“Two. Diane Hume was quick to accuse Margo, but she revealed that she herself was well aware where the gun was kept.
“Three. Margo insisted neither she nor Shannon left the house last night. I think she was lying.
“Four. Shannon Taylor knows something she isn’t telling.
“Five. Jimmy Hume implicated Clint Dunham, but he also implicated himself. He could have been outside to place the cocker in the tool room.
“Six. I think Gwen Dunham lied when she said her husband knew nothing about Jack Hume’s claim that Ryan was his son.
“Seven. Clint Dunham stonewalled me. He knows something he isn’t telling. But he didn’t show shock when I asked him whether he knew Ryan was Jack’s son.
“Eight. Alison Gregory did not repeat Jack Hume’s comment about his sister’s anger toward him. Alison admitted she destroyed evidence about the vase’s fall.”
I added more salt to the French fries.
The chief chided me: “Salt’s not good for high blood pressure.” He stopped, a French fry midway to his lips. “Oh. Yeah. You don’t have to worry. You know, it would be kind of interesting if—”
I felt a tap on the back of my hand.
For an instant I was startled. How had Wiggins known where I was? Oh. Of course. He saw the French fry in the air. I waggled my French fry in reply. Surely Wiggins was pleased that I wasn’t, so to speak, here. However, I understood his instructions. To head off any discussion of the Hereafter, I broke in quickly, “That’s an excellent summing-up. Cogent, clear, concise.” Praise is always a good diversion. “Compelling,” I concluded with vigor.
Chief Cobb wiped his hand on a paper napkin. “Thanks. But I don’t see a direct link to Ronald Phillips and the murderer.” He sounded discouraged. “We have plenty of people with motive and opportunity and not a single fact to tie one of them to the crime.”
A growly whisper in one ear caught my attention.
“If I had time, I would remonstrate. Conversing with your charge is one thing: discourse with Chief Cobb is definitely another. But, alas, I am needed.” As suddenly as he had come, I knew Wiggins had departed.
Hopefully, the diffident emissary in Patagonia required Wiggins’s attention posthaste. Certainly no one could accuse me of indecisiveness. Not, of course, that I am being prideful. Heaven forfend.
Chief Cobb made a disgruntled sound in his throat.
Physical evidence…I finished a final fry. “How about the rawhide bone?”
He looked toward where I sat. Slowly, his broad mouth curved into a smile. “Probably no prints,” he murmured. “Whoever killed the Phillipses was too smart for that. Besides, the bone would have been greasy and chewed up. We can check the dog’s collar.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “The murderer decided on killing them after the séance broke up around nine P.M. That left very little time for planning. We know the murderer was aware of the gun in the upstairs study. I imagine the murderer carried another weapon, just in case. The murderer also knew the dog might be either outside or inside. Whichever, the dog had to be placed somewhere to keep him quiet. A rawhide bone was a good lure. There’s just a chance…”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, punched a number. “Hey, Hal. Find out if Alison Gregory or the Dunhams have a dog.”
I was puzzled for an instant. Oh, of course. If they had dogs, they might have rawhide bones at home.
“…check all the convenience stores and late-night groceries. It’s a long shot, but maybe someone might remember selling a bag of rawhide bones last night.”
Kay ran her hands through her dark curls. She looked even more tousled than usual. Her intelligent features squeezed in a moue of frustration. “So we have to pin our hopes on a cop finding a clerk who remembers a bag of dog bones. All this work and effort and what have we got—a dog bone.” She pointed at papers strewn across the desktop. “It could be anybody. The murderer must be giddy with delight.”
I pushed a cushion behind my back on the wicker settee. I was comfortable in a white piqué blouse and turquoise shorts. I held up one foot in a white sandal and looked critically at the blue polish on my toenails. Every detail counts.
“Bailey Ruth, if you can focus on something other than your appearance for all of a minute and a half, I want you to take a look at this.” She held out a sheet of paper.
I refrained from a searing retort about those who are obviously jealous of redheads and took the sheet.
Kay was crisp. “I’ve tagged most of Laverne’s comments to a particular person.”
Diane Hume:…hear me and do as I wish…
Evelyn Hume:…jealousy and resentment growing over the years…bright red poppies in a field…sharp light and a magnifying glass…
The Dunhams:…family secrets…the father…handsome boy…desperate mother…
Margo Taylor:…stolen photograph…
Shannon Taylor:…Jack upset…young love spurned…
Jimmy Hume:…oh, Jimmy…
Kay’s eyes narrowed. “Everybody except Alison.”
I agreed. “She complained that she’d been left out.”
“So why was she there?”
“She was a dinner guest the night Jack died. Laverne insisted Diane bring everyone back for the séance.”
Kay leaned back in her chair. “I thought maybe I’d found an anomaly. All the others appear to be linked to a specific comment.”
I read the list again, then returned to the entry for Evelyn. “You’re right. Laverne’s comments seem innocuous unless you know why she made them. Then it’s obvious she’s hinting at devastating knowledge. Except for these two phrases.” I tapped the references to the painting and the magnifying glass. “I don’t see anything threatening. Yet there had to be a reason for Laverne to include this as part of the séance.”
Kay read aloud: “‘…bright red poppies in a field…sharp light and a magnifying glass…’”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Evelyn Hume smiled as she pointed toward the painting which I imagined she saw as a diffuse impression of colors. “…Metcalf was one of the first American artists to visit Giverny…He enjoyed his years in France and even spent two months in North Africa in 1886…his greatest success as an artist came during his years in Connecticut…”
Kay stepped nearer the canvas as Evelyn’s deep voice recounted facts and descriptions.
I, too, studied the magnificent painting. The colors of the poppies were as red as my hair. Gorgeous. When Evelyn paused for a breath, I asked diffidently, “Have you looked at the painting recently with your magnifying glass?”
She paused in mid-oration, looking surprised. “I haven’t done so. I believe I will this afternoon. Often I prefer to enjoy my memories of the paintings before my eyes grew so dim. This painting was a special favorite of my brother James.” Suddenly her face softened. “Jack and I looked at it only a few days before he died.” She shook her head, was abruptly remote. “Please enjoy looking at the collection. I believe I’ll go rest now.”
Kay paced back and forth in front of the bedroom’s stone fireplace. “If Evelyn has a guilty conscience, I’ll jump from the balcony with wax wings.” She slapped a fist in the opposite palm. “Why did Laverne stick in the stuff about the Metcalf painting? Ronald must have seen Evelyn looking at the painting with her magnifying glass. Why was that important? The painting belongs to her. She can look at it every day if she wants to.”
I wasn’t listening. I was seeing Ronald as he slipped quietly around The Castle, watching, looking, noting. Suddenly a different picture filled in my mind. Not Evelyn. Of course, Ronald didn’t see Evelyn. He wouldn’t have given a thought to Evelyn peering closely at one of the famous paintings. I could scarcely breathe I was so excited. “Kay, listen, what if—” I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked around inquiringly.