Murder on the First Day of Christmas (Chloe Carstairs Mysteries) (10 page)

    
“Tell me about Saul’s girlfriend.” He consulted his notes. “Robin.”

    
“What about her?” Mom was reacting to McGowan the same way I was, if the edge in her voice was an indication.

    
“Got quite a past.”

    
“We don’t know her well,” Mom said. “She was the girlfriend of a client.”

    
“But you do know Angela Jannings, that right?”

    
“Since she was a child.”

    
“You two friends?” He asked that question of me again.

    
“We grew up together, but we weren’t really close.”

    
“What’s her connection to these people?”

    
“She worked for Saul.” Mom’s voice had a ‘whole truth, but absolutely nothing but the truth’ tone to it, so help me God.

    
“But Saul’s dead. Why was she here? His cook wasn’t here. His agent wasn’t here.”

    
“She had been invited.” Mom was irritated now. “She knew we would be here, and I was glad to see her.”

    
“Now there’s a girl with opportunity - her and Robin both.”

    
“Angela wouldn’t hurt anyone. She and Saul were very close.”

    
You don’t know the half of it, I thought, recalling what I’d suspected about Angela earlier in the evening.

    
“One of the guests I questioned said that you didn’t care for Saul, Mrs. Carstairs. Said you thought he was crass.”

    
“I don’t know why someone would tell you that,” Mom said, though I suspected she knew exactly why and whom. “Saul was more a client than a friend, that’s true, but I didn’t dislike him.”

    
“You two ever have a personal relationship?”

    
“Certainly not!”

    
“The way I hear it, he was a little free with his hands at the party last week. Gave you a little love tap.”

    
“An unwelcome gesture.”

    
“Made you mad?”

    
Mom’s expression said it all.

    
“He ever threaten you?”

    
“What?”

    
“I was told he might’ve suspected you of overcharging him on some things, maybe double billing him on purpose.”

    
I’ve never seen my mother so furious, and I missed a lot of curfews growing up.

    
“We had a couple of discussions about billing. Some things were changed at the last minute, and I billed accordingly. Saul was surprised, but I had documentation showing that his girlfriend..”

    
“Robin?”

    
“Yes. She had okayed the overages, and Saul was satisfied.”

    
McGowan just stared at her.

    
“Look,” I said, fearing for the dumb guy’s safety. “My mother’s retired. She doesn’t have to work. She does the Christmas houses because she likes to. If Bunny Beaumont’s telling you otherwise, she’s full of it.”

    
McGowan shrugged. “Like I said, there are people a lot higher on the list than you two. Still, I’d like copies of all the invoices you’ve sent to both Mr. Taylor and Mr. Browley.”

    
“I dealt with Mrs. Browley, but that’s fine. I have nothing to hide. Two murders over high-priced Polonaise ornaments, Detective McGowan? A severed hand because of double billing? I hope you’re a lot better at this than you seem to be.”

    
“Yeah,” I seconded again.

    
After being interrogated by McGowan, I was longing for a shower and bed, but Mom wanted to stay till Angela had been questioned. McGowan called Robin first, and we all figured that would take a while.

    
“Don’t let him intimidate you, dear. He’s making all kinds of accusations to see what reaction he gets.” Mom patted Angela’s arm.

    
“I’ve interviewed murderers. I can handle a cop.”

    
I could see Mom keeping her temper in check. “This isn’t the time for false bravado. This is serious.”

    
“Oh I’m serious, Mrs. Carstairs. Deadly serious. I’m going to figure this out, and write all about it.”

    
“Oh my God,” I said, “she’s lost it.”

    
“Angela…” Mom headed me off.

    
“I know what I’m doing. This is my shot, and I’m going to take it.”

    
“Detective McGowan pretty much said you were one of his top two suspects,” I informed her.

    
“What does he know? That bitch in there had more motive than I do.” She jerked her head at the closed office door, where McGowan was questioning Robin.

    
I had none of my mother’s patience or tact. “Look, if you go in there begging for a fight, McGowan’s going to give you one. It’s hard to investigate behind bars.”

    
She turned on me. “What do you care?”

    
“I don’t.”

    
“Girls, stop it. We need to…”

    
But whatever Mom thought we needed to do had to wait. Robin came out of the study looking relaxed and radiant. Her hair was down, curling softly around her shoulders. She carried her shoes in one hand and paused at the door to slip them back on. Behind her, McGowan looked shell-shocked.

    
Angela,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

CHAPTER 10

    
“That girl.” Mom sighed the next day.

    
Four hours sleep, an hour of Mass and brunch at my older sister, Bridget’s house in Homewood with her granddaughter, Lily, had done nothing to lessen my mother’s irritation.

    
“That man.” I was still annoyed at McGowan’s accusations, and at the way he had caved in the face of Robin’s obvious charms. Why are men so utterly predictable?

    
“What man? Detective McGowan?” Mom raised a brow.

    
“He practically accused you of murder.”

    
“Dear, he was just doing his job. It isn’t really his fault that he has been so misled.”

   
 
“By Bunny Beaumont,” Bridget added. “What does Dr. Beaumont see in her?”

