I took a deep breath and repeated everything I’d told him at the pumpkin patch, except in greater detail, hoping I was making it crystal clear that there was no lingering animosity between Chip and me regarding the article in the Sheepville Times. I finished my account with describing walking Jasper this morning, seeing the body, and calling for help.
“You didn’t try to revive the victim?”
I shook my head. “It was obvious he was dead. He’d been there all night.”
“Let’s leave that up to forensics, shall we?”
I glared at the detective that I thought was my friend. What the hell was the matter with him?
Did someone get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning or what?
I bit my lip as I wondered whose bed. He’d shown up awfully fast. Eleanor, too, come to think of it.
“It doesn’t sound like you had a very high opinion of the victim, according to an account in the local paper yesterday,” he continued in that same cold, clipped fashion. “He was making life difficult for you. Maybe you’d have liked to see him out of the picture. Sounds like a plausible theory to me.”
“Well, sometimes your theories are all wet!” I snapped.
Those icy blue eyes turned positively glacial. “Ms. Buchanan, are you seriously mouthing off to a senior member of the police force?”
At that moment, there was a knock at the door, which Officer Spinelli answered with alacrity. He came back to their side of the table holding a large plastic baggie with a broken wine bottle inside.
“Ah. The wine bottle that was found near the body,” Serrano said. “Probably the murder weapon.”
I gasped, suddenly recognizing the elegant black and yellow label on the bottle. A 2009 Pouilly-Fuissé from the Mâcon region of France.
Just like the one I’d thrown in the recycle container.
“What is it, Daisy?” Serrano leaned forward, searching my face.
It had to be the same one. How many bottles of pricey white burgundy would be hanging around Millbury? Oh, God. Would my fingerprints be on it? Like it wasn’t enough that I seemed to be in a sticky situation already.
As if reading my mind, Serrano said, “It’s been dusted for fingerprints. You don’t mind giving us yours, do you?”
I swallowed.
It wasn’t really a yes or no question. I tried to remember if I was wearing gloves yesterday.
“Do you know who drinks this particular type of wine?” he asked.
“No. I’m not exactly in the clique, as it were.” I took a slow sip of coffee while my mind raced. Everyone shared wine down at the dog park. There could be a whole bunch of fingerprints on that bottle.
An hour or so later, Serrano decided he was done with me and the other officer left the room.
“Come on, Daisy, I’ll give you a ride home.”
I got up, tight-lipped, and trailed after him out of the building. You’re in big trouble, mister. I don’t appreciate your attitude in class today.
He opened the front passenger door of the Challenger for me and I got in without a word. There was a frosty silence between us until we took the left turn onto River Road.
Serrano was the first to break it.
“I know you’re pissed at me, Daisy, but here’s the thing. I have to set an example for my men. Do everything by the book. They need to know that I’ll always do what’s right, regardless of the personal feelings involved.”