with light, I stumbled to the bathroom, where I blindly groped for either the aspirin or my sinus medicine. Finding a bottle, I gulped down several chalky tablets and sank back into the comforting warmth of my bed.