“Let me shift direction for a second. Was there any reason that you know of for Devon to be frightened this weekend?”
“Frightened? What are you talking about?”
I described what Devon had said to me by the woods. Scott shook his head in disbelief, but he appeared agitated by the news.
“You’re making it sound like The Hound of the Baskervilles up here, for God’s sake. What could have possibly frightened her other than a few field mice running along the wall?”
“That’s what I’m asking you. She said someone knew something.”
He sighed and combed a hand through his hair.
“I haven’t a clue what it could have been,” he said. “As far as I know, she was just being a diva—making it up so someone would take her back to New York.” He tugged at his ear and snickered. “Though if she’d gone back early, it might have foiled her brilliant little master plan.”
“What master plan is that?”
“You saw the intense eye-fucking going on between Devon and Tommy. I’m pretty sure she wanted him back, and that was the main reason she invited him and Tory up here.”
“What was her history with Tommy, anyway?”
“I don’t know all the sordid details, but from what I’ve heard they were hot and heavy last winter, and then sometime this summer he dumped her. They apparently stayed on decent terms, though, and she was the one who set him up with Tory. I like a mix of guests on the weekends, and I was happy to invite some of Devon’s entourage, but I had the last bedroom earmarked for a pal of mine. Until Devon insisted that I include Tory and Tommy.”
“And you really think she was trying to steal Tommy back?”
“It seemed pretty obvious to me. She was trying to bewitch him—with the bare breasts and cocky attitude. But most of all by having him hear that voice of hers.”
“Was Devon supposed to be pretty good friends with Tory?”
“I guess. Though how tight can you be with someone who thinks that the ozone is something you find yourself in right before you have an orgasm? Look, not that it isn’t fabulous chatting with you, but I’ve got my hands full at the moment.”
“Just one more question. What’s the latest on the road? Are we going to be able to make it out of here today?” With every inch of snow that fell, the sinking feeling in my tummy was growing worse. I didn’t want to get stuck indefinitely in the barns from hell.
“That’s what I’m going to take care of now. Ralph is too ill to plow, and I need to find a guy who can.”
As he wandered off, I pulled Jessie aside again.
“I’m going to call Nash now,” I told her. “Keep an eye out here, okay? Something kind of weird is going on. I’ll tell you more later.”
Before I could leave, Jane came trudging up the stairs and made a beeline for the muffin basket. I put my plan momentarily on hold and moved toward the island myself, pretending to survey the food. Jane had clearly taken a few swipes at her hair with a brush since I’d last seen her, but she looked just as grumpy—and her face had an unappealing shine to it, which seemed incongruous on such a cold, snowy morning.
“Did you survive your talk with the cops?” I asked, trying to sound collegial but not overeager.
“There was nothing to survive,” she said. “They asked some questions I didn’t know the answers to, and I told them so. I have no idea in the world why Devon suddenly dropped dead.”
She plucked a blueberry muffin from the basket and buttered it. It was clear I was going to have a tough time prying info from her, and I decided it might be smart to warm her up a little bit first.
“It must be tough for you today,” I said, “having to deal with all this. . . .”
“Spare me the Dr. Phil routine, will you?” she said, her mouth still partially stuffed with muffin. “I’m not going to pretend to get all emo over Devon.”
Okay, fake empathy wasn’t working. Time to try a little trash talking.
“I take it working for Devon wasn’t any picnic. How long have you been doing it?”
“Nine fabulous months.”
“How did you end up being her assistant? It’s not exactly the kind of job—”
“You’d expect a fatty to be doing?” she asked.
“No. The kind of job someone just stumbles into.”
“A girl I know told me about it. The longest Devon had ever had an assistant was like six months. She didn’t hit the help—like Naomi Campbell does—but she was a real uber bitch.”
“How did you manage to survive so long?”
She snorted and took another bite of muffin. This time she waited until she swallowed before answering.
“It’s simple,” she said finally. “I stayed ’cause of the money. She paid combat wages. I made major overtime from driving her up here this weekend. And the reason she never fired me is because she liked having me around. She’d never had anyone in her life who she felt this superior to.”
She set the muffin down and eyed the basket for another as if blueberries had lost their magic for her.
“Are we about done?” she asked, glancing back at me with almost a glare. “I’m not used to getting up at three, and I’m not really in the mood to talk.”
I decided to try one more tack: Get straight to the point.
“Did you go into Devon’s room tonight?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just what I said. Did you go into Devon’s room after you learned she was dead—and remove something?”
“You mean like the cash from her wallet? That’s a pretty nervy thing to ask.”
“No. A bottle of ipecac.”
I could tell from the look in her eyes she knew exactly what that was, and I wasn’t going to get any “Ipe-what?” line from her.
“Why would I do that?” she asked.
“So that no one would know she was bulimic.”
“I couldn’t care less what people think of Devon Barr.”
“Did she have an eating disorder?”
“I assume this is going directly into Buzz magazine?”
“I would use it just as background.”
“She might have,” she said, shrugging. “A month or so ago I started noticing that she didn’t seem to be eating very much. Unless you count green tea, bottled water, and the flecks at the bottom of the Special K box.”
“Last night she called Laura, one of the girls who helped at dinner, and said she wasn’t feeling well. Were you aware of that?”
“Why would I be aware of that? I assisted the woman. I didn’t sleep with her.”
“So you never checked in on her last night after you left here.”
“No.”
“Did you ever call extension seven during the night?”
“What? This is getting ridiculous. Do you mind if I eat my breakfast in peace?”
“I’m almost done. Devon told me she was frightened up here. Do you know why?”
Her brown eyes widened, curious.
“No,” she said. “What was the reason?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. After a minute she just clammed up.”
Jane shrugged. “Maybe it was like a Twilight Zone episode,” she said. “She took a look in the mirror one day and saw the real her. That would have been really frightening.”
She plucked another muffin, this one corn, and after plopping it on a plate, headed over toward one of the sofas. There were other people I wanted to talk to, but it was time to get Nash on the phone and fill him in on what had happened.
I hurried back to my room, squinting in the passageway from the emerging daylight. To my surprise the snow had turned to a steady rain that streaked and fogged the windows. Hopefully it was warming up, and some of the snow on the road would melt away.