Grey wiped sweat from his forehead with a sleeve and elbowed past us. “I’m not waiting for Hyacinth to get back here. Let me at that door. I’ll get us inside.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gabriel said. “Rita’s right. Let the police handle it.”
But Grey wasn’t listening. He threw himself against the door with such force, the doorframe split. Surprised that he was that strong, I skedaddled out of the way just in time for the second lunge, and on the third the door broke open.
I got inside right behind Grey, who stood panting heavily, rubbing his shoulder as he surveyed the empty room. Monroe was nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was no sign that he’d ever been there at all.
Fourteen
After we discovered that Monroe and his things were gone, all hell broke loose. Nothing could have made Monroe look guiltier. Cleveland bellowed like a bull moose, threatening to kill Monroe with his bare hands. Primrose wailed inconsolably. Hyacinth searched the entire ground floor of the inn, as if she thought Monroe might have packed up and moved into one of the closets. Grey bolted into his own room across the hall and began plowing through his nightstand looking for something to dull the pain in his shoulder. Lula Belle disappeared for a few minutes and came back wearing a lavender polyester pantsuit . . . and teeth.
Gabriel and I worked with Antwon and Tamarra to calm everyone down and get them back into the parlor. While Tamarra served coffee that everybody ignored, Antwon ran upstairs to throw on jeans and a T-shirt. I kept an eye on the two miserable honeymoon couples, but I was more concerned about the longtime residents of the Love Nest. They were all advanced in years, and I was worried that Grey had seriously hurt himself when he broke through the door or that one or more of the others might have an adverse physical reaction to all the stress.
Things finally began to settle down, and believing that we had the residents of the Love Nest under control, Antwon, Gabriel, and I took a seat. But only for a minute. In a surprise turn of events, Miss Hysteria quietly huddled up next to her linebacker husband, but Bride Number 2 started ranting about what she called her constitutional right to leave if she wanted to. To make matters worse, our elderly companions kept popping out of their chairs and alternately threatening to leave the room or to find Monroe and commit a second murder.
Confusion reigned until one of the uniformed officers came back inside to see what the commotion was . . . and then things got really weird. As if someone had flipped a switch, the whole bunch of senior citizens stopped wailing and threatening and running around, and sat like a bunch of stone-faced mannequins.
A case of delayed shock? Maybe, but it was hard to believe it would hit five people at once. Which left only one other explanation I could think of: they all knew something and no one wanted to talk to the police about it.
At some point, a uniformed officer who looked about sixteen came to gather our names and other essential information. Gabriel and I gave ours when our turn came—or rather, Gabriel gave his information, while I hesitated for a moment and then introduced myself as Mrs. Broussard, reasoning that I’d tell the truth once I was alone with one of the officers and away from the residents of the Love Nest.
Smart? Maybe not. But in the wake of Dontae’s murder and Monroe’s sudden disappearance, I had a feeling that the good folks at the Love Nest might not understand our little deception. I also had another reason for keeping up the charade. If the EMT was right and Dontae had been poisoned, one of these old people was probably responsible. I wasn’t eager to reveal who I really was and get on that person’s bad side.
I don’t know how long we sat there before I noticed a flurry of activity in the foyer followed by a tangible change in the energy flow. A moment later Detective Liam Sullivan strode into the parlor and my heart dropped like a rock.
Sullivan might be a good friend—not quite a
friend with benefits
, but close—but he was just about the last person I wanted to see right then. He’s six feet of Southern charm when he’s not working, but he had his game face on tonight, and that’s not so charming. His cool blue eyes roamed the room, taking in the group and sifting details while one of the uniformed cops brought him up to speed. It took him all of three seconds to spot Gabriel and me, and even from a distance I could see his eyes turn from blue to stormy gray.
I stared back, trying to send him a silent message:
Don’t ask. I’ll explain later.
Very slowly, Sullivan pulled his gaze away from mine so he could pay attention to the briefing. The officer rattled off the pertinent details. One victim. Suspected poisoning. No other signs of trauma. No sign of forced entry into the garden, leading investigators to believe that the perpetrator had accessed the garden through the house.
