“Daniel, Polly, and the Andersons.”
“Did Ms. Tanner say why she thought she knew who the killer was?”
I had been dreading this question, but I knew I had to answer it. “Yes. She said it had something to do with the lights.” I faced him defiantly.
“I see.” His eyebrow inched up. I knew what he was thinking: Aunt Winnie had been the one who turned out the lights.
Sirens wailed in the distance. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather overtook me and I wrapped my arms around my legs and put my head on my knees. I stayed that way for a long time.
Within minutes the house was overrun with police. They rushed in and out of the house, taking pictures, dusting for fingerprints, and asking me duplicate questions. I was still hunched on the front steps. I could no longer feel my bottom, but I didn’t want to go back inside the house. Someone—I think Detective Stewart—gave me a cup of coffee. I think he spiked it with some brandy, too. I held the warm cup between my hands and stared at the snow. It fell in thick white sheets. I was so caught up in watching the swirling patterns that I didn’t notice the car pulling into the driveway.
A medium-size bear got out of a gold Jaguar and stared at me. I closed my eyes and tried again. This time my brain correctly interpreted the image. I was not seeing an escaped circus act; I was looking at Linnet Westin. She was wearing the long fur coat she’d worn on New Year’s Eve. She had added a fur hat and fur-lined boots. She looked like the poster girl for an anti-PETA campaign.
I set down the coffee, now convinced it contained brandy, and stood up.
Linnet’s crisp, haughty voice rang out. “Elizabeth! Just what is going on here?” From her tone, I fleetingly wondered if she thought I had been hosting a small party for the Cape’s emergency rescue squad in her absence.
“Mrs. Westin—” I began, but she cut me off.
“And where is Jackie?” She slammed her car door shut in annoyance. “She was supposed to meet me over an hour ago with my contacts. I can’t find my cell phone, so I couldn’t call her to find out where she went.” She gingerly stepped out from behind the car, her normally confident stride hindered by the icy road.
“What is going on here anyway?” she demanded. Her mouth formed a crimson O as she made the connection between the police cars and Jackie’s absence. “Oh, dear God!” she gasped, in a tight frightened voice. “Jackie! Is she all right?” She started for the front door. I reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Mrs. Westin,” I said gently. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you this, but …”
“Where is she?” she whispered. I couldn’t see her eyes behind her large Jackie O. sunglasses, but the panic in her voice was unmistakable.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Westin, but she’s … she’s dead.”
My words hung in the air and I had a mad thought that maybe the wind could blow them away.
“Dead?” she repeated. “But she can’t be! I just saw her this morning! How can she be dead? What happened?”
Where the hell was Detective Stewart? Did I really have to be the one to tell this woman that her oldest friend had been murdered? I glanced through the doorway at the empty foyer. “I’m not sure exactly, Mrs. Westin, but it looks as if she’s been murdered.”
Linnet said nothing for a full minute. Underneath her heavy makeup, her face was pale. She swayed toward me and I grabbed her. “I think I’d better sit down,” she whispered.
She was unsteady on her feet. I maneuvered her into the house and into the living room, where I gently deposited her on the sofa. “Can I get you something?” I asked. “A drink, perhaps?”
She nodded vaguely and I hurried off in the direction of the kitchen. Detective Stewart stood talking to one of the many police officers that had swarmed into the house. “Mrs. Westin is here,” I said. “She’s in the living room. I told her about Jackie. She needs a drink. Where did you get whatever it was that you put in my coffee?”
“Cabinet next to the refrigerator, second shelf,” Detective Stewart said over his shoulder as he marched out to the living room.
I found the cabinet, took down the bottle of brandy, and poured a generous amount into a glass. Back in the living room, Detective Stewart was questioning Linnet. She had taken off her hat and coat but was clutching the latter in her lap like a security blanket. I doubt she realized that she was still wearing her sunglasses.
Her posture was rigid, and her grief was obvious. Her face had lost that hard, cold look; instead she seemed fragile and vulnerable. Her palpable distress made me regret all the nasty things I’d thought about her and her treatment of Jackie. I crossed over to where they sat, wrapped Linnet’s hand around the glass, and took a seat next to her on the sofa.
“Where were you this morning?” Detective Stewart was saying.
“I had to run a few errands in town,” Linnet answered weakly. “And then I went to the club to meet Jackie for lunch, but she never—”
“Your errands,” he said, “where were they?”
“The beauty shop and then some dress shops.”
Detective Stewart noted this down. “What time were you supposed to meet Ms. Tanner?”
“Eleven thirty.”
“What time did you leave the house this morning?”
“Around nine. My appointment was at nine thirty.”
“I see.” Detective Stewart paused. “I realize that you’ve only just arrived, but is anything missing that you can see? We need to rule out robbery.”
Linnet scanned the room with a vague expression and shook her head. “No, not that I can see. But I’ll check my jewelry box in my room. I’m sure Jackie didn’t have anything of value.”
“Okay. Did Ms. Tanner have any relatives that you know of? Next of kin, that sort of thing?”
“No. She doesn’t … didn’t. Only me, I guess, and we were only distant cousins.” Her face crumpled. She took a drink from the glass, and after a steadying breath she added, “She was an only child and never married.”
“No children?”
Linnet sat up straighter on the sofa and said sternly, “Of course not, Detective. As I said, Jackie never married. To suggest a child outside of marriage is offensive!”
A crimson blush stained the back of Detective Stewart’s neck. “I meant no offense, ma’am. It’s a standard question.”
“Well, it’s a damn silly one, if you ask me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He went on quickly. “Mrs. Westin, it has come to our attention that Ms. Tanner thought she knew who killed Gerald Ramsey.” Linnet rejected this statement with a shake of her head. Not a strand of her perfectly coiffed hair moved as she did so. “Jackie said that? But that can’t be right. She never said a word to me!”
“It’s true, Mrs. Westin,” I said. “She told me so this morning. She was trying to get in touch with the police so she could tell them.”
Linnet’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “But who was it? Did she tell anybody?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Detective Stewart. “But she did announce her plans at the inn this morning. We are concerned that she was overheard and that’s why she was killed.”
“Oh, dear God,” moaned Linnet. “Did she say why she thought she knew?”
“All we know is that it had something to do with the lights.”
“The lights?” repeated Linnet thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, she did say something about the lights.”
“Do you remember what?” said Detective Stewart, leaning forward. His voice was urgent. I held my breath and waited for her to answer.
She shook her head apologetically. “I’m afraid I don’t, Detective. Jackie had a tendency to ramble on and I’m embarrassed to say that I didn’t always pay attention.” Her face crumpled. “Maybe if I had, she’d still be alive. This is my fault. If I hadn’t had the idea to go to the mystery dinner in the first place, then none of this would have happened.”
I grabbed her hand. Giving it a squeeze, I said, “That’s not true, Mrs. Westin. None of this is your fault.”
“That’s right,” said Detective Stewart. His face was red and his lips were pressed together in a hard, thin line. “I promise you, Mrs. Westin. I will find out who did this.”