I turned away and stared out of the window.
“The fact is, the day before he died, you and the victim had a very public spat. In the press, no less.”
“I didn’t say all that stuff!” I exploded. “PJ made it up. And I told you, Chip and I had worked things out.”
“You know, this murder is different, though,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “The other two victims sort of killed themselves. Murders from a distance, if you will. This was a hands-on, full-out act of passion.” He sighed. “How many fricking killers am I dealing with here?”
Serrano looked like he could use a cup of coffee, too.
“Maybe some kind of affair gone wrong?” I suggested.
“With one of the wine club women?”
I thought for a moment. “Not sure about that.” I pictured the usual crowd down at the dog park. There were a few women in their thirties, but most of them were older. “I think they were all a bit long in the tooth for him.”
“Don’t discount the mature woman,” Serrano said as he smiled at me. Finally.
“PJ Avery would have been my first choice of suspects,” he continued, “but she was covering a charity dinner last night, which Birch Kunes and Bettina Waters also attended. The medical examiner pegged the time of death somewhere between 7 and 9 p.m. They were all there until well past 10 p.m.”
“Birch is no more a killer than Jasper,” I said. Although if the murder victim was a squirrel, I couldn’t swear to it. “Marybeth wouldn’t have done it, either. He was her meal ticket to major commissions. I can’t think of anyone else Chip might have known, but with the way he carried on, I’m sure he alienated more than a few people.”
Serrano pulled up in front of my house. “Do me a favor. Try not to find any more dead bodies for the rest of the day. It is Sunday, after all.”
I smirked at him and got out of the car.
After I reassured Joe I was okay, I called Eleanor and asked if I could use her shower. Angus had offered the use of his facilities, too, but she was closer, plus I thought I’d be more comfortable at her house.
I packed a bag with a towel, shampoo, soap, and a change of clothes and set off. On the way, I stopped at Cyril’s place to feed the cat. I still couldn’t see the little guy, but the food was gone from the dish. He was still alive, somewhere. I filled it to the brim with dry food and put fresh water in his bowl.
When I stepped out of the trailer, I suddenly spotted him, peeking from around an old bathtub. I knelt down, and softly whispered for him to come closer. He stared at me for a moment as if weighing his options, then decided better of it and was gone.
Patience, Daisy. At least he was showing himself now.
Eleanor lived in a pretty Victorian on a side street called Henrietta’s Alley. The house was a very pale blue, with white shutters, white front door, and rosette and ribbon detailing on the gable. She’d completely redone the whole house inside, and painted it a soothing mix of light and dark grays, creams, and white.
She opened the front door before I even had a chance to knock, and I followed her past the dining room, where there were always fresh flowers on the table even in the middle of winter, past the French country-style kitchen, and down the hallway to the back staircase.
We walked up to her airy master bedroom that had gray walls and a wrought iron bed layered with soft antique quilts and white linen sheets. It was topped with hemp pillows decorated with French quotes in elegant lettering.
A stack of old valises served as a side table and the dressing table was salvaged and repainted white, with the addition of vintage glass knobs. The floors were whitewashed, and an armoire of the palest celadon stood in one corner.