Kate Carlisle - Homicide in Hardcover

I shrieked. I admit it. Then I gritted my teeth, looked him in the eye and said, “First of all, I never faint. Well, except for tonight. It was the blood. I have this thing about blood. Never mind, why am I explaining myself to you?”

“I have no idea.”

I paced away, then whipped around. “Second, I don’t give a damn what you think. I did not kill Abraham Karastovsky. I know the truth and that’s all that matters. And by the way, I’m thinking the cops are going to be interested in hearing your alibi, too, pal.”

He snorted with contempt.

“And third,” I continued, “no one says hoodwinked anymore.”

His eyes narrowed to angry pinpoints as he leaned closer. “Hoodwinked. It means to trick, deceive, dupe.”

I jabbed his lapel. “I know what it means, but nobody uses it outside of a Dickens novel.”

We stared at each other with suspicion and ire.

I shook my head. “Why am I even talking to you? You’re obviously just another insane person carrying a gun.” Oh, crap, he was carrying a gun. He could’ve used it to kill Abraham. I felt sick all over again.

“Never mind,” I said. “Nice talking to you. See you around.”

He blocked my path again. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“And you’re going to stop me?”

“It appears I already have,” he said with another one of his smirks.

I threw up my hands and stormed around the room. “You are the most annoying man I’ve ever met.” I turned and pointed at him. “No, wait. I haven’t actually met you, have I? I don’t have a clue who you are and yet you slander and falsely imprison me just because-”

“Enough already.” He pulled a sterling silver card holder from the breast pocket of his expensive black suit and handed it to me. “Derek Stone.”

I read it aloud. “Stone Security. Derek Stone, Principal.” Underneath his name it said COMMANDER, ROYAL NAVY, RET. On the next line it said SECURITY AND INVESTIGATIONS. and in smaller letters in the lower left-hand corner the card said A DIVISION OF CAUSEWAY CORNWALL INTERNATIONAL.

I looked up at him. “Causeway Cornwall is the underwriter for the Winslow exhibition.”

“Exactly.” He nodded at me as if I were a particularly bright three-year-old. “And Stone Security specializes in arts and antiquities. There were certain security issues that required my team’s presence at the opening tonight. We’re working hand in hand with the local police.”

I resisted groaning. “So why didn’t you just say so, Commander?”

He shrugged. “I was having such a good time, it must’ve slipped my mind.”

I rolled my eyes, stuck his business card in my pocket, took a breath and cautiously held out my hand. “I’m Brooklyn Wainwright.”

He started to take my hand, but stopped abruptly. I looked down and again saw the blood caked on my fingers.

The door swung open with a bang.

“Brooklyn, there you are! Oh my God!” Robin, tears streaming, ran across the room and pulled me into her arms. “I just heard about Abraham. It can’t be true.”

“It’s true,” I whispered, and lost it for real. I sobbed on her shoulder, finally releasing all the tears that had been choking me.

We stayed like that, hugging and rocking back and forth, for a few minutes, until Robin sniffled and said in a low voice, “Leave it to Abraham to make this exhibit unforgettable.”

I gave her a watery smile. “He always was a showman.”

She hiccupped and we both laughed; then fresh tears erupted.

“Forgive me, ladies,” Derek interrupted. I’d forgotten he was still there, observing our emotional water-works. I refused to care what he thought of us.

“Who’s Double-Oh-Seven?” Robin whispered in my ear.

I sniffed. “Security.”

“Extremely hot,” she said.

“A jerk,” I countered. “And touchy.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Derek coughed discreetly. “The local police will question you now, Ms. Wainwright.”

Oh boy.

“Why are they questioning you?” Robin asked.

“I-I found him,” I said, and stared at my hands.

She shrank back. “Oh my God! Brooklyn, no! Is that his blood? Oh my God.”

I felt my lip trembling and looked up at Derek. “Can I wash my hands first?”

“It’s evidence,” he said, his voice cool. “Leave it.”

Homicide inspector Nathan Jaglow, tall, probably in his fifties, with short, curly gray hair and a sad smile, was a very patient man. His partner, Inspector Janice Lee, was Asian American, pretty but painfully thin, with long, lustrous black hair. They took notes, asked questions and occasionally made me repeat myself, just so they could write my words down exactly as I’d stated them.

They’d commandeered another binder’s workroom and they sat across from me at a high worktable. I didn’t know whether they were both pretending to play good cop until someone else showed up to play bad cop, but I liked them. Unlike Derek Stone, they seemed to believe me when I insisted I hadn’t killed Abraham. However, that didn’t keep them from asking me to go over my story in minute detail several times.

Early on, a crime scene technician swabbed my hands in order to test the blood to see if it matched Abraham’s. I was allowed to wash my hands in the workroom sink, which made me feel somewhat better. I could now look at my hands without sliding to the floor.

Jaglow held up a large Ziploc baggie. Inside was a ten-inch knife with a wide, rounded blade. “Can you tell me what this is?”

The knife was smeared with blood.

And there went my stomach again.

“Deep breaths, Ms. Wainwright,” Inspector Lee said, her gravelly voice calm and strangely seductive. “I know it’s difficult but we really need your expertise right now. Take your time.”

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and repeated that several times, telling myself to relax.

“It’s called a-a Japanese paper knife,” I said, my voice sounding hoarse. “It’s made in Japan.” Duh, I thought. I took a sip of water and continued. “It’s used to cut paper.” Again, duh. I could no longer think straight.

“You’re doing great,” Inspector Jaglow said. “So this is a tool used for cutting paper. Paper used in making or repairing books, I presume.”

I nodded. “Is that what killed him?”

He paused for a moment, then said, “We still need to determine that.”

“He was shot, Ms. Wainwright,” Inspector Lee said evenly.

“But the blood on the knife…” I gulped.

“He might’ve grabbed it,” she said, apparently unconcerned that her partner was glowering at her. “Do you own a gun, Ms. Wainwright?”

“What? No.” The only gun I’d seen lately belonged to Derek Stone, but he was one of them. Or so he’d said.

Jaglow’s eyes narrowed in on me. “What are you thinking, Ms. Wainwright?”

I chewed my lip, unsure what to say next. They’d worn out my last nerve. All I could picture was Abraham, so happy tonight, so glad we were friends again. I wanted to hug him and hear him laugh. Against my will, tears sprang to my eyes.

The two cops exchanged glances.

“I guess that’s enough for tonight,” Jaglow said as he stood and slipped his notebook into his back pocket. The action pulled his jacket back and I could see his gun in the holster under his arm. Yet another reminder that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. “We’ve got your contact information and I assume you’re not leaving town anytime soon?”

Was that cop humor? I’d probably laugh about it later.

“No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. I’m sure we’ll have more questions for you.”

“That’s fine,” I said, sliding off the stool. “Really. Anything you want to know, please call me. I want to help find whoever did this.”