Chocolate Dipped Death (23 page)

Miles had sounded almost normal over the phone, but up close and personal was another matter entirely. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. His hair looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in days. A fine stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and his hands were trembling—but I thought genuine relief flashed through his eyes when he saw me standing there.

After ushering me into the two-room suite and closing the door behind me, he indicated Continental breakfast for two on the round table near the window. “I’m trying to make myself eat something,” he said, his voice gravelly and low. “I hope you’ll join me. I couldn’t bear the thought of ordering just for one, so there’s plenty.”

My thighs and hips begged me to refuse, my waist screamed for relief from the band of my skirt, but I didn’t have the heart to say no. I settled myself in a chair overlooking the front parking lot, but Miles seemed preoccupied and flighty. He moved around the room quickly, touching this, moving that, all without any apparent purpose. When he finally perched on the edge of a chair across from me, I asked, “How are you holding up?”

Very slowly, he dragged his gaze from the white porcelain coffeepot to meet mine. “I don’t know. It’s still so unbelievable, I’m not sure how I feel. She’s gone. I know that, yet every once in a while I’ll have this moment when life seems normal. As if the door will open and Savannah will come breezing in, laughing about this or complaining about that . . .” He let his voice trail away and followed up with a deep sigh. “But then I remember, and it hurts so much it’s like I’ve just lost her all over again.”

I touched the back of his hand briefly. I wanted to offer some kind of comfort but didn’t want to cross that invisible line between comfort and familiarity. “Have the police turned up any more leads? Do they have any idea who did this?”

He shook his head, and some of the sadness in his expression made way for anger. “They’re still saying they have no leads, but what the hell do they need? A signed confession? Anybody with half a brain could figure out who did it.”

I don’t know why his vehemence surprised me. I’m sure I would have felt the same way if Roger had been killed back when I still loved him. “Who do you think it was?”

“You mean
you
don’t know either?” He laughed without humor and slid a cheese Danish from the serving tray onto his plate. “So maybe it’s not as obvious as I think. Here I thought Delta was the obvious suspect.”

I selected an apricot Danish and a blueberry mini muffin, then speared two pieces of cantaloupe so I could tell myself I’d had a balanced meal. “I’m sure the police are considering her,” I assured him, “but I just came from talking to her, and I have to admit I’m not convinced she’s guilty.”

“Then who else
could
it be?”

I shook my head to say “I don’t know” and helped myself to coffee. “Did Savannah ever talk to you about a man named Marshall Ames?”

“Not that I recall. Who is he? Someone you suspect?”

I shook my head again. “I don’t know. He’s one of the judges in our contest, and Delta was just telling me about some trouble that happened between him and Savannah when they were kids. I wondered if Savannah had ever mentioned him.”

Miles looked interested at that. “You’re talking about the blond guy with the glasses? What kind of trouble did they have?”

“According to Delta, Marshall had quite a crush on Savannah when they were teenagers.” I tossed off a weak smile. “She didn’t reciprocate.”

“And Delta thinks he’s the one who killed my wife?”

I shrugged. He hadn’t said anything about the poison, so I could only assume that Jawarski hadn’t told him yet. I was tempted to say something, myself. He deserved to know. But Jawarski would skin me if I did, so I kept my mouth shut. At least about that.

“She suggested the possibility,” I said, “but I don’t know . . . all of that happened so long ago, why would he suddenly freak out about it? Even if he was upset enough to kill her twenty years ago, that kind of anger just doesn’t last. I talked to Marshall on Friday night, and he didn’t seem upset with Savannah at all.”

“Not everything is what it seems,” Miles reminded me. “Not everyone is who they appear. Some people make very convincing liars.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, and I’ve known a few. But I just can’t believe it of Marshall. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve been wrong once or twice in the past.”

Miles almost smiled. “Not often though, huh?”

I managed a grin of sorts in return. “Not often.”

