Текст книги "Crowned and Moldering"

Автор книги: Kate Carlisle

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“Mr. Murch found it stuck in the laundry chute,” I said, holding up the backpack.

He frowned. “The laundry chute would empty into the basement.”

“That’s my assumption, although I haven’t inspected it well enough to make sure.”

“I’m surprised.”

“I know,” I said, smiling. “I’ve been slacking off.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ll take it from here.”

*   *   *

Eric decided another search of the lighthouse mansion could wait until the next day, since time wasn’t really a factor anymore. So all day Friday, the police conducted an intensive search of Mac’s house. They called in the county crime-scene specialists, who combed through the backpack and notebook and other odds and ends Lily had carried with her. They searched the attic for even more evidence, but didn’t find much.

Inside the dumbwaiter they found traces of blood.

In the laundry chute they discovered minute threads that had caught on the wooden surface. The threads could’ve come from any material that had ever been sent down the chute, but the specialists would run tests to see if any of them had come from Lily’s backpack.

Eric’s comment the night before about the chute leading to the basement made me wonder if Lily’s killer had debated whether to drop her body down the chute, as if she were nothing more than a sack of laundry, or simply stuff her into the dumbwaiter. Obviously, he had decided on the dumbwaiter. The thought that someone could be so cold-blooded that they would leave her in that place alone, in the dark, and walk away made me sick.

*   *   *

Mac and I had a delightful and very interesting pasta dinner Friday night. Callie popped into my kitchen to tell us she was home from her girlfriend’s house and, thankfully, that glow I’d seen on her face while she’d been talking to Mr. Jones was mostly gone, and she had morphed back into a normal teenage girl.

Once she went up to her room, I asked Mac, “Did Eric tell you why the police were searching your house all day?”

Mac gazed at me as he sipped his wine. “I think you probably know why.”

I grimaced. “I do, but I don’t want to break any confidences.”

“Then I’ll let you off the hook. He told me that Lily was pregnant with Brad Jones’s baby.”

My shoulders sagged in relief. “I was dying to tell you, but I just couldn’t.”

He smiled. “I think it’s admirable that you can keep a secret, but I obviously need to work on my coercion skills.”

“No, you don’t,” I muttered.

That made him grin, but he quickly sobered. “Brad seems like a nice guy, but hasn’t anyone expressed concern that Lily was underage when she got pregnant by her teacher?”

“That bothers me a lot,” I admitted. “But I remembered that Lily had been held back a year in grammar school, so she was eighteen years old when she was a senior. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not excusing Brad. But, officially, she was an adult.”

He nodded thoughtfully, then thanked me for taking him into my confidence.

“I would’ve told you everything sooner because I trust you,” I said. “But I just couldn’t break Eric’s confidence.”

“I appreciate you saying you trust me, because I feel the same about you.”

“Thank you.” And after hearing myself say it out loud, I realized it was true. I trusted Mac completely. “So Eric told you all about the backpack and notebook we found in the laundry chute?”

“Backpack? Notebook?” His eyes widened and he grinned. “I know nothing. Tell me. Hold nothing back.”

“That’s how we found out it was Brad’s baby.” I told him what Aldous had found in the laundry chute and how I’d seen those hearts all over her notebook and figured out that Mr. Jones was the father of Lily’s baby.

“Wow,” Mac said. “I remember looking into the laundry chute. I should’ve investigated it more thoroughly.”

“I was thinking the same thing. We might’ve saved a lot of time and avoided some problems if we’d just cleaned out the laundry chute.”

*   *   *

Saturday, while the police and crime-scene specialists continued to work at the lighthouse mansion, I took a few hours to drive out to Uncle Pete’s winery to visit him and my dad. I had talked to Dad on the phone briefly the other night, and he reported that the barn was almost finished. They would be rolling two huge new tanks into the space soon, and Dad would finish the construction project and go fishing for a few days before heading back to Lighthouse Cove.

