Миранда Джеймс - Fixing To Die

The killer could have come in through one of the windows from the gallery. An’gel glanced casually toward the young policeman. At the moment his attention seemed focused on Serenity Foster. An’gel leaned toward Henry Howard again. “Were the windows in the French room locked, do you know?”

“They usually are,” Henry Howard whispered. “But I didn’t check them this morning. I’m sure the police did, but they didn’t say.”

An’gel wanted to groan with frustration. Too many variables, too many questions for which she had no answers. She had no hope of being able to get those answers from Lieutenant Steinberg. An’gel was pretty sure he wouldn’t welcome any assistance from her quarter. If only Kanesha Berry was investigating this . Kanesha, the chief deputy in the sheriff’s department in Athena County, knew and respected An’gel. Though Kanesha didn’t precisely welcome An’gel’s and Dickce’s assistance, she didn’t disdain it either.

An’gel refocused her thoughts on the question of access to Nathan Gamble. If the door and the windows were locked and the killer needed to be able to get into the room, was there another way in? An’gel hadn’t quite given up on her notion of a secret passage or a hidden door.

If such a passage or a door existed, where was it? An’gel reluctantly had to rule out the secret passage after a few moments’ thought. The architecture simply didn’t support that idea. There was no unaccounted-for space between the French room and the bathroom next to it that she had been able to discern.

If there was a secret door into the French room, then it had to be through the bathroom, the only contiguous space other than the hallway and the gallery outside. An’gel decided that the moment the police released them from the parlor, she would head upstairs and examine the wall between the two rooms as minutely as possible. Benjy could help her. His young eyes might spot something more easily and quickly, and his young knees could stand crawling along the floorboards far more easily than her elderly ones. He would enjoy the experience, she knew. By now the police would have sealed off the bedroom, of course. She would have to rely on her memory for now for the way the room was arranged. What was along the mutual wall?

Truss Wilbanks lumbered into her line of vision, and his reentry distracted her from her speculations. The man looked dreadful, she thought as she moved from his former place back to her spot next to Benjy on the other sofa. His time with the lieutenant had not eased his mind. That much was obvious. His hands and arms trembled, his legs looked shaky, and he was still perspiring. The man actually looked ill. She wondered if he suffered from any particular medical condition that could account for any of this. If he needed help, though, surely he would ask for it.

Was guilt the reason for his obvious terror? If not guilt, then perhaps it had something to do with the nature of his relationship with the deceased. Was Wilbanks worried that the police would focus all their efforts on him because of that relationship?

An’gel leaned forward and caught the man’s eye. “Mr. Wilbanks, you don’t look well at all. Are you ill? Should we call a doctor for you?”

Wilbanks shook his head. “No, I’m just upset, and I have a bad headache. Thank you, though. This is all a bit overwhelming.”

“If you change your mind, I’ll see that you get medical attention,” An’gel said.

The man had to be dehydrated by now because he had perspired so heavily, An’gel realized. The least she could do was to see that he had water to drink. She called out to the young policeman. “Officer, I’m sure that everyone here is as thirsty as I am by now. Couldn’t one of us go to the kitchen and get water for everyone?”

“I’ll see to that, ma’am,” the young man said. “Just a moment.” He walked to the door and conferred with someone in the hall, then turned back into the room. “One of the officers will bring water in a minute.”

Marcelline stood and advanced toward the policeman. “No one is going to be rooting around in my kitchen except me. I won’t have someone making a mess that I have to clean up later, young man. Let me go, and I’ll take care of it.”

The officer nodded. “All right, ma’am. If you’ll go with the officer there.” He indicated the female officer An’gel had noticed before. Marcelline moved briskly to the door and disappeared into the hallway.

“Thank you, Miss An’gel,” Mary Turner said. “I’m about parched myself.” She cast a sideways glance at Truss Wilbanks. “I’m sure we could all use some water.”

Wilbanks nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

An’gel smiled in return. Then she looked at Serenity Foster. The young woman didn’t appear upset or grieving, An’gel thought. If anything, she looked bored. Was that because she was too stupid to understand the gravity of the situation? An’gel didn’t give the woman high marks for intelligence. Or maybe she was innocent and thus not worried about the police investigation? Either was possible to An’gel’s way of thinking.

Now that Wilbanks was back in the room, An’gel wondered, had the lieutenant finished with his questioning? She was getting hungry. According to her watch, it was nearly one thirty, well past her usual lunchtime. She glanced around and realized that Primrose Pace was no longer in the room. She must have been called in to speak with Steinberg again, An’gel decided.

Either that, or she had slipped out the front window near her chair while everyone’s attention was directed elsewhere.

Like when you asked the policeman for water .

That would have been the perfect time for Primrose Pace to act. An’gel looked where Mrs. Pace had been sitting.

The window was open. Mrs. Pace was gone.

CHAPTER 25

An’gel got immediately to her feet. “Officer, did anyone escort Mrs. Pace to talk to Lieutenant Steinberg?”

The young man shook his head. “No, ma’am, he hasn’t asked for her yet.”

“Then she’s gone,” An’gel said. “Look at the window. She was sitting right there a few minutes ago.”

The policeman whirled around to stare at the window. He stood frozen for a moment. Then he shouted for backup as he ran for the window and climbed through it. Another officer ran in, spotted the open window, and followed behind the first man.

Marcelline and the woman officer who had accompanied her to the kitchen returned amid the excitement. Marcelline had the rolling tea cart, and atop it sat two large pitchers of ice water and numerous glasses.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Marcelline asked, seeing everyone standing and staring toward the front windows.

“Mrs. Pace made a run for it,” Henry Howard said. “She must be the one who killed Nathan.” He glanced at Mary Turner. “I thought it was a bad idea to have that woman in the house. She’s nothing but a fraud.”

“How was I to know that, Henry Howard Catlin?” Mary Turner said, obviously stung by her husband’s words. “She seemed like a nice person to me, not some con artist.”

Her husband’s reply was acid-tinged. “That’s how they work, honey.”

“Don’t start getting all superior on me because I thought she was a nice woman.” Mary Turner suddenly burst into tears. “Oh, dear Lord, what if she really did kill Nathan?”

An’gel felt she had to get the situation under control. The police officer wasn’t making any effort to, and An’gel didn’t want Mary Turner and Henry Howard’s argument to escalate any further.

“Marcelline, please see that everyone has water, and start with Mr. Wilbanks.” An’gel spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. Marcelline went to work immediately and handed Wilbanks a glass.