For Cheddar or Worse (11 page)

Urso pulled his cell phone from his pocket and stabbed in a number. He waited a moment, then said, “O'Shea.” He questioned the deputy about the violin. After the deputy's response, Urso asked whether there was a radio in the room. He listened. “Uh-huh. Yep. Thanks.” He pressed
END
. “No violin was found. The radio—a clock radio—was tuned to static. There wasn't a DVD or—”

The grandfather clock
ticktock
ed
,
then began to
bong
. Nine times. A raw feeling gnawed at my gut. More than an hour had passed since we went in search of Lara. I placed a hand on my abdomen to quell the uneasiness. Jordan sensed my misgivings. He draped his arm around my shoulders.

When the clock stopped clanging, Victor addressed Erin. “You play the violin.”

“That's right, Erin,” Kandice said. “Everyone in town heard you the other night.”

The color drained from Erin's face.

“That was a borrowed violin,” Ryan cut in. He placed both hands on the table. “Various performers onstage were using it, just like the guitar I played.”

“Ask her if she owns a violin, Chief,” Kandice urged.

Urso swung to face Erin. “Do you?”

Erin's cheeks flushed; tears pooled in her eyes. “You
know I do, U-ey, I mean, sir. I played in the school orchestra with you.”

Of course. I had forgotten. That was another activity that she and Urso had shared. Urso had played the trumpet. All students had to have their own instrument. The district budget couldn't afford to provide for every student.

“I only play it occasionally now,” Erin continued, “to soothe my brother.”

“Where is the violin, Erin?” Urso used his softest voice. He wasn't into bullying suspects, especially one as fragile as Erin. I appreciated his sensitivity.

“In my room the last time I checked. Locked in my closet.”

“I want to see it.”

“Why?”

Kandice huffed. “Isn't it obvious, Erin? Because if it was in Lara's room and now it's in your room . . .” She peered at each person, seeking agreement.

Erin pushed back her chair and leaped to her feet. “I didn't kill Lara!” Her braid swished up and over her shoulder.

I flashed on the red hair I'd seen Deputy O'Shea pluck off the bed. It could have been Erin's hair, not Lara's, but that would be understandable. She was the proprietor of the inn. She had been in all of the rooms, and she candidly admitted to having made up Lara's room.

“Easy, Erin,” Urso said, breaking his habit of solely using formal names during investigations. “Let's keep a cool head.”

Erin breathed sharply through her nose. “Yes, Chief, Lara embarrassed me, and yes, she upset my brother, but that's not enough reason to kill her. I didn't even know her. I respected her and her work. She—”

Bang, bang, bang.
From overhead. Someone—Andrew?—was pounding something on the floor.

CHAPTER

Urso peered upward. So did everyone else in the dining room. Without asking permission, Erin tore out of the room.

“Miss Emerald!” Urso barked.

“U-ey, let her go,” I pleaded. “She's upset.”

Jordan added, “Andrew reacts if he hears Erin is stressed.”

“Chief.” Ryan twisted in his chair. His jaw muscles were working overtime. “Why would it matter whether Lara had a violin in her room?”

“Because I heard it,” Kandice cut in, “and then I didn't.”

“Why was she playing it?” Ryan pressed.

“Maybe she was having a Sherlock Holmes moment,” Kandice wisecracked, referring to the famous detective's penchant for playing the violin to quiet his mind so he could think. “Don't you see? If the violin is back in Erin's room, that establishes that Erin was in Lara's room last night.”

“If it was Erin's violin that Lara was playing,” Ryan said.

Kandice clucked her tongue. “It had to have been. Who
else brought a violin along?” No one responded. “Don't you see? Erin must have realized Lara stole the violin—”

“Whoa! Stole?” Ryan held up a hand. “Don't you mean borrowed?”

“Whichever. Erin killed her and took it back.”

“Why kill her over a violin?” Ryan threw Kandice a nasty look, his feelings for Erin apparent. He didn't like seeing her thrown under the bus.

Urso flipped his notepad closed and jammed it into his back pocket. “Where is Erin's room?”

“Second floor,” I said. “Next to ours. We're in number two. She's in four. Her brother is in six, right overhead.”

Urso hustled out of the dining room, his cell phone pressed to his ear. Not eager to be left out of the search, the group followed him like a gaggle of goslings trying to catch up to their mother. Jordan and I trailed them. On the way upstairs, Urso communicated with Deputy O'Shea. When Urso arrived at Erin's door, he rapped on the wood.

No answer.

“She must be in Andrew's room,” I said and started toward the room marked ~6
~
.

Urso cut in front of me. “Charlotte,” he warned.

“After you.”

He knocked.

