Klementina had left the party early—and noisily—but that didn’t mean she hadn’t met up with Brett later. Granted, a mausoleum was a weird place for a rendezvous and, as it turned out, not as private as you might think.
Maybe there was a Mr. Harwood? He’d be on the list of suspects too.
There would be business associates and social acquaintances. There would be other family members perhaps? Maybe Brett came from a long line of homicidal maniacs. That would be convenient. Ex-girlfriends? Poker buddies? Brett looked like a guy who would cheat at cards as readily as at love.
Maybe he’d made enemies at his yacht club? Or on his polo team?
Ellery had no idea whether Brett sailed a yacht or played polo. He’d had a certain Ralph- Lauren-on-the-Skids style. For sure, he did not look like a guy who worked nine-to-five, but it seemed unlikely that most guests at the evening’s events were punching time clocks.
Ellery glanced automatically around the crowded dining table and saw Julian watching him. Julian offered a nervous smile. Ellery smiled back.
Yeah, he was worried about Julian.
Julian’s knuckles had been skinned when he came back from helping escort Brett outside for some fresh air. Had there been some kind of fight outside?
Who would know?
Locke Lombard would know. He had stopped Julian from punching Brett after the scene with Klementina.
Ellery looked for Locke and spotted him sitting next to Marguerite. Their heads were bent close together, and they were speaking quietly. Marguerite had stuck to the “accident” excuse when she’d informed her guests they would have to wait for the police before departing, but it was a safe bet Locke knew the true story. He had Trusted Family Friend written all over him.
Had Brett reappeared inside after the incident with Klementina?
Ellery tried to remember seeing him, but he was drawing a blank.
In fairness, a lot of the evening was beginning to feel fuzzy and far away. He checked his phone and nearly dropped it.
Three o’clock?
In the morning?
Poor little Watson would think he had been abandoned again. He hated being crated. All the fuzzy pillows, soft lights, and YouTube videos in the world couldn’t soothe him. Whenever Ellery was forced to leave him in the cage, he inevitably returned to Watson having barked himself hoarse with outrage and hurt.
“How much longer?” a woman in a pink beehive-sized wig asked.
Marguerite opened her eyes, opened her mouth, but was forestalled by the dining-room door opening. Jack walked in.
Somewhere along the way, Jack had changed out of costume and back into his navy uniform. He was courteous but crisp. “Thanks for your patience, folks. We’re going to make this as painless as possible.”
After that, things happened very quickly. The remaining guests were divided into two groups. The larger group went with Detective Lansing. The rest continued to wait in the dining room to be interviewed by Police Chief Carson.
Ellery, one of those requested to wait in the dining room, couldn’t help noticing that though Lansing took charge of the larger group, Jack’s detainees included Marguerite, Julian, Locke, and the other men who had helped break up the fight between Brett and Kezzie. All the prime suspects.
He hoped Jack was not including him in the category of prime suspect, or that was really going to place a strain on their friendship.
Another strain.
The male guests who had interceded between Brett and Kezzie were picked off one by one in quick succession.
Then Locke was called. He rose, grave and dignified in his eighteenth-century King’s Counsel wig and black gown, squeezed Marguerite’s shoulder lightly, and left the room. Julian shifted over to take his place. He and Marguerite spoke softly, briefly, then fell silent.
Julian looked down the table at Ellery. “Sorry about this.”
“No worries,” Ellery said, which was hardly accurate.
Officer Battye, stationed at the door, said apologetically, “You’re not supposed to compare notes.”
Julian frowned. “We’re not comparing notes. I’m apologizing to my date for ruining his evening.”
Marguerite murmured, “Julian.”
Julian folded his lips together in a sullen line. He met Ellery’s gaze and shook his head.
According to Ellery’s phone, it was forty minutes before the door to the dining room opened and Officer Martin looked around the almost empty room and called, “Ellery Page?” as if he didn’t know Ellery perfectly well—right down to how he took his coffee.
Ellery rose, nodded farewell to his remaining hosts, and followed Martin through the dining room door and across the now empty main room. The grand chandelier was dark, the candles had been doused, the flowers were looking wilted around the edges, and one of Kezzie’s lost pearls gleamed between the toes of a claw-foot table.
They turned down a short, shining marble hall, Martin pushed open a door, and Ellery stepped inside an elegant blue sitting room.
Jack was seated at a small writing table. He was rubbing the back of his neck, but he straightened and squared his shoulders at the sight of Ellery.
“Thanks, Martin.” Jack motioned at the Louis XVI green-upholstered chair in front of the writing table. “Have a seat.”
Ellery dropped into the chair and studied Jack. He thought Jack looked as tired and drawn as Marguerite. This was bound to be a tricky case for Jack. Murder among the summer folk? Not just summer folk—one of the oldest and richest families on the island.
Jack would call it “politically sensitive,” which Ellery translated to mean potential pitfalls every way Jack stepped.
Jack reached for his cell phone on the desktop, hesitated, asked, “You okay?”
“Me? Yes. I’m fine.”
Jack nodded, pressed his phone, said, “Interview with Ellery Page, Sunday, July 11.” He glanced at his watch. “4:10 a.m.”
Ellery said nothing.
“Okay,” Jack said, sounding weary but still brisk. “I think I know the answer to these initial questions, but let’s just verify. How long have you known Brett Ainsley?”
“I met him for the first time this evening. I think we exchanged all of a sentence.”
“And your relationship to Julian Bloodworth?”
“I met Julian for the first time this evening also. We hung out together for most of the party.”
“That’s what I’m interested in,” Jack said. “That timeline.” He jotted something on his notepad and glanced up. “Were you ever apart during the course of the evening?”
“Of course we were apart.”
Jack ignored Ellery’s flash of exasperation. “Of course. So let’s start with your best estimate of when you met Julian, and then we’ll track your movements from there.”
“My movements or Julian’s?” Ellery asked.
Jack said blandly, “If you know where Julian was when he wasn’t with you, feel free to share.”
Okay. Point taken.
Ellery thought back. “Dylan and I arrived about the same time. That would have been slightly after seven. I met Marguerite and Brett, I milled around, talked to some people, avoided talking to some people, ran into Dylan again and we went outside to the bar, where I met Julian.”
“What time was that?”