Uncle Pete’s business had more than doubled in the past few years, so there was always something new to see at the winery. I parked my car under a shady tree and walked around until I found my dad in the barrel room. It was dark and cool, and Dad was in the process of moving one of the heavy oak barrels over to make room for another.

“Dad? Should you be lifting that by yourself?”

He stood up and grinned. “There’s my girl.”

My heart fluttered at his greeting. He had always called me his girl. I rushed over and gave him a big hug.

“Missed you, honey,” he murmured.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“Hey, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” He frowned as he studied my face. “Did something happen? Someone hurt you?”

“No, it’s just been a weird time.”

Dad grabbed two wineglasses and walked over to a barrel. He removed the cork and stuck a long glass tube—sometimes called a thief—into the small hole and siphoned off some wine for each of our glasses.

“That’s convenient,” I said.

Dad chuckled, and we walked out of the dark barrel room into sunshine. Scattered across the wide patio between the winery tasting room and the fermentation barn were picnic tables and small seating areas. After our eyes adjusted to the light, we found a picnic table and sat down across from each other.

“Spill the beans, honey,” Dad said. “If you need me to come back to town, I’ll do it.”

“No, I can fight my own battles.” But I wasn’t so sure that was true when it came to fighting Cliff Hogarth and his slanderous comments. I told Dad all about Cliff’s horrible remarks about me and our various run-ins. I concluded with the fact that the guy was now in a coma and laid out in some hospital bed because he’d tried to blackmail Denise.

“I hate to say it,” Dad said, “but it looks like the guy got what was coming to him.”

“It’s awful to think that way, but I agree.” And in retrospect, my problems weren’t all that bad.

I filled Dad in on all the grim aspects of Lily’s death and the investigation, omitting the truly grisly details of the baby and the backpack. He was especially intrigued by Aldous Murch’s connection to the mansion.

“A hidden room with a staircase? That’s right out of a mystery novel,” Dad said.

“I know.” I laughed.

He wasn’t laughing, though. “I think I’d better cancel my fishing trip and stick closer to home. At least until Lily’s killer is discovered.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad. I’ve got Mac right next door and Eric is just a phone call away. You’ve been working so hard out here. You need a vacation.”

“Okay, I guess I can trust Mac and Eric to look out for you. But I want you to call me at the first sign of trouble.”

“I promise.”

Uncle Pete joined us then, and we spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and sipping a number of different wines. The two men gave me a tour of the new fermenting area and showed off their construction skills. We wandered through the vineyards, and later Uncle Pete served us a pasta salad that almost caused me to swoon.

I drove back to town, feeling so much better and more relaxed than I had in days. And I was looking forward to the day when Dad would park his big old RV in my driveway again.

*   *   *

Sunday morning I joined Lizzie and Hal and their adorable kids, Marisa and Taz, for a ten-mile bike ride down the coast. We stopped for a late breakfast at a funky old seafood diner we’d been going to forever.

“Lock up the bikes,” Hal told the kids. “I’ll get us a table.”

Eleven-year-old Taz was happy to do it, and unwrapped the bike chain from around the seat of his bicycle. As he wound it through all five of the back wheels, his thirteen-year-old sister, Marisa, rolled her eyes and checked her phone.

Lizzie grabbed my arm and we followed her tall, lean, adorable husband up the old wooden steps to the front door and inside. The smells of bacon and syrup were instantly overwhelming, and we both grinned.

“I miss coming here,” she said. “I’m having the waffles.”

“I might do French toast.”

“Ooh, good choice,” she said. “And bacon.”

“Naturally.” I glanced outside. “Marisa is so beautiful, Lizzie. And Taz is going to be taller than Hal.”

Lizzie peeked over my shoulder. “I can’t tell you how much I regret buying her that stupid phone, but what can you do?” She sighed. “She’s still a good girl, but the hormones are starting to kick in. I expect her to turn into a monster any day now.”

“You’ve been saying that for two years,” I said, laughing. “But she’s still very sweet.”