“What’s he doing here?” Gabriel muttered in my ear.
I’d been so engrossed in my eavesdropping I jumped a little at the unexpected sound of his voice. “It’s a suspected homicide,” I muttered back when I could breathe again. “I guess he caught the case.”
“Is that good news or bad for us?”
“I wish I knew,” I whispered. “Just promise me, no wild stories when you talk to the police.”
Gabriel tried to look shocked. “Why, my dear Mrs. Broussard, I’ll be just as truthful as you are.”
I cut a sharp glance at him. “This is no time for jokes, Gabriel. Behave. Please.”
“As you wish.” He fell silent for about three seconds and then started up again. “Your boyfriend looks angry. Is he going to arrest me?”
“Only if you lie.” I nodded toward a female officer who was glaring a warning at us from across the room. “Now stop talking before you get us both in trouble.”
Sullivan interrupted the briefing once or twice to ask questions, then jerked his chin toward our small group of witnesses. “Is everyone here a guest of the inn?”
The officer waved toward the sisters at the far end of the room. “Hyacinth Fiske and Primrose Hoyt own the place, and the couple over there is family,” he said with a nod toward Antwon and Tamarra. “The older folks are long-term residents. I have a list of names for you.” And then he motioned toward us, saying, “These three couples and someone named Monroe Magee are the only registered guests. Magee’s missing, and so is the company van. No indication how long he’s been gone. Hoffman and I were just about to start interrogating.”
That brought Sullivan’s attention back to me. “You haven’t questioned them yet?” he asked the officer, locking his stormy stare with my increasingly uneasy one.
“No sir.”
“Who found the victim?”
“Ms. Hoyt over there.”
“Take her statement first,” Sullivan ordered. “Have Hoffman interrogate the family and residents. I’ll question the guests.”
“Yes sir.” One by one, the officer pointed to each couple with his pen. “You’ve got Michael and April Manwaring, Curtis and Deanne Sinclair, and Gabriel and Rita Broussard.”
Sullivan’s gaze zipped back to mine and the storm clouds turned to ice. “Is that right?”
“Yes sir. All three couples are here on their honeymoons.”
Heat rushed to my face, but I refused to look away from Sullivan’s gaze.
He didn’t blink either.
I was holding my own until Gabriel whispered in my ear again. “I don’t think he likes me.”
At that, my concentration shattered, and I blinked first. I glared at Gabriel, pouring all of my frustration and apprehension into the look I gave him. “Will you knock it off? This isn’t a game.”
Gabriel’s eyes danced with amusement at my expense. “Yes, dear.”
“You’re
so
not funny,” I said in a harsh whisper. “Now be quiet, please. I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.”
“Of course,
chérie
.” He sat back in his chair, still wearing a cat-who-found-the-cream grin.
Which I ignored.
“Hoffman’s using the dining room,” the cop was saying to Sullivan. “I was going to set up in the game room. Kitchen okay with you, sir?”
Sullivan parked his hands on his hips and rocked onto the balls of his feet. “Kitchen’s fine. Let’s start with you, Mr. Broussard. Come this way, please.”
He sounded so coplike, I felt a little sick. Gabriel got up to leave the room, but before going, he stopped and planted a kiss on me that might have curled my toes under other circumstances. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ll bail you out if I have to.”
From across the room, Primrose clapped her hands together as if Gabriel had done something wildly romantic. By the time I extricated myself from his enthusiastic embrace, Sullivan had turned away, which meant that I couldn’t see his eyes.
And that did not bode well at all.
Fifteen
Gabriel came back from his interview with Sullivan strangely subdued, but I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried by the change in him. I thought Sullivan might call me next, but he left me where I was and interviewed one of the honeymooners instead. I waited until they’d disappeared to ask Gabriel how the questioning had gone.
“Well?” I whispered. The Love Nest’s permanent residents were still maintaining radio silence.
Gabriel slid down and stretched his legs in front of him. “Fine. No problem.”
Well, terrific. But that didn’t tell me anything. “What did he ask you?”