Sobering again, Miles spent a few seconds picking at his Danish. “Much as I’d like some definitive answers, I have to agree with you about Ames. I saw him talking to Savannah the night before she died, and he certainly didn’t seem upset with her.”

“You did? When was that? Before the contest or after?”

“Actually, I saw them talking twice. Once outside the kitchen door at Divinity. I went looking for Savannah for some reason—I don’t remember why anymore. She said she’d gone outside for air. Marshall said he’d been having a smoke. I believed them at the time, but now I wonder.”

“And the second time?”

“We went to dinner at a restaurant just down the street. He was there. Savannah left our table to go to the ladies’ room, and this Ames guy stopped her on her way back.”

“Could you hear what they said?”

“No, but I’d swear on my life they weren’t arguing. If anything, this Ames guy was a little
too
friendly, if you know what I mean.”

“He was flirting with her? In front of you?”

Miles peeled a section of Danish away, but he didn’t actually eat. “I wouldn’t say flirting, exactly, but he was standing quite close to her. Leaning in, I guess you could say. I noticed it. Even asked her about it when she got back to our table.”

Interesting.
“And what did she say?”

“Oh, she laughed. Said it was nothing for me to worry about. And, of course, I didn’t give it another thought—until you mentioned his name.” Miles ran a hand across the stubble on his chin. “Have you told the police about this?”

I shook my head. “No, I haven’t had time. I came straight here for a meeting after Delta told me about it.”

“You will though, right? I mean, there’s no telling what might be important.”

He was right, of course. Maybe I couldn’t imagine Marshall as a ruthless killer, but that didn’t give me the right to withhold information from the police. I’d done that once to protect Wyatt, but it wasn’t a habit I wanted to get into. “Of course I’ll tell the police,” I said. And I had every intention of doing it. Really.

Everything I’d learned about Marshall Ames had me floundering. I still wanted to hold the memorial service, but I wasn’t sure Marshall was a good choice, or even an acceptable choice to offer a few words. On the other hand, if I didn’t ask him, who could I ask?

I decided to let Miles decide that.

“This brings up another question,” I told him. “I’m planning a brief memorial for Savannah when the contest gets started again, and I was thinking of asking Marshall to say a few words. Do you have any objections to that, or would you prefer that I find someone else?”

Miles blinked a couple of times as if he was fighting back tears, pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, and blew his nose loudly.

He seemed so overcome, I looked away and gave him as much privacy as I could to pull himself together. After a few minutes he cleared his throat and stood. “Sorry about that. I just wasn’t expecting anyone here in Paradise to care.” He mopped at his eyes and tried to smile. “A memorial service is a wonderful idea. Savannah would be so pleased.”

I guess maybe she would have been. “So is it all right if I ask Marshall to speak?”

Miles shook his head slowly. “I guess so. I wish there was someone closer to her who could do it. A real friend. But I guess this is what happens when you stay away from a place for twenty years, huh?”

I polished off the last of my breakfast and reached for a napkin. “I’d be happy to ask someone else, but no one I’ve talked to has seen or heard from Savannah since high school graduation. If you know of anyone else—”

Miles lifted a miserable gaze to meet mine. “Nobody. To the best of my knowledge, she never even spoke with anyone here except for that one woman.”

That set off a buzzer inside my head. “Which woman was that?”

“I don’t know her name. Savannah just pointed her out to me the other day. She said that everybody else in town had been glad she was gone, except . . . whoever she was, but that
she
only stayed in touch because she needed something.”

I could have sworn my heart stopped beating. “Do you know what she needed?”

Miles shook his head. “Savannah didn’t say, but she gave me the impression that whatever it was could cause a lot of trouble for the other woman if it ever came out.”

My heart started beating again—a little too rapidly. If I could find someone with a
real
motive, maybe the police would stop being interested in Karen, and maybe my life could get back to normal. “Where were you when Savannah told you about this?”

Miles looked surprised. “Why, we were at your shop. Whoever she was, she was there for the contest.”