“Thirteen going on twenty-five,” Hal said, joining the conversation. “Come on, we’ve got a booth over here.”

As we crossed the restaurant, Lizzie said, “I want to hear all about Lily and Sean and Mac and everything that’s been happening with you. I feel like we haven’t talked in weeks.” She frowned. “Even though I just saw you the other day for fifteen measly minutes.”

“And we were with the whole gang at the tea shop and it’s hard to get a word in edgewise sometimes.”

“True.” We sat at a big round booth by a south-facing window, and from there we could see the entire coastline. The day was clear and sunny with a brisk offshore breeze.

We all ordered coffee or hot chocolate and juice. When the waitress rushed off to get our beverages, Lizzie pounced. “Now tell me everything that’s going on. I don’t get out much.”

Hal shot me a grin. “That’s why I bought the police scanner, babe. So we can keep up with the latest.”

I had to laugh.

Hal quickly added, “Sorry about Wednesday morning, by the way. Sometimes they tend to jump the gun.”

“No worries,” I said. “Although it freaked me out a little.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” he admitted.

I turned to Lizzie, who was sitting next to me. “You’re going to be very pleased with me.”

“I am anyway, but why? What happened?”

“I played matchmaker the other day.”

She gasped and clutched her hands to her chest. “I’m so proud.”

With a laugh, I said, “You should be. I think I did a pretty good job.”

“Tell me all,” she said, bouncing in her seat. “Who, what, when, where, how.”

“Sean,” I said.

“Oh, excellent.”

I proceeded to tell her about the drama teacher who needed a carpenter and so on, and so on.

“I’m so excited for him. And for you. I hope it works out.” She took a quick sip of orange juice. “And if it does, I never want to hear any grief from you again.”

Yikes. Seeing the determination in her eyes, I wondered if maybe I should’ve kept my accomplishment to myself. I sipped my coffee and changed the subject. “So, have you heard from Emily?”

“I left her two messages and finally had to hunt her down at the tea shop. At first she denied everything, but I hounded her.”

“That’s my girl,” Hal murmured.

Lizzie grinned. “And guess what. She told me that the day we were all having lunch at the tea shop? That’s the first time Gus ever made a move.”

“I kind of thought so at the time,” I said. “But, wow. Things looked pretty hot and . . . hmm.” I glanced at the kids and tried to find a subtle way to say what I was thinking. “They looked like they might’ve been together before.”

“I know,” Lizzie murmured. “But she insisted they hadn’t.”

I thought about it and finally admitted, “I’m worried about her.”

“Why? She looks so happy.”

“I don’t want him to hurt her.”

Lizzie frowned. “Gus is a lot younger than her. And he does have a reputation with the ladies.”

Marisa snickered. “You mean he’s a horn dog.”

Lizzie scowled. “Marisa!”

Her daughter shrugged, and Taz giggled. It was Lizzie’s turn to roll her eyes.

“You know I think Gus is wonderful,” I said. “But Emily is sort of fragile, don’t you think?”

“She looks fragile,” Hal said, “but she’s probably a lot stronger than you give her credit for.”

“I hope so.”

“OMG, Mom!” Marisa cried, then whispered dramatically, “It’s MacIntyre Sullivan!”

I turned in time to see Mac and Callie walk inside and glance around. Mac waved when he saw us and said something to Callie. Her eyes lit up and she rushed over to the booth, while he stayed up front and spoke to the hostess.

“Hi, Shannon!” she said. “What’re you doing here?” Then she gazed around the table at the Logan family and flashed them all a friendly smile. “Hi, I’m Callie, Mac’s niece.”

“Callie,” I said, “these are my friends Lizzie and Hal and Taz and Marisa.”

There was a buzz of greetings back and forth until Mac finally joined Callie and more cheeriness was exchanged. Marisa was strangely silent and seemed in awe of the older girl.

“We’ve got a table right over here,” Mac said to Callie.

