“I’ll have to call the mayor and get him to deputize someone again,” he said. “Might as well be your father, if you think he’d be willing.”
“I’m sure he’d be ecstatic,” I said. “As long as you don’t consider him a suspect.”
The chief sighed. “No, he’s well alibied,” he said. “We’ve been together down at the vet’s office for most of the last two hours.”
I was immensely relieved. Dad was an avid reader of mystery books and always loved the idea of being involved in a real-life case, even—or perhaps especially—if he was a suspect. But he could hardly nominate himself as the killer if the chief himself could alibi him.
The chief punched a few buttons on his cell phone. I closed my eyes and tried to demonstrate my complete lack of interest in eavesdropping during the chief’s brief conversation with the mayor.
“Lucky thing, your dad being with me at the vet’s,” the chief said, after he and the mayor had said their goodbyes. “That makes him practically the only person associated with this household who isn’t a suspect.”
“Including me,” I said.
“Including you,” he echoed. “Though I have to admit, I can’t help but consider you a long shot.”
“Because of your profound respect for my character, or because you don’t think a pregnant woman capable of murder?” I asked.
“Never mind,” he said. “Shall we continue our discussion?”
“What about Horace?” I asked. “If you’re having Horace do the forensic work—”
“Horace and Sammy were at the veterinarian’s office with your father and me,” the chief said. “Some fool tourist ran over Sammy’s dog, Hawkeye, this morning. Didn’t even stop to see if the poor beast was all right. Which he will be,” he added, noticing my anxious face. “But it took Doc Clarence an hour and a half of surgery, with your Dad helping out, while Horace and I calmed Sammy down and got a description of the car. Been a lively morning already.”
“And now this,” I said, shaking my head. “By the way, don’t you want to tell Dad about his temporary appointment?”
“Good point.” He started to sit up, realized the chair wasn’t about to let him, and then tried again. He managed to lever himself out, which was more than a lot of people could, but he gave it a thunderous glance once he’d escaped. “Though I don’t know why I bother. He’s been acting as if he already had the job from the moment he arrived on the scene. But still, your father’s—”
“Chief?”
Cousin Horace. With Dad right behind him.
“We have good news, sort of,” Horace said.
“Sort of?” the chief echoed. He glanced back at the chair, then changed his mind and leaned against the desk.
“Tawaret didn’t do it.”
“Tawaret?” the chief asked. He pulled out his notebook and flipped a few pages forward. “Who the hell’s Tawaret?”
He glared at me, as if rebuking me for leaving out a critical suspect.
“Meg’s hippopotamus statue,” Horace said. “It wasn’t the murder weapon.”
“You’re sure?” the chief said.
“Reasonably sure,” Horace said.
“We’ll know more at the autopsy, of course,” Dad said. “But I think the evidence is fairly conclusive.”
“I thought you found strands of her hair on the hippo, and the dent in her head matches the thing’s snout,” the chief said. “If she wasn’t hit over the head with it—”
“She was,” Horace said. “But that’s not what killed her. She was already dead when the blow was struck. No bleeding.”
“Exactly,” Dad said. “It could be a natural death, but more likely she was poisoned. You might want to secure the kitchen.”
Bad news for the paella makers. The chief pulled out his cell phone again.
“What was she eating?” he asked, as he pushed one of his speed-dial numbers.
“Weak tea,” I said. “And lightly buttered toast. You might want to see if Rose Noire took the same thing to the other prune.”
“The other what?” the chief said, frowning.
Oops. Better not explain. I’d just let him try to figure out if he’d misheard or I’d misspoke.
“The other professor,” I said. “Dr. Blanco, the one who came with Dr. Wright. I could be wrong, but I think they both ordered weak tea and toast.”
“And prunes?” the chief asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, wincing. “Ask Rose Noire.”