Clara protested with a loud whimper at each mention of that last detail. “I was trying to take the scarf off her!”
“There were the tracks of grass on the pavilion floor,” I reminded Jesse. “That does seem to indicate that someone had been in the pavilion before the rest of us arrived.”
“Yes—her!” Aunt Alva’s finger jabbed in Clara’s direction.
I swung to face her. She and I sat together on the camelback sofa beneath the mounted sabers Uncle William had brought home from the family’s trip to India last year. I couldn’t help feeling those crossed swords symbolized Aunt Alva’s and my currently opposing views. I only hoped they were mounted securely. “Are you so eager to see your own maid accused of murder?”
Clara let out another whimper as Aunt Alva replied, “Of course not. But neither am I eager to see a murderess go free.”
“The grass could have been tracked in by Madame Devereaux herself.” This came from Jesse’s partner, Detective Anthony Dobbs. The man sat at Uncle William’s sturdy desk, a pencil in hand, a writing tablet open before him. I scowled at the sarcasm that dripped from the medium’s name. Whether or not the woman had been swindling her customers, she didn’t deserve anyone’s mockery now. Especially this man’s. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he took no notice.
I’d known both police officers most of my life. Jesse lived near my childhood home on the Point section of Newport, beside the harbor on the other side of town. Though he was quite a bit younger than my father, they’d been friends and Jesse had joined us for supper on many a night. Now he was my half brother Brady’s friend, and as often as not kept Brady out of trouble—and jail—whenever my boisterous brother overim-bibed or became tangled in any number of ill-advised activities.
Jesse and his partner couldn’t have been more different, neither in looks nor temperament. Where Jesse’s features bore the youthful, almost delicate look of a boy and his frame tended toward the lean and wiry, Anthony Dobbs sported the face of a bulldog and the body of a prizefighter, and it seemed he derived no shortage of pleasure from bullying my brother at every opportunity.
Would he enjoy doing the same to Clara?
“Clara could have tracked in the grass,” Aunt Alva pointed out.
“I didn’t, ma’am. I stayed on the path.”
“So you say,” Aunt Alva countered.
No one commented, but Detective Dobbs scribbled in his tablet.
One by one Jesse dismissed the ladies until only Aunt Alva and I remained. Aunt Alva I understood; she owned Marble House and was Clara’s employer. As for me . . . I couldn’t help a twinge of pride that perhaps Jesse thought I could help, as I had in Newport’s last, and still quite recent, murder investigation.
Jesse went to look over Dobbs’s shoulder at the notes scrawled in the tablet. He glanced up with a frown. “Mrs. Vanderbilt, isn’t your daughter in residence?”
My aunt stiffened. “She is.”
“We’ll need to question her, too, then.”
“Oh, no, you will not.” Aunt Alva compressed her lips and glowered.
“Was she with you all when Madame Devereaux’s body was discovered?”
Aunt Alva started to shake her head, but a quick glance at me seemed to change her mind. “She was, but she didn’t see anything. I sent her back up to the house before she ever entered the pavilion. It was she who instructed my butler to call the police.”
“And where is she now?” Jesse asked.
“In her room. Where else would she be?”
Jesse scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “Will you please send for her, ma’am.” It wasn’t a question. “It’s possible she might have seen or heard something from her room. On a day like this I’m sure her windows must be open.”
“Her room faces the south garden. She couldn’t have witnessed a thing.”
Jesse met my gaze and I gave a tiny shrug. When Aunt Alva dug in, nothing could persuade her to change her position. If Jesse wanted to question Consuelo, nothing short of a warrant would grant him access to her.
“I can attest to the fact that Consuelo was in her room immediately before we all went out to the pavilion,” I said calmly. “And I’m equally sure she returned there after asking Mr. Grafton to call the police.”
“What makes you so certain?” Dobbs’s voice held a belligerent note.
“I know my cousin.”
“All right, we’ll let it drop,” Jesse conceded. “For now.” He perched at the edge of Uncle William’s desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Miss Parker, tell me about these footsteps you heard.”