“Okay. It was really nice meeting you all.” Callie smiled at everyone and then homed in on Lizzie’s daughter. “Marisa, I love your bike shirt. If you want, maybe after breakfast we can talk some more.”

Marisa’s eyes widened and her head bobbed in agreement. “Okay, yeah.”

“Cool,” Callie said, and walked away with her uncle.

Lizzie’s eyes were bright with unshed tears as she turned toward me. “That was so sweet of her. She is remarkable.”

“She really is,” I said, glancing fondly at Callie’s back.

*   *   *

Late that afternoon, I was exhausted but happy after all of the riding and laughing and eating. I sat on the couch, watching an old movie with Tiger and Robbie, and started to doze off. A loud knocking on the back door startled me awake.

I hurried into the kitchen and saw through the window that it was Mac, and I opened the door with a smile. “Hi, what’s up?”

But he wasn’t smiling. “Hey, Irish.”

“What’s wrong? Is it Callie? Come in.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. “Talk to me.”

“It’s Cliff Hogarth,” he said somberly, taking my hand in his. “Somebody walked into his hospital room an hour ago and killed him.”

My phone rang before I could say a word and I ran to answer it. Mac followed me.

I stared at him, stunned, as I picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“You’ll never guess,” Lizzie said.

“Yes, I will,” I said, feeling numb. “Cliff Hogarth is dead.”

*   *   *

I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think I would ever be warm again despite the extra blanket I’d thrown over me and the socks I wore and the long knitted scarf wrapped around my neck. My cat was cuddled up beside me and Robbie slept at the foot of the bed, and I was still shivering. I couldn’t help it, after hearing the details of Cliff’s death.

Earlier that night, after we got the ugly news, Mac and Callie had stayed for dinner. None of us wanted to be alone, so I had thrown together meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and a veggie casserole. I didn’t mind that the meal was constantly interrupted by phone calls from Lizzie and Hal, who wanted to share the latest police-scanner buzz and theories and gossip.

Finally, Mac called Eric directly. The chief grudgingly confided certain details Lizzie and Hal hadn’t heard over the police scanner.

“Someone took advantage of a quiet Sunday night at the hospital,” Mac said, after he hung up from talking to Eric. “They had a bare-bones staff on duty, and I guess it was easy for the killer to slip unnoticed into Cliff’s room.”

“What did they do?”

Mac took a quick bite of mashed potatoes before answering. “The investigators think the guy tampered with his IV tubing.”

“You mean they disconnected it?”

“No, they injected another substance into it.”

I grimaced. “Do they know what it was?”

“They’re not willing to say until they run more tests, but I’m pretty sure they’ll find some type of liquid rat poison or cyanide.”

I cringed at the word cyanide. It sounded like something out of the Cold War. “Where would anyone ever find cyanide?”

He shrugged. “Rat poison. Pretty common to find some brands that contain cyanide.”

“So why do you think it’s cyanide?”

“I recognize the symptoms.”

“Of cyanide poisoning?” But of course Mac would know the symptoms. He was always researching new and exciting ways to kill people.

“Yeah,” he said. “The nurse thought Hogarth was suffocating, so she tried to clear his air passage. But it was no use. His entire body was shutting down, one system at a time. He was dead within minutes.”

*   *   *

By Monday morning, the news of Cliff Hogarth’s murder was on everyone’s mind. The entire town seemed to be holding its collective breath, worried sick that someone else might die. I was pretty sure the killer had specifically targeted Cliff and didn’t plan to go on a killing spree, but after tossing and turning all night, I wasn’t feeling strong enough to bet money on it.

I had hated Cliff Hogarth and I’d wanted him to go away, but I couldn’t ever wish such a horrible death on him. And to have it occur in a hospital? A place where people were meant to feel safe? It was doubly upsetting.

Mac, of course, was thriving on all the grisly news. I forgave him his buoyant joy, though, because he’d never met Cliff or any of the other players, for that matter. And I had a feeling he just might win a Pulitzer for the article he was writing, given all the macabre details he’d been able to gather from this gruesome case.