Erin opened the door a crack. She had thrown a shawl over her shoulders. “What?” She sounded waspish. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Beyond her, I caught a glimpse of the room. Stark. Very little furniture. Andrew was huddled in a corner, the tambourine and drumstick in his hands. He shook the tambourine rhythmically and chanted, “Up, up, up.” He stopped for a moment, then said, “Down, down, down.” He paused again, then resumed chanting, “Up, up, up,” and so forth.

Urso motioned toward the foyer. “Please show me your room, Erin.”

Erin jutted her chin. Defiance didn't suit her. It made her look as vicious as a feral cat. “The door is open.”

“I'd like you to join us.” Urso couldn't have sounded more solicitous. “I wish to inspect your violin.”

Erin grunted. “This way.” She cooed to Andrew that she would be right back. She didn't touch him. She knew better. He continued to shake the tambourine and recite his mantra.

Erin slogged forward, keeping close to the hallway wall while eyeing the others. Ryan watched her with concern; Shayna, with pity. Kandice and Victor clearly thought Erin was guilty.

What a zoo. How I wished I could sling blinders on Erin and protect her from their prying eyes. What would happen to her farm? Would a murder investigation drum up bad publicity? Would the farm deteriorate as a result? Jordan's farm had undergone intense scrutiny three months ago, after Timothy O'Shea's death. Luckily Jordan had been strong enough to suffer reporters' slings and arrows and had built up enough financial cushion to weather the storm. Now under his sister's watchful guidance, the Pace Hill Farm Double-cream Gouda planned for release in October was selling out in preorders.

Erin pushed open the door to her room. “Only you can enter,” she said to Urso.

He stepped inside, arms hanging loosely.

I remained in the doorway. Jordan pressed in behind me. Ryan mumbled something to Kandice. Victor had Shayna's ear. I tuned them out.

The single-hung window in Erin's room was open. The drapes billowed in the breeze. The bed, similar to the one in our room, was neatly made. Its plush pillows and shams were in place. A scruffy, well-loved teddy bear nestled on the center pillow.

Erin strode to an antique armoire situated against the far wall. Unlike the ones in the guest rooms that had been hand-painted with images of the countryside, this armoire was made of rich mahogany and painted in an art nouveau style. The mirrors on the doors caught Erin's reflection as she moved. Her face was taut; her gaze, riveted on her mission. She reached behind the armoire to retrieve something:
a key. She returned to the front of the armoire, inserted the key, and twisted. She opened the right-hand door. It squeaked with the effort. She reached inside the armoire and withdrew a black violin-shaped carrying case. She closed the door, crossed to a table, and set down the case. She popped the clamps, opened the case, and pulled out the violin by the neck.

She displayed it to Urso. “Will you be checking it for fingerprints? Mine are on it.”

“I would expect as much.” Urso donned a new pair of latex gloves and reached for the violin. “It's beautiful. I remember when you got this. Your parents gave it to you when you were—”

“Fourteen.”

“Before that you had a—”

“Garage sale violin.” Erin caressed the scroll at the top. “My parents said if a daughter of theirs possessed a gift, then she should be encouraged to shine with a new instrument.” Her smile flickered and faded. “They wanted me to have a career in music, and I did. I taught. But when they died, I moved home to take care of Andrew.”

What a sad choice she'd had to make. I had seen her playing at the Street Scene. Her face had been lit up with joy. She truly loved her music. The life of a farmer is a calling; not everyone is bred to it.

“My violin is always in this room, Chief,” Erin added.

“Chief,” I cut in. “Maybe Lara slipped into Erin's room, borrowed the violin, and put it back while Erin was with Andrew.”

Erin shook her head. “I don't know how she could have known about the violin. Even if she did, I've never told anyone where I keep it.” She faced Urso. “Maybe she wasn't playing the violin. If she had the radio on—”

“No,” Urso said. “Don't you remember? My deputy checked out that angle. Where is your old violin?”

“Long gone. It ended up as tinder in the fireplace. Maybe Lara brought her own violin,” Erin suggested.

“Didn't you hear me before? Deputy O'Shea—” Urso
pressed his lips together. I could see he was trying to temper his response. “The deputy didn't find anything in her room. No violin. No DVD player. No cell phone with a music list.”

That detail struck me as odd. I slipped inside the doorway. “Chief, is Lara's cell phone missing?”

“Seems to be. Are you sure she had one?”

“Yes. I saw her talking on it yesterday.”

Urso eyed the crowd hovering in the doorway. “Many of you said Lara stormed out of the dining room. Is it possible she left her cell phone behind in her haste?”

“No,” I said. “She left with her Prada tote in hand.”

“Hmm.” Urso scratched his chin. “The deputy didn't mention a purse.”

Had the murderer stolen it? Why go to the effort of making it look like Lara had died of natural causes and then do something like take her belongings, not to mention return the violin to its proper spot? Something wasn't adding up.

