Detective Sergeant Price perched on a corner of the desk. Price’s rugged features creased in concentration. He tapped a folder, then thrust it toward the chief.
Cobb flipped the folder open and looked down at the contents. His left hand pulled out a side drawer, fumbled in it, and emerged with a handful of M&M’s.
I looked at my watch. It had taken me twenty-four minutes to achieve my first objective and arrive here with my trophy. I placed the plastic bag with its precious contents on the window ledge. The minutes were ticking past.
I flowed into the chief’s office.
“…no fingerprints on the gun. Nothing on the dog bone.” Price grinned. “Didn’t make me popular in the lab. Slimier than algae.”
“Any luck on dog-bone sales?”
Price shook his head. “I’m supposed to get a buzz if they find anything.”
Time, time, time, I had so little time. I moved to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk. I came up behind Hal Price and held the chalk above his head.
The chief looked up. He stiffened.
I pointed the chalk at Hal, then at the door.
The chief gobbled a half-dozen M&M’s. “Hey, Hal, print out the Phillipses’ autopsies. And make some calls and find out who takes care of Evelyn Hume’s eyes. I’d like a report on how well she sees.”
As the door closed behind Detective Sergeant Price, I was at the window and pulling up the sash. I grabbed the plastic bag.
Chief Cobb watched the plastic bag approach his desk and land squarely in front of him.
“I don’t like sodas.”
“You’ll like this one. Here’s what you need to do…”
In midstream I paused. “You don’t look well.”
He pointed at the plastic bag. “How did you get that can?”
“I took it. I needed it. You need it.”
“I’ll be fired. You can’t steal somebody’s fingerprints.”
I felt impatient. Men are so literal. “Don’t worry about it. Once you get these prints, then it will be easy to see if they are also at The Castle. I am absolutely sure they are. Then”—I spoke slowly—“you’ll know. Once you know, you can go about getting evidence the way you usually do.”
“Good.” His voice had a strangled sound. “I’d be all in favor of getting evidence the old-fashioned—” He stopped, his heavy face suddenly excited. “Yeah. If we know, I can either make an arrest or use the knowledge to get big-time cooperation. Threat of arrest on first-degree murder may get me a little canary song.”
“Exactly. You’ll also need an art expert. That won’t be hard.” I pulled his legal pad to one side of the desk, began to write. “I have a plan.”
Chief Cobb punched his intercom. “I need prints made from a Coke can. ASAP.” He frowned in thought, then affixed a piece of tape to the plastic bag, identifying the contents and assigning the case number.
His door opened in less than three minutes. A slender woman in a beige smock and blue slacks took the plastic bag. “Fifteen minutes, Chief.”
“Thanks.” He reached for his phone.
When Detective Sergeant Price returned, Chief Cobb waved away the autopsy reports. “I got a tip. Here’s what we’re going to do.” He dispatched Price to pick up the expert.
True to her word, the technician returned with a sheet of fingerprints in fifteen minutes.
Chief Cobb smiled. “Thanks, Esther. I want a crime van at The Castle in an hour. Bring these prints. We’ll be looking for a match.”
As she left, Chief Cobb picked up the phone, punched a number. “Miss Hume? This is Chief Cobb. Our crime technicians will return to The Castle for further testing this afternoon. Some fingerprints may also be checked on the third floor in connection with your brother’s death. This is all a matter of routine.” His tone was bland. He listened, nodded. “Thank you.”
Once again he punched his phone. “Hal, get the expert to The Castle in an hour. I’ll meet you there.” He clicked off the phone, settled back in his chair, and looked around.
“Good work, Chief.” I spoke with warmth and admiration. “Everything’s going perfectly.”
His expression was wry. “That’s assuming there’s a match between the Coke prints and the prints you think we will find at The Castle.”
“O ye of little faith,” I murmured.
“But”—his brown eyes gleamed—“if the prints are there”—he glanced down at my plan—“your idea is swell. I’ll request everyone to be at The Castle at eight o’clock tonight, ostensibly to re-create the séance.” He tapped the sheet of paper with his forefinger. “None of them will dare refuse.”
Kay handed me her cell phone. “Moment of truth,” she announced.
I glanced at my watch. It was almost four o’clock. While Kay and I had awaited the chief’s call, we’d talked and paced and worried. And now we would know if we had succeeded. “Chief?” I held the phone tightly.
“Everything went just as you planned.” He sounded amazed. “The expert confirmed your guess. The prints were exactly where you said they would be. That was my ace in the hole. When I showed up and gave the Miranda warning and started talking about a triple murder charge, there was absolute shock and a pretty credible explanation. Actually”—the chief’s voice was thoughtful—“I don’t think there was a murder conspiracy. So, the canary sang and is fully on board for tonight. See you at eight.” A rumble of laughter. “I guess I won’t see you. But I’m sure you’ll be there.” The connection ended.
Kay looked depressed. “I don’t see why I can’t come.”
I have a fondness for silk sweaters. I tried a seashell pink with pale blue silk crepe trousers. Matching pink leather thongs were lovely. I pirouetted in front of the mirror. The light slanting through the window added a glow to my hair. But…I shook my head. Not dressy enough. I changed to a light blue Irish-linen shirt with openwork embroidery and a long A-line skirt with matching embroidery that started six inches above the hem. A different shade for my shoes—sky blue—and I was ready. I added a medallion necklace of ivory. “Perfect.” I was admiring the artistry of the clothing, not myself, of course.
Kay stood with her arms folded, glaring. “What is with you? Nobody’s going to see you. Why bother?”
Sometimes waspishness disguises disappointment. “I’m sorry you can’t be in at the finale.”
Kay paced, her narrow face in a tight frown. “Maybe I can slip into the library and hide behind the drapes.”
I straightened a curl over one ear. “The library isn’t the place to be. That’s simply a ruse to get everyone here. After everyone gathers, slip up to the ballroom. Open a door just a sliver.” I felt a pang of uncertainty. Our adversary was smart, tough, and strong-willed. “Oh, Kay, if ever you hoped for luck, hope tonight.”
In the library, I hovered near a chandelier with a clear view of everyone present.
Chief Cobb stood with folded arms at one end of the oak table, only a few feet from the chaise longue where Laverne Phillips had spun the web that robbed her of life. Although his brown suit was wrinkled and his tie loose at his collar, the chief looked powerful and impressive. The drapes were drawn, but tonight the chandeliers glittered, banishing all the shadows. In the bright, harsh light, wary faces looked toward him.
Evelyn Hume held her glasses in one hand. Her milky eyes made her look vulnerable, but she sat with regal dignity, her soft mauve chiffon dress appropriate for a grande dame. Diane’s face was blotched from crying. Every so often, she pressed a tissue to her lips. Jimmy studiously avoided looking toward Clint Dunham. He stared at the tabletop, his face sad and drawn. Clint’s shoulders hulked forward, a man in a tense, defensive posture. Gwen Dunham appeared remote and fragile despite her Grace Kelly beauty. Alison Gregory toyed with the emerald ring on her right hand, her gaze shifting from face to face. She was as perfectly turned out as always, blond hair smoothly brushed, makeup understated but effective, yet her cheekbones looked sharp above lips pressed tightly together. Margo Taylor’s auburn hair was pulled back in a tight bun, emphasizing deep lines at her eyes and lips. Shannon Taylor darted occasional worried glances toward Jimmy.