Gabriel yawned and rolled his head this way and that, trying to get comfortable. “Oh, you know. How did I know the deceased? What did I see and hear before he died? The usual.”
“What did you tell him?”
Gabriel cut a glance at me from the corner of his eye. “The truth. What else?”
I nodded and spent a few seconds processing what he’d said. He’d answered all my questions, but he hadn’t told me what I wanted to know. Which, of course, wasn’t about the murder at all. “How did he seem?”
Gabriel pretended to be confused. “Seem?”
“You know,” I said, growing exasperated. “Was he—” I cut myself off, trying to find the right words. It wasn’t easy. I knew Sullivan would have been professional. He wasn’t the type to let personal feelings get in the way of his job. But I also knew that he
had
feelings for me, and I didn’t want to hurt him. Then again, it wasn’t really fair of me to ask Gabriel to dissect Sullivan’s reaction to finding us here together. It might seem that I cared more about Sullivan than I did about him. Since I wasn’t entirely sure
what
I felt, I slouched down in a posture that matched Gabriel’s and settled for a more generic question. “Did he give you any idea what the police are thinking?”
Gabriel smiled and closed his eyes. “Yeah. We had a real heart-to-heart in there.”
I studied his expression closely. It gave nothing away. “What does that mean?”
“That was sarcasm,
ch��rie.
He didn’t bring me into the loop. He asked questions. I answered them.” He opened his eyes and looked straight at me. “Are you worried?”
His steady gaze disconcerted me, but I tried not to show it. “No. Should I be?”
Gabriel lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “You tell me. Are you worried that he’s jealous about us being here together? Or angry?”
Trust him to go straight to the heart of the matter. I shook my head slowly. “No. Not really. Or maybe a little. About the jealousy, not the anger. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“He’s a real prince, I’m sure.”
I sat upright in a hurry. “Oh, stop it.” My voice came out louder than I’d intended, and a dozen heads swiveled toward us. I flushed with embarrassment and sank down again. “Maybe you should take lessons from him,” I said under my breath.
Gabriel tried to look shocked. “Me? Surely you jest.”
“Surely I don’t. Sullivan’s been a perfect gentleman so far. You’re the one who seems to have a problem.”
Gabriel closed his eyes as if he thought this was a good time to catch up on his sleep. “What can I say? I don’t like sharing.” He opened one eye, no more than a slit. “And I’m pretty sure your friend in the kitchen doesn’t either.”
I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Part of me wanted to know exactly what they’d said to each other, and the other part wanted to leave well enough alone—and that’s the part that won out. Gabriel dozed off—or at least appeared to—and I let him.
I don’t know how long Sullivan kept me cooling my heels, but it felt like hours. One by one the other guests left and came back, settling in quietly after their interviews. By the time he finally escorted me into the kitchen, I was practically jumping out of my skin.
I followed him down the hall without saying a word, which was unusual for me. But once inside the old-fashioned kitchen, I launched into an explanation before the door was completely shut. “It’s not what you think.”
Sullivan didn’t even smile. He just nodded toward a retro fifties-style table flanked by six red vinyl and chrome chairs. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mrs. Broussard? Congratulations on your wedding, by the way.”
The smell of coffee left too long on the burner stung my nose, but the yeasty aroma of dough rising on the counter gave the kitchen a homey feel. “It’s not Mrs. Broussard, and you know it. And there was no wedding. Gabriel and I are just here as a favor for a friend. But I’m sure you know that already.” Unless Gabriel had been making up stories again. If so, there was going to be another homicide on the books before the night was over.
Sullivan locked eyes with me. “Is there something you want to tell me? About us?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Like maybe you’re serious with Broussard?”
“What? No! I told you, we’re only here to do a favor for Old Dog Leg. That’s it.”
Sullivan ran a look over my pajama pants and tank top. “Interesting,” he said, turning a chair around and straddling it. He jerked his chin toward another chair on the other side of the table. “Sit. Please.”
I’d been waiting a long time. I was agitated and edgy and I didn’t want to sit. But I did want to appear cooperative, so I scooted a chair around so I could look Sullivan in the eye and started talking before he could distract me with questions. “There’s something weird going on here, Liam.”