Eric’s reaction was the complete opposite of Mac’s, naturally. He was frustrated and angry that another person had been killed on what he considered his watch. He redoubled his team’s efforts to scour the evidence and find a connection between Lily Brogan’s death fifteen years ago and Cliff Hogarth’s murder yesterday.

Work always helped change my mood, so I attacked it with gusto. I was digging up the last remnants of asphalt around the edges of the old parking lot when Ms. Barney arrived at school. She greeted everyone on the crew and then pulled me aside to talk.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

I nodded, then admitted, “I’m a little shaken up.”

“I thought you might be,” Ms. Barney said, and that was when I remembered that she had been subjected to Cliff’s innuendos when she hired me for the parking-lot job.

“I guess it’s natural that everyone is looking over their shoulders,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure Cliff was the only target. He made a lot of enemies in a very short time.”

She sighed. “I know you weren’t friends with him, but the news was still so shocking.”

As I walked with her across campus, we shared what little we each knew about Cliff’s death. She had heard the same basic story that Eric had told Mac. Apparently Cliff’s killer had taken advantage of a slow afternoon at the hospital with not many staff members on duty. Later that night, someone had reported a pair of scrubs missing from the locker room in a size that would fit a normal-sized male, whatever that meant. There were no actual suspects so far, but having been on the receiving end of Cliff Hogarth’s vitriol, I figured there were probably plenty of folks who were not mourning his loss.

All the anxiety over Cliff’s death had made me forget about Lily for the moment. But now I was unsettled all over again by the fact that Mr. Jones and Lily might’ve been a couple all those years ago. Unfortunately, I couldn’t share that news with Ms. Barney, because so far it was just a supposition I’d deduced from reading Lily’s notebook.

Once Ms. Barney and I had exhausted the subject of Cliff’s death, we kept our chitchat light, talking about what we’d done over the weekend and about school and the town and this and that. She insisted again that she planned to add more solar canopies around the campus, and I assured her once again that I would love to get the job.

“I hope we can make that happen,” she said as we approached her office.

“Good morning, Ms. Barney.”

We both glanced up and saw one of the school secretaries standing by the door to the principal’s office.

“Hello, Helen,” Ms. Barney said.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Helen said, “but you have a phone call.”

“Who is it, Helen?”

The secretary was about to speak when the double doors at the far end of the hall were flung open and Eric, Tommy, and a small phalanx of cops came marching into the school.

Eric walked straight up to Ms. Barney and spoke in a low voice. “I’ve got a warrant for the arrest of one of your teachers. I’d appreciate if you would call him out into the hall and leave the students inside the room while we speak to him.”

Her face turned white, and I was afraid mine matched hers.

“Are you sure this is necessary while school is in session?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

She walked him a few yards down the hall, away from the group of secretaries, who were watching everything from her doorway. “Who do you want to see?”

Eric lowered his voice. “Bradford Jones.”

Someone screamed behind us. We all turned and saw Helen, who had been following closely behind Ms. Barney. She quickly whipped around and raced back into the office.

And I knew the news would move faster than a bullet train around town.

“Eric, why?” I asked.

He pulled me to the side of the hall, where his men wouldn’t hear me freaking out. I understood that Mr. Jones and Lily had had an affair, but standing here in the light of day, with Eric about to arrest him, I just couldn’t believe that the teacher I admired and thought I knew so well could be a killer. “It’s impossible.”

Eric’s jaw twitched. “You don’t know that.”

“But I know him. And I refuse to believe he killed Lily.”

Ms. Barney approached us, looking very worried. She pointed down the hall. “He’s in room 124.”

Eric nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

I grabbed his arm. “Please, Eric. Don’t do this. He’s not guilty. He can’t be. He loved her.”

He looked down at me and frowned. “Shannon, the evidence is overwhelming.”

