Миранда Джеймс - Fixing To Die

“What about his movements last night?” An’gel asked.

“He and Serenity got fast food for dinner last night,” Benjy said. “They brought it back to their rooms, or rather Truss brought it back. He went to get it while Serenity stayed in her room. They ate in their own rooms. Truss watched TV for a while, played around on his tablet and his phone, then went to bed around ten.” Benjy paused for a sip of tea, then he continued.

“He took something to help him sleep because he was upset and didn’t think he could sleep without it. It made him groggy but it didn’t really put him out. He says it does him like that sometimes. I asked him whether he heard or saw anything last night, and he said he remembered hearing a door nearby open and close. He thinks it was sometime after eleven. After that he finally passed out and didn’t wake up until this morning.” Benjy reached for another cookie.

“Did you try to broach the subject of the will?” An’gel asked.

“I did, because he seemed so happy to have someone to talk to,” Benjy said. “He may regret it later, but he did talk about his relationship with Nathan. Both the personal and professional side of it. According to Truss, Nathan was really smart at making money, but he wasn’t generous with it. Truss earned money as Nathan’s lawyer, but not as much as he could have working for some other company. Or so he says.”

Benjy finished his cookie and washed it down with more sweet tea before he went on. “I finally came out and asked him what would happen to the business and Nathan’s personal money. Truss says another lawyer handled Nathan’s will but he’s pretty sure everything is divided between him and Serenity.”

“So they both have a strong financial motive for killing Nathan,” Dickce said.

“Yeah,” Benjy replied. “Though I don’t think Truss did it. I don’t think he’d have to guts to kill anybody, even if he was really angry with them.”

“That’s my impression of him, too,” An’gel said. “Though he can’t be counted out simply because we don’t think him capable.”

“I’d put him in the middle of the list, maybe ahead of Marcelline and Mary Turner, but behind Serenity Foster and Alesha Jackson,” Dickce said. “I don’t think Henry Howard is in it.”

“I haven’t told you yet about what I found out from him, and from Mary Turner,” An’gel said. “Once you hear it, you might revise your list.”

“Good heavens, what did you find out?” Dickce asked.

An’gel told them about Nathan’s gloating over having bought the mortgage to Cliffwood and Serenity’s threat earlier that day. “So you see, that moves Mary Turner and Marcelline right up on the list.”

“Because Marcelline would do anything to protect Mary Turner,” Dickce said.

“Do you really think Mary Turner would kill somebody?” Benjy appeared upset at the idea.

“I hate to think so, Benjy, but based on my talk with her earlier, and on a couple of conversations with Henry Howard, I’m afraid she might be obsessed with this house. Obsessed to the point that she would do something drastic to keep it safe.”

“I hope you’re wrong about her,” Benjy said. “That’s all I’ve got to say.”

“I hope I’m wrong, too,” An’gel said. “Lieutenant Steinberg isn’t going to rule her out, and neither can we.”

“This is so upsetting,” Dickce said. “To think of that nice young woman, sweet Jessy’s granddaughter, as a killer.” She shook her head, her expression doleful. “But I have noticed that she is really devoted to the house and its care.”

“I have a question for you both,” Benjy said. “About this house.”

“What is it?” Dickce asked.

“Okay, we know now Henry Howard was playing spook in the French room,” Benjy said. “But what about the other things? That shadow you saw, Miss An’gel, and the cold you felt on the stairs, Miss Dickce? And remember the door?” He turned slightly in his chair and pointed toward the parlor entrance. “How do you explain those things?”

“I can’t at the moment,” An’gel said. “I didn’t ask Henry Howard about any of those incidents. I suspect he somehow was responsible for the shadow, though I don’t know how he worked it. Maybe this door, too.”

“But the cold spot.” Dickce shivered. “I don’t see how he could do that. It wasn’t like cold air blowing on you, from an air conditioner vent or anything like that. It was this sudden feeling of being enveloped in cold.”

“Like at Riverhill?” An’gel asked.

Dickce nodded.

“So do you think that cold spot means there really is a spirit in this house?” Benjy asked.

An’gel and Dickce looked at each other. Dickce nodded, then An’gel. “I hate to admit it,” An’gel said, “but that’s one thing I can’t see any explanation for, especially since we’ve experienced the same thing at Riverhill.”

“I’m not sure I want to feel it,” Benjy said, “though it might be interesting. Funny, though, that Peanut and Endora don’t react when they go up and down the stairs.”

“That may just mean that the spirit isn’t there when they do,” Dickce said. “It might not care for animals.”

Benjy laughed suddenly. “It’s too bad we can’t get the spirit to tell us who murdered Nathan Gamble. Maybe it was in the French room when the murder happened. Who knows?”

An’gel started to laugh, and then she thought about what Benjy had said about getting the spirit to reveal the killer.

“You know,” she said slowly, “that might not be such a bad idea.”

CHAPTER 35

An’gel spent at the most twenty minutes sharing what she had learned with Lieutenant Steinberg. She stuck to the main points. She knew he would have to dig into the details anyway and verify everything she told him.

She had been right about the lieutenant talking further with Kanesha Berry. The Athena sheriff’s deputy had convinced Steinberg that he would be remiss in his duties should he ignore An’gel and any information she managed to uncover. Steinberg hadn’t apologized for his earlier attitude, and An’gel didn’t expect him to. The main thing was that he was now listening to her and taking notes.

“That’s all,” An’gel said when she’d finished.

“That’s a lot.” Steinberg laid aside his pen. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes for a moment. An’gel thought he looked tired.

“Do you have any further questions for me?” An’gel asked. “If not, I’d like to ask you one.”

Steinberg’s eyes popped open. “No other questions right this minute, Miss Ducote. What is it you want to ask me?”

“Will you tell me how Nathan Gamble died?”

Steinberg looked at her for a long moment. “At this point, I don’t see why not. We believe that he was smothered to death. There were signs of asphyxia when the doctor examined him on the scene.”

I knew it, he purposely misled us, An’gel thought. He was playing his cards close to his chest .

“Further,” Steinberg continued, “we think that he may have been drugged into a sound sleep. We will have to wait for the outcome of the toxicological analysis on that to be absolutely sure, but there are indications that he was too out of it to fight back.”

“Then that means pretty much anyone could have killed him. They wouldn’t have to be particularly strong to do it if he was in no condition to fight them,” An’gel said.

“Yes, exactly,” Steinberg said. “And there you see my biggest problem. I don’t know who did it.”

“Do you have any idea where the sleep medication came from?” An’gel asked.

“There was no bottle or container of it in the room,” Steinberg said, “so we have to assume it came from someone else. We also don’t know whether he took it willingly or if he was unaware. During our search of the house, we discovered that four people had sleeping pills with them.”