Urso jotted a few words on his notepad, slipped the pad into his pocket, and refocused on Erin. “Miss Emerald—”

“Hey, Erin!” Kandice called from the hallway. “Why is the violin locked up? Is it valuable?”

Erin's lip quivered. “I lock up all my personal belongings. I'm not saying people who stay at the inn are thieves, but—”

“Your room wasn't secured a second ago,” Kandice said.

Erin threw her a dismissive look. “That's because I came in here for a shawl and went immediately to my brother's room. I was shivering.”

“Poor girl,” Shayna said under her breath. She was twirling a long curl at the nape of her neck. How did she feel now that her ex-partner was dead?

I recalled the two of them having an argument yesterday. Afterward, Shayna had been near tears; Lara had appeared triumphant. What had they discussed?

“Officer,” Victor said above their murmurs.

“Chief,” Urso corrected him.

“Yes, of course.” Victor cleared his throat. “Sir, might I
see the violin? Perhaps Lara's interest in it was for aesthetic reasons. After all, according to her, she was adding to her antique collection.”

“She didn't mention that she owned fine instruments,” I said.

“That doesn't mean she didn't have any,” Victor replied. “I mostly have art and furniture pieces, but I also own a flute from ancient France and a pair of drums from the French Revolution.”

“For Pete's sake.” Ryan stepped past me. “Enough about the violin. Lara borrowed it, for whatever reason. She put it back like you said, Charlotte, while Erin was in her brother's room. End of story.”

“Or is it?” Victor thrust a finger at Urso. “As I was saying, Chief, if I got a closer look, perhaps I could tell you why Lara might have wanted to hold it.”

Urso approached the door, violin extended, but he didn't offer the instrument to Victor. “I can't let you touch it.”

“Understood.” Victor inspected the scroll and tuning pegs, the
F
holes, and the chin rest. “My, my, my.” He wiggled a finger, signaling Urso to reveal the backside. He uttered another chorus of
my, my, my
. When he was finished with his assessment, he said, “Do you know what you have here, Erin?”

“A violin,” she snapped.

“
Au contraire
.” Victor's eyes were gleaming with something just short of awe. “A Nicolo Amati original.”

“No way,” Erin said.

“That's valuable!” I exclaimed.

“How valuable?” Urso asked.

“Really, really valuable.” I'd seen a special on television about Amati instruments. Members of the Amati family were the premier violin designers during the seventeenth century. Nicolo was the last of the line. How could Erin possibly own one of them? Weren't they all in museums? “Are you sure it's an Amati, Victor?”

“I am never wrong.” Victor's fingers were twitching with a desire to grasp the violin.

“Erin, can you explain?” Urso asked.

“My parents traveled everywhere. To Europe. To the Orient. They often purchased antiques, like vases and statues. It was their passion. Sometimes they bought other things, like the violin.” Erin swiveled toward me, back to Urso, and then to me again, as if begging for confirmation. “They never said it was worth anything.”

“Never?” Urso asked.

“They told me to keep it in a safe place, that's all.”

Kandice inched through the doorway and skirted in front of me. “Cut to the chase, Victor. How much is it worth?”

Boy, I was starting to dislike the woman. Her snippy attitude was just shy of Victor's snooty one. She no longer reminded me of a sweet cockatoo. With her longish nose and high forehead, she resembled a hawk, ready to consume its prey.

Urso waved for Victor to proceed.

Using his pinky, Victor indicated sections of the violin. “Note the inlaid
fleur-de-lis
design on the back and table, and see the inset gemstones? I believe this is a Louis XIV Amati.”

Urso tipped back his hat. “How much?”

Victor grinned. “At least a million. To an avid collector, priceless.”

Jordan whistled.

Ryan whispered, “Wow!”

Wow, indeed. Lara claimed she collected a few things. Paintings. Statues. Some items from the Conquistadors, of all things. Of what interest would Erin's violin be to her? How could she have known about it? Had she come to the brain trust with the express intent to steal it? She certainly didn't attend to offer her expertise. Other than grilling Erin and chiding Shayna, she hardly contributed at yesterday's session. I recalled Lara asking Erin if she was interested in selling the farm. Had Lara hoped to dupe Erin, an innocent from Providence, into selling the farm and every item on the premises just so she could own the violin?

“Erin,” I said, “did you tell anyone about this violin?”

Erin didn't answer; she was pressing her lips together so tightly they had turned gray.

“Erin, answer me. Did you play it for anyone other than Andrew?”

“Only h-him,” she stuttered. “Like I said, I d-do so to calm him.”

“How about the housekeeper? Would she have known about it?”

“M-m-maybe.” Erin shuddered; her eyes grew teary. “I don't remember.”