“Seen?” Bennis said.
“That’s proof,” Franklin Morrison said.
“She wasn’t seen shooting,” Gregor said. “She wasn’t even seen in the bushes, as far as I can tell. She was seen leaving. And that isn’t enough to put her in jail with.”
“I don’t suppose you’re willing to tell us who she is,” Bennis said.
“Mmm,” Gregor answered.
Bennis gave Franklin Morrison a long-suffering look. “He’s always like this. He says he doesn’t like to be compared to Hercule Poirot, but he’s just as vain as Poirot ever was. He likes revelation scenes with all the suspects assembled.”
“I do not,” Gregor said.
“I’ve got to get back to the Inn,” Bennis told him. “I’m freezing my patooties off and I want a sandwich. Tibor’s been making me so crazy, I haven’t eaten since late last night.”
She stalked off across the park, leaving them to follow in her wake, and after a while, they did. Franklin Morrison was exhilarated. Gregor Demarkian was anything but. This was not a case he would like to leave lying for lack of usable proof. She was just what he’d said she was—a very straightforward murderer—and that straightforwardness was dangerous in and of itself. It was as if she had tunnel vision. She saw what she had to see and no further. It hadn’t worried her that in shooting at Gemma Bury while Gemma sat in the park on the bleachers she might have shot someone else as well, Gregor thought, because it hadn’t occurred to her that she might have shot someone else as well. She saw the job at hand and nothing else. What that meant for the future, if she was left to wander around loose, wasn’t very pleasant to contemplate.
Bennis was sitting behind the wheel when Gregor and Franklin came up, the engine running, the heating on full blast, the doors open so the heater did no good at all. Gregor let Franklin climb into the back seat and then took the seat next to Bennis himself. Bennis had lit another cigarette and was blowing smoke on her hands.
“Let’s go,” she said. “I want to get my hands on my food before Tibor starts obsessing and spoils it for me.”
2
Less than five minutes later, Bennis Hannaford handed the keys to the Ford Taurus to Franklin Morrison and got out on the walk in front of the Green Mountain Inn. Gregor got out after her, holding the seat to help Franklin climb out himself. They all shook hands—why, since they were all going to be at the performance and likely to see each other in under three hours, Gregor didn’t know—and then Franklin got back into the car and Gregor and Bennis started on inside the Inn. The Inn’s windows had been spruced up a little while they were out. The three gold Christmas balls that had been there since their arrival had increased to eight and had been joined by a gold-painted wicker basket. It reminded Gregor more of Easter than of Christmas. Bennis went through the Inn’s front doors, unzipping her parka as she walked. Gregor went in behind her and looked around the lobby. He was glad to see that there didn’t seem to be anyone lying in wait for him. He’d half-expected a visit from Sharon Morrissey. Ever since he’d talked to Susan Everman, he’d been sure a visit from Sharon was on the horizon. Maybe Susan hadn’t told Sharon she’d spoken to Gregor, or even that she’d intended to. That would explain it.
Bennis had stopped short in the middle of the lobby. Gregor came up next to her and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Bennis pointed across the room to the fireplace. “Right there,” she said. “Right where he was sitting yesterday.”
“Who?”
“Tibor.”
“I see Tibor,” Gregor said.
Tibor was sitting in a wingback chair, his legs planted firmly apart, his nose stuck in a magazine. Gregor thought it was Soldier of Fortune, but he couldn’t be sure.
Bennis tugged at Gregor’s sleeve. “Look at the floor,” she hissed. “Bags. Big brown paper bags. He’s got food with him again.”
“I thought you were hungry.”
“I am hungry. I can’t stand this, Gregor. I can’t go through this one more minute.”
“You can’t go through Father Tibor thinking you ought to have something to eat? You’re going to have to move off Cavanaugh Street. You’re going to have to move to Mars.”
“Never mind,” Bennis told him. “I’m getting out of here. And if he asks, you haven’t seen me.”
“We are all attending the performance of the play tonight.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
She whirled away and started hurrying in the direction of the back stairs, a very inefficient way to go, but the only one that did not require her to pass so close to the fireplace that she might be seen. Gregor watched her retreat with a certain amount of resignation. Relationships among the people who lived on Cavanaugh Street got so damned complicated. Gregor crossed the rest of the lobby and went up to Tibor’s chair.