“What evidence? An old notebook? All that proved was that Lily had a crush on him, just like every other girl in school. But even if they had been together, it doesn’t mean he killed her. Don’t tell me you found his bloody fingerprints somewhere.”

Eric glanced around to make sure we weren’t being overheard. “Shannon, Jones was the father of Lily’s child. She wrote it down in her notebook.”

I swallowed hard. “But he’s a good man. I refuse to believe he would hurt her.”

“He was her teacher.” Eric was speaking carefully, slowly, as he would to a very young child. Any other time I might have been insulted. “She was his student. They had sex. She told him she was pregnant, and he knew his career would be over if anyone found out.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe he was happy with the news. Maybe someone else was angry. What about Cliff? He was her boyfriend. Wouldn’t he be furious to know she’d been with someone else? I think that would drive him crazy. He’s always had a lot of rage boiling inside him.” I had a sudden thought. “And he was trying to blackmail Denise! Cliff must’ve found out that her husband was the father of Lily’s baby.”

“Those are all good points,” Eric admitted. “But the very fact that Cliff tried to blackmail Denise makes it even more likely that Brad Jones killed him.”

“That is so unfair,” I said. “Brad Jones is kind and thoughtful and . . . and squeamish! He could no more kill someone than fly to the moon.”

“If he’s innocent, he’ll be free to go. But I have enough probable cause to take him in for questioning.”

I glanced up and down the hall at the gathered officers. Lowering my voice even more, I said, “You’ve come here with six police officers to drag Mr. Jones out in handcuffs. You’re treating him like he’s a mass murderer. It’s going to ruin his career. Can’t you at least wait until after school is out?”

“Trust me to handle this, Shannon.”

I stared at him for a long moment and then nodded and stepped back. What else could I do? I couldn’t spin around on the floor and throw a temper tantrum and embarrass myself—and Eric—in front of his officers. But I wanted to, darn it. Because I knew Brad had to be innocent.

Okay, I didn’t actually know he was innocent, but how could he be guilty?

Ms. Barney had been standing off to the side, and Eric nodded at her. She looked so unhappy, but she dutifully slipped into the classroom and closed the door. Thirty seconds later, she emerged with Mr. Jones right behind her.

“Thank you,” Eric said to the principal, who nodded grimly.

Tommy crossed the hall and stood in front of the classroom door, probably to keep any curious students from sneaking out.

Mr. Jones glanced from the police chief to Ms. Barney to me. “What’s going on?”

Eric pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. “Bradford Jones, I have a warrant for your arrest in the murder of Lily Brogan.”

Brad stared at him in horror. “What? Are you serious? No! I didn’t kill Lily. I loved her. We were going to be married.”

“You can tell me the whole story down at the station,” Eric said quietly.

“The station? But I didn’t . . .” His gaze darted around the hall until he found me. “I swear I didn’t hurt Lily, Shannon.”

“I believe you,” I said, and prayed I was right. But then I quickly brushed the doubts away. There was no way Brad Jones could ever hurt anyone. I was sure of it.

Brad stared at the handcuffs and straightened his shoulders. “Those won’t be necessary, Chief Jensen. I’ll go with you.”

Eric took a moment to decide the best way to proceed, then simply took hold of Brad’s arm and led him down the hall and out the door. Tommy and the other cops followed behind, and I, being no fool, joined them.

They got Brad seated in the back of the patrol car. The officer at the wheel had just started the engine when a silver truck careened into the parking lot and skidded to a stop. Denise jumped out of the cab of the truck and ran toward the patrol car, screaming, “No!”

Eric and another officer tried to waylay her but she was too quick for them. She grabbed the back-door handle of the car and tried to yank it open, but it was locked. “Let him go!”

“Ms. Jones,” Eric shouted. “Step away from the car.”

The driver jumped out of the patrol car and tried to pry her hand off the door handle, but Denise had adrenaline and panic on her side. He couldn’t budge her.

“Everybody step back!” Eric yelled, clearly annoyed with the breakdown in order. “Ms. Jones, calm down!”