“Was she a contestant?”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I’m almost positive she wasn’t competing. Just one of the people there to watch, I guess.” His expression grew hopeful. “She was there when everyone was searching for Savannah, too, but I didn’t ever catch her name.”

“Can you describe her?”

“A lady. Savannah’s age. I’ll confess, I didn’t pay that much attention.” He sighed heavily and looked away. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to remember anything that might help the police figure out who did this. I’m afraid I’m not coming up with much.”

The weariness on his face made me realize how much of his time I’d taken up, but there was still one unanswered question I had to ask. I stood and touched his shoulder briefly. “You’re doing fine. Probably better than most of us would do in the same circumstances. This wouldn’t be easy, even if you were in your own house, surrounded by family and friends. I’m sure Delta’s not being very supportive. Do you have anyone else? Maybe someone could come and stay with you until this is over?”

Miles shook his head again and looked away. “I know it probably sounds odd, but I prefer to be alone. My family never really approved of my marriage to Savannah. They thought she was too opportunistic.” His gaze shifted back to mine. “They didn’t know her like I did.”

So there
was
family out there. Family who apparently felt about Savannah the way Savannah’s family felt about him. Maybe theirs had been one of those marriages where the partners bring out the worst in each other. But why had he told Sloan Williamson that he had no family? It didn’t make any sense to me.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t have anyone. I don’t know why. Did I read that in the paper or something?”

“That’s what the paper said, but they obviously got it wrong. I hope the guy who wrote it isn’t a friend of yours, but I have to say he’s not exactly a world-class reporter.”

Sloan isn’t a friend, but the tone Miles used put me off a little. Maybe he had been offered a job with a Fortune 500 company, but that didn’t make him superior. Of course, I reminded myself, he
was
grieving, and I couldn’t expect him to be at his best. “So where is your family?”

“In Gunnison, most of ’em.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want me to call one of them? It might help to have someone who loves you around.”

“No. Thanks. I’ll be okay once the police catch the killer.”

There seemed to be nothing left to say, so I turned to leave.

Miles trailed after me. “Thanks for stopping by, Abby. It helps to know that I have at least one friend here in Paradise. And thanks for the chocolates you sent over. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, I’m afraid, but Savannah was delighted.”

I stopped walking. “Chocolates?”

He nodded and wagged a hand toward one of Divinity’s gold-edged two-pound boxes nearly hidden behind a stack of books, file folders, and a digital camera. “It was really very thoughtful of you.”

“I’d love to take credit for that,” I said, “but I didn’t send any chocolates.”

The smile slid from his face. “Oh, but I—” He looked from me to the box an back again in confusion. “I just assumed.”

“Was there a card?”

“No. Just a message on our phone when we came in that night after the contest. Someone left the candy with the front desk, and I just assumed it was you. I mean, who else would have done it?”

I shrugged as a disturbing thought crossed my mind. It was a long shot, but I had to know. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“At the candy? Sure. Why not?”

As I reached for the box, I brushed the stack beside it, and a file folder and a stack of documents and letters spilled onto the floor. They looked important, so I bent to pick them up, but Miles beat me to it. “So the candy,” he said with a jerk of his head toward the box. “Are you looking for something special?”

I couldn’t voice my suspicions aloud, so I shook my head. “Not really—unless there’s something special about the selection that might help me remember who ordered it.”

I worked off the lid and checked inside, but when I saw that my worst suspicions were confirmed, my heart fell. We’d made up only one box in the combination I found myself looking at. One row of assorted fruit-filled chocolates, one row of almond bark. The middle rows alternated between chocolate caramel, peppermint crunch, and English butter toffee. Somehow, Evie Rice’s missing box of chocolates had ended up in Savannah Horne’s hotel room. Three of the fruit-filleds were gone, along with several pieces of toffee. The question was, had Evie sent them and pretended they were stolen to divert suspicion away from herself? Or was someone else trying to make Evie look guilty? Whoever sent the candy had taken the box from Divinity somehow—but how? And when?