     Bridget,
a nurse at St. Vincent’s, only has good things to say about Gavin, though she admits that his bedside manner could use a little work. I was glad people who were scared about being in the hospital had Bridget there to comfort them. She had a way of putting people at ease. Stand behind her in line at the grocery store and you’d probably get her life story before you unloaded your cart. Get her as your nurse when your baby’s blood pressure dropped and you’d still be sending her Christmas cards two years later.

    
Mom had already gotten calls from concerned friends. Bunny had been burning up the phone lines, dishing the latest dirt on the party, and we could all guess exactly what spin she was putting on the murder.

    
“I can just hear Bunny now,” Mom grumbled, after Dad had taken Lily upstairs to play a computer game. “‘Of course, Amanda’s designs are darling, but are they worth dying for?’”

    
“Well, you have made a killing over the years.” I helped myself to more of Bridget’s three-pepper frittata.

    
“And I’ve always said your décor was dead on,” Bridget added, spreading blackberry conserve onto an English muffin. “Think how many people are dying to get on your waiting list.”

    
“Maybe I’ll go get my design degree after all. Think I should take a stab at it?” Leave it to me to take things too far.

    
“Enough!” Mom said, in a way that made us get very interested in the food left on our plates. “The person we really need to be focusing on here is Angela.”

    
“That girl,” I sighed, a perfect imitation of Mom.

     Bridget smirked. Mom did not.

     “That girl has no idea how much trouble she’s in.” Mom was probably thinking about the raised voices we had heard from the study the previous night.

    
“I’ll ask the questions here,” McGowan had shouted at one point.

    
“It was my research. Why would I need to steal them?” Angela had yelled at another.

    
After that, we only heard McGowan’s rapid-fire questions and Angela’s increasingly querulous replies. When Angela had come out of the study, she was visibly shaken and had brushed right past us, headed straight for the front door, and slammed it behind her.

    
“We warned her that being confrontational was the wrong tact to take with Detective McGowan.” Mom pushed her plate away. “But she’s never been overly burdened by common sense. One way or another, I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and you’re going to help me.”

    
“Me?” I squeaked. “Why me?”

    
“Bridget’s got work, and Lily can’t be running all over town.”

    
My sister smiled her Number One daughter smile. I flicked frittata at her.

    
“So, we’re going to start chasing down clues like a couple of amateur detectives? Is that seriously what you’re thinking?  The two of us uncovering clues, following leads?”

    
“Banana Republic has the most darling trench coats on sale,” Bridget interjected. “Y’all could get matching ones.”

     “Why not?” Mom asked.

     “That’s what I say.” Bridget nodded. “Waterproof and fifty-percent off - that’s a steal.”

    
“Not the coats, dear,” Mom said patiently. “I mean, why shouldn’t we look into the murders to help Angela?”

    
“I’ll tell you why not.” Bridget stirred her coffee. “It’s too dangerous for you two to go poking around when there’s a killer on the loose.”

    
“Besides,” I said, “I’m boycotting Banana Republic. One of the sales guys was snotty to me last time I was there.”

    
“We’re perfectly capable of asking a few discreet questions,” Mom continued. “I’m not talking B&E or stakeouts.”

    
“Did you complain to the manager?” Bridget asked me. “I would have, or at least given that guy a piece of my ass.”

    
I snickered at another of her tangled clichés, “Yeah that would have shown him.”

    
“Girls!” Mom used her Mom voice. “We’re not talking about trench coats. We’re not talking about specialty stores or salespeople. We’re talking about helping Angela. The topic is investigation.”

    “What does Dad say about all this?” Bridget asked.

    “He’s not too keen on the idea,” Mom admitted.

    
“What did he say?” I asked.

    
“Nothing specific. It’s just a feeling I got.”

    
“Because you didn’t tell him anything specific, did you?” Bridget proved herself to be better versed in nuance than I am. Must be a mom thing.

    
“I hinted at the subject, met with resistance and thought it best to bring it up another time. We’ll just be asking questions. Your Dad will warm up to the idea after I ease him into it. So, are you in?”

    
“Explain to me why this is so important to you. You weren’t really even friends with those people.”

    
“You know why. Marissa Jannings was my best friend,” Mom said. “If anything had happened to me, she would’ve looked after my daughters, and I’m going to look after hers.”

    
“But Angela isn’t in trouble - not really.” I put my fork down. “She’s just being stupid and immature.”

    
“Sound familiar?”

    
With two simple words Mom had conjured back up the sick guilt I had felt years ago sitting in the Jannings’ living room, listening to my mother in the kitchen comforting a sobbing Marissa Jannings. Angela had long since disappeared upstairs, slamming the door behind her.

    
“I can’t reach her. Nothing I say, nothing I do, has any effect,” Ms. Jannings had said.

    
“She’s almost seventeen, Mari. She thinks she knows everything.

    
Unable to be alone with my shame any longer, I had crept up the stairs to Angela’s room, where I had ignored the “keep out” sign on the door and tried the knob. It had turned.

     “Angela?”

     Face buried in her pillow, she had told me to get out in a way that had let me know that she meant it.

    
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Really.”