Part 15 (1/2)

Alan and Sophies room was at the top of the stairs. Alan opened the door and allowed Sophie and Smith to enter. ”Do you normally lock the door, sir?” Smith had not failed to notice that, this time at least, it hadnt been.

”In a respectable place like this? I didnt think it necessary. Maybe I was wrong.”

The room was s.p.a.cious and tastefully decorated. A beautiful quilt made out of interlocking blocks of cream and blue covered the king-sized bed. Large pillows in matching colors were piled against the headboard. A small table beside the window held a single-serving coffee pot, kettle, and a basket overflowing with coffee, tea bags, condiments, and individual-sized packets of cookies.

Smith stood in the doorway. ”Does someone come to tidy up and make the bed every day?”

Sophie plopped her plump behind onto the bed. The headboard hit the wall. ”Theyd better, for what this place is costing us.”

”Does Mrs. Carmine do the cleaning?”

”Her or her daughter, Kathy.”

There was a wide chest of drawers, matching night tables on each side of the bed, and a cabinet underneath the flat-screen TV. Smith stuffed her hands into her jacket pocket, and watched Alan pull out the drawers, starting at the bottom. He hadnt closed the door and sound travelled quite well up the stairs. Wendys voice was steadily rising. That girl needs some serious help before she goes right over the edge, Smith thought. It seemed, from the little Smith had seen, that her parents were too wrapped up in their own grief over Jasons death to pay Wendy much attention.

Easy to spot the place where they kept their drugs. Alan maneuvered his body to block Smiths view, and Sophie jumped off the bed and made a big fuss of checking out the bedside table, presumably to distract the polices attention.

Not Smiths concern.

Not now.

Downstairs Wendy was saying something about Ewans taste in women. She really didnt like the guy. Reminded Smith of when theyd been in school and her brother, Sam, had been friends with Doug Whiteside, one of the star baseball players. A real piece of work he was. Lucky despised him, but Sam wouldnt hear a word against him. Smith wondered what had happened to the baseball player. Wouldnt be surprised if hed gone into politics.

”h.e.l.l, Sophie.” Alans hand came up from the right side of the top drawer. ”Its here.”

She ran over and he handed her a wad of colored bills. She flicked through it, counting. Alan held a silver credit card in his hand. ”Is it all there, Sophie?”

”Oui.”

He turned toward Smith, his embarra.s.sed grin beneath tousled black curls making him look a lot like the actor Hugh Grant. ”Im really sorry about all this. I guess with what happened to Jason and Ewan were all on edge.”

”Not a problem. Its happened before. Like Mom...I mean Mrs. Smith, said people get things mixed up. Your friend Wendy seemed somewhat quick on the draw to pin it on Lorraine though.”

”Wendys upset, you know. Her brother just died.”

”I understand.”

”Him and Ewan...”

”What?”

”Nothing. Wendy loved her brother, thats all.” But Alans face was flushed, and Smith knew there was more behind the statement than he was prepared to reveal.

”Lets go downstairs and let everyone know the good news. You should both come, Sergeant Winters has some questions.”

”Sure,” he said.

Sophie stuffed her money into the pocket of her long wool sweater.

They trooped out of the room. Alan shut the door behind them.

”Sophie has the top two drawers,” he said to Smith, in that distant tone a person takes on when theyre really talking to themselves. ”It wasnt me who moved things.” He raised his voice. ”You need to be more careful, Sophie, your carelessness could have caused a lot of trouble.”

She turned, her dark eyes full of Gaelic fury. ”Me, I always place my money under my socks, always. Since I was a little girl.” She spoke to Smith. ”Always on vacation we went to London or to Paris or Vienna. Always we stayed in the best hotels and always my mother told me to hide my valuables beneath my socks. Thieves, she said, do not think about a womans socks. I do not put my money under my nightgowns. Never.”

She stalked off toward the staircase.

Alan lifted one eyebrow toward Smith. ”Sometimes,” he said, ”we forget what our mommy taught us.”

She grinned. ”In my experience when criminal masterminds are searching for the loot they rarely avoid a womans sock drawer.”

She settled her face back into serious, professional lines at the sight of the furious woman waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

Chapter Fourteen.

The scene might have been plucked directly from a book written in the Golden Age of the mystery novel. The detective, the collection of suspects, the housekeeper wringing her hands on her ap.r.o.n, the fire burning cheerfully in the fireplace, comfortable armchairs, Christmas decorations and a festive tree, outside lights s.h.i.+ning on fat snowflakes. The maid bringing in a tray with teapot, cups, milk and sugar, and a plate of cookies. Although in the stories the maid didnt drop the tray onto the table so hard the mugs jumped, collapse into a vacant chair, and say, ”I hope, Sergeant Winters, that you are not using the excuse of being called to a crime scene to interrogate these people.”

He took a star-shaped cookie sprinkled with red sugar. ”Coincidences happen, Lucky. I was headed this way when the request for an officer came over the radio. So I took it. As for interrogating anyone, thats a harsh word for a simple detective asking questions about the death of two men known to these people. If you, Lucky, would prefer not to be interrogated, youre free to leave.”

Ellie Carmine reached over and patted her friends knee. ”Id like Lucky to stay.”

Lucky Smith was much too polite to smirk.

They had nothing new to say. Ewan Williams went out the evening of December twenty-third and wasnt at breakfast the next morning. No one among his friends considered that to be anything worth worrying about.

”Shacked up with a girl hed met at the resort, we all a.s.sumed,” Wendy said, stirring milk into her tea. Her hand was shaking so badly the edges of the spoon rattled against the cup. ”When it came to a quick pick-up, Ewan liked to sc.r.a.pe the bottom of the barrel.”

John Winters was getting very, very tired of Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth.

”Come on Wendy, thats unfair,” Rob said. ”He liked women. Women liked him.”

”He did not 'like women.” Wendy crushed a Christmas cookie between her fingers. Pale crumbs fell onto her lap. ”He liked s.e.x. Theres a difference, you know. That hes dead doesnt change the fact that he was an arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”

Jeremy gave a mean laugh, and selected a mince tart. ”Way to go, Wendy. Tell it like it is. Ewan didnt give a s.h.i.+t for women. He wanted s.e.x, and he knew how to get it. He was a good looking guy with a deep voice, and a lot of money to throw around.”

Winters said nothing.

”And well hung, whew. He was almost as big as me.” Jeremy laughed. No one else did. ”He was short and skinny, but I guess he thought the size of his p.r.i.c.k made up for that. Ewan would have screwed anything that moved on two legs. Although Im only guessing at the two legs bit. Wouldnt have surprised me if, when supply ran short, hed gone after the four legged ones as well.”

Ellie Carmine sucked in a breath.

”So, Lieutenant or Sergeant or whatever you are, if youre wondering why we werent all that concerned about our missing pal, we a.s.sumed he was warm and comfy in some s.l.u.ts bed, or, failing that, rutting in a stable somewhere. And, as long as were talking things out, Jason wasnt...”

A side table, all gold gilt on spindly legs, crashed to the floor. A mug bounced on the rug, spilling tea. ”Dont you dare say anything against Jason,” Wendy shouted. She was on her feet, her face red and her fists clenched.

”Earth to Wendy. The truth is out there.” He stuffed the entire tart into his mouth.