“Bonjour, Detective,” she said, with a sly glance at me. “My, my. You seem a little testy this morning.”
Over where the Browns and their assorted neighbors had gathered near the pumpkin, Sam’s anger swiftly turned to inconsolable grief.
Eleanor raised a finely arched eyebrow. “Zut alors. Quelle commotion.”
The wailing was approaching operatic proportions, a monumental screeching dirge of despair. I finally understood what the word caterwauling meant. Like a vociferous feline with its tail caught in a door.
“Jesus Christ.” Serrano motioned to one of the officers. “Get that guy out of here. Or in exactly sixty seconds, I’m going to take out my department-issued firearm and shoot the sonovabitch.”
I hurried over to the Browns.
“He says he’ll never forgive me, Daisy,” Dottie shouted to me over the din. “I made him go to our granddaughter’s dance recital with me last night. Lucy was sleeping over afterward, and when we got home, I insisted Sam stay inside and play games with us instead of going out to the patch.”
She looked at me, despair in her eyes. “He’s convinced this never would have happened if he’d been here.”
I wasn’t sure whether she meant the murder of Chip Rosenthal or the death of the pumpkin.
“It’s not your fault,” I yelled back. “I think he just needs time to grieve.”
Lucy took her grandfather’s hand. “It’s okay, Grandpa Sammie.” Sam fell to his knees, buried his face in her little neck, and sobbed some more.
Once he’d quieted down somewhat, I went back to find Serrano and gave him a quick rundown of meeting Chip in the woods the afternoon before and then finding him in the patch this morning.
“You know what, Daisy, I gotta tell you, this is very interesting,” he said, pushing his elegant suit jacket back across his hips and slipping his hands partway into the pockets of his pants. “See, I have this rule. The best suspect is usually the last person to see them alive, or the first person to see them dead. In this case, you’re both. Again.”
I stared at him and sucked in a breath. His eyes were ice blue with none of the usual amusement when he looked at me.
“I need to talk to you. Alone this time.” He motioned to the back of the Challenger. “Let’s go.”
Joe came running up. “Daisy, what’s going on?”
Serrano nodded at him. “Take the dog, please.”
I handed Jasper’s leash to Joe without a word and got into the back of the car.
I stared out of the window as we sped away, even as my pulse accelerated. I wasn’t really in trouble, was I? Why the heck was Serrano acting like this?
He didn’t speak to me on the ride to Sheepville, only to the other officer in the front passenger seat. When we got to the station, we didn’t go toward his desk, but to a small interrogation room.
I slumped down at the table and looked around at the bare beige walls. I needed a shower big time, plus I had a severe headache from caffeine withdrawal.
“God, I’d kill for a cup of coffee,” I muttered.
Serrano glanced sharply at me.
“I’m kidding, Serrano. It’s just a figure of speech. Jeez.”
“Officer Spinelli, please get Ms. Buchanan a beverage.”
When the officer came back, and I’d accepted a Styrofoam cup from him with a grateful smile, Serrano clicked on a tape recorder. “Start at the beginning.”