Denise whipped around. “I did it! Arrest me. I killed Lily. I—I was jealous of her and Brad, so I killed her.”

Eric’s gaze narrowed in on her. “Ms. Jones, are you confessing to the murder of Lily Brogan?”

Her eyes widened in fear and confusion. “Yes. No. Yes, I did it.”

“Oh, Denise,” I said. “You didn’t kill Lily.”

“I did, too,” she insisted.

Eric nodded at the driver, who jumped back into the patrol car and took off before Denise could throw herself in its path.

She whimpered as Brad was taken away. “He didn’t do it.”

“Did you want me to arrest you, Mrs. Jones?” Eric asked.

“Yes. Arrest me, not Brad.”

“Are you just saying that to protect your husband?” he asked.

“Well, somebody has to!” she cried.

“Do you think your husband is guilty?” Eric asked softly. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Guilty?” She looked aghast. “No. Brad couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Why was Cliff trying to blackmail you?” I asked, then winced at the furious look Eric gave me.

Denise answered anyway. “Cliff thought Brad killed Lily, and threatened to tell the police if I didn’t pay him fifty thousand dollars. But he was wrong,” Denise said, and turned to Eric. “And so are you, Chief Jensen. Brad didn’t kill Lily. He loved her.”

Eric shot me another quick glance, then stared intently at Denise. “You admit your husband was in love with Lily Brogan?”

“Yes,” she said, as some of her frenzy began to fade. “I was Lily’s best friend, so I knew how they felt about each other. They were in love and she was going to have his baby.”

“So you knew she was pregnant?”

She sighed. “Yes, of course I did. I was the one who used to cover for her so she could meet Brad at the mansion.”

“But, then, how did you and Brad get together?” I wondered aloud.

“We had something in common,” she said softly. “We both loved Lily. When she disappeared, we were both heartbroken. I guess it brought us closer together.”

“If you loved your friend Lily so much, why would you kill her?” Eric wondered.

Denise’s mouth opened, but she couldn’t come up with an answer.

“You did just confess to killing her,” Eric reminded her.

She blinked, then gazed at me beseechingly.

All I could do was change the subject. “Why did Cliff think that Brad killed Lily?”

That snapped her back to attention. “Oh. Cliff had dated Lily briefly, but he got it into his head that there was more to the relationship than there really was. He was pushing her to sleep with him, but why would she? He was cheating on her the whole time, so why did he think she owed him anything?” Denise shook her head in disgust. “But he kept harassing her, until she finally insisted that he leave her alone. She told him she was seeing someone else.”

This sounded way too familiar. Cliff had always thought women should fall at his feet.

“He didn’t believe her,” Denise continued, “so he started following her. Apparently, according to Cliff, he followed her out to the mansion one night and saw her with Brad.”

I gave Eric a meaningful look. “So Cliff knew he could find Lily at the mansion.”

“I heard what she said, Shannon.”

“Just making sure,” I muttered. Because if Cliff had wanted to hurt Lily, what better place to do it than the remote lighthouse mansion?

Denise ignored our banter and kept talking. “So, recently, when Lily’s body was found, Cliff put two and two together and came up with five. And that’s when he tried to blackmail me.”

“Because your family has money,” I murmured.

“Right,” she said, disgusted. “Brad’s always been a schoolteacher, so he was hardly a target for a blackmailer.”

Eric scowled. “But now Hogarth is dead, so nothing adds up.”

Denise looked completely lost. I wanted to give her a hug, but I knew Eric would growl at me.

“Ms. Jones,” Eric said, “I would appreciate your coming down to the station for an in-depth interview. Assistant Police Chief Gallagher will escort you there.”

I looked around to find Tommy and noticed that a small crowd of secretaries and teachers was standing at the top of the stairs, near the door to the school hall. They had seen everything, from Brad Jones being taken away in a squad car to Denise arriving and creating a scene. Now I felt even sorrier for her.