Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kate took her best guess of the layout of the house and turned left inside the passage, accidentally ramming her toe into a whisky barrel tucked just around the corner and cursing the throb of pain that shot up her leg. She imagined the place even smelled like old whisky, a heady combination of wood and jet fuel. She did her best not to imagine those four skeletons Rebecca had supposedly found in the wall, or how they got there, or why no one had cared to find them until they were nothing but bones.
Left had at least worked out for her, directionally, as the passage reached a set of stairs. Kate shone her flashlight on the edges of the stairs where the wood was the roughest, little splinters sticking out. The ends looked discolored, and as Kate scraped her finger against them, red dust caked up under her fingernail.
“Dried blood,” Kate whispered, shining her flashlight up the stairs.
This was it. This was how someone had gotten Kennedy from the bridal suite down to the wine cave without anyone seeing. She found Kennedy’s missing shoes from the previous evening strewn along the steps farther up, all the proof she needed that this was how the bride had been moved. Her shoes came off during the transport, and that’s how she got those odd scrapes and bruises on her heels. Kate reached the top of the stairs and found the door-release lever.
It swung open into the master bedroom. Of course Russell Hempstead would want a passage from his bedroom to his illicit goods storage room. Kate stepped into what looked like an impromptu sleepover, with Kennedy and her bridesmaids in matching pajamas. There were a few other guests—Veeta the marketing intern, Abraham and Jean-Pierre, and Louis the photographer capturing the cozy moment. They looked up at her in surprise, huddled around a computer screen that looked like it was showing—
“ Mamma Mia ?” Kate blurted out in surprise. “You’re watching Mamma Mia ? You know they don’t end up getting married, right?”
“That’s why we’re watching it,” Kennedy said with a little smile, her eyes sad. “Felt appropriate for the weekend we’re having. Plus, Aunt Rebecca loved ABBA.”
“That is… surprising information,” Kate said.
“Where did you come from?” Juliette asked.
“Secret passage.” Kate pointed over her shoulder as Cassidy not-so-subtly crawled for the exit. “Relax, Cassidy. I’m not here for revenge. At least, not yet.”
“I was just