Interesting. Of course, I’d already figured out that in Caerphilly’s relatively small interior design community, the major players all knew each other, and had done battle over potential clients many times. But given the antagonism I’d already seen between Clay and Martha …
“She tried to poison me against him, you know,” Felicity said.
“Martha?”
“Yes. Tried to tell me all sorts of wild stories about him being a criminal or something. She’s a piece of work. If Jerry wants to hire her to redo the room Clay decorated—well, at least I won’t have to deal with her.”
“So now what happens?” I said aloud. “With you and Jerry.”
“Now that Clay’s dead, you mean?” She shrugged.
“You don’t think you’ll get back together?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Clay wasn’t my true love. Just my exit strategy. I’m not going back to Jerry. I’m tired of him knocking me around.”
But she looked so bleak that I wondered if she’d stick to that. I wouldn’t want to bet against the notion that by next Christmas, she and Jerry would be back together.
Assuming neither one of them turned out to be Clay’s killer.
“So where have you been staying?” I asked. “At the local women’s shelter?”
“I didn’t know we had a local women’s shelter,” she said. “And no, I’ve been staying with a friend in Westlake.”
Westlake was one of the posher local suburbs, the sort of place where people who could afford decorators were apt to live. Her tone implied that people with friends rich enough to live in Westlake had no need of a women’s shelter. I hoped she was right. Though I suspected the women I’d seen last night at the shelter were there out of fear, not economic need.
The chief stuck his head in.
“Mrs. Granger? We’d like you to come down with us to the station.”
“Great,” she said. “What did Jerry tell you?”
“Nothing yet,” he said. “I’d rather talk to both of you down at the station.”
She heaved herself off the recycling bin and headed toward the door. The chief stepped aside to allow room for her to pass. Sammy followed her.
“Horace is going to process those packages,” the chief said. “And then he’ll bring them back to the show house. We’d like to talk to each of the people whose packages were stolen.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “I gather Mr. Granger got out on bail this morning.”
“Yes,” the chief said. “But he won’t be for long. Last month Judge Shiffley granted his wife a protective order against him. He violated that by showing up here. And it’s his third violation, which means a mandatory six-months sentence.”
“And what are the odds Judge Shiffley will let him make bail twice in less then twenty-four hours?” I asked.
“Slim.” The chief smiled slightly. “We’ll also be charging him for everything he got up to last night. Should hold him for a while.”
“Long enough for you to figure out if he killed Clay?” I suggested.
The chief didn’t answer, but his face wore a look of satisfying anticipation, like a cat who had a mouse cornered and was looking forward to playing with it.
“So did you figure out why Mr. Granger was following me last night?” I asked.
The chief frowned.
“I’m afraid that’s partly our fault,” he said. “I had him in for questioning yesterday—Martha Blaine suggested him as one of Mr. Spottiswood’s clients who might have reason to dislike him.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” I muttered. And I suspected Martha had enjoyed having a chance to get back at the Grangers for choosing Clay over her.
“And while he was down at the station,” the chief went on, “it appears he overheard several of my officers discussing their inability to locate Mrs. Granger for questioning. One of them suggested going over to the show house to ask someone with a connection to the Caerphilly women’s shelter if Mrs. Granger had taken up residence there. Apparently, after spending some time observing the comings and goings at the show house, Mr. Granger decided that you were the connection.”
“Based on what?”
“He was unable to articulate his reasons,” the chief said. “He’d ingested a considerable quantity of alcohol. He was well past the legal limit when we administered the Breathalyzer.”
“I should get back to the house,” I said. I followed the chief back into the living room. Which was empty of feuding Grangers; I could see Sammy escorting Felicia to his cruiser. Another cruiser was pulling away, presumably with another deputy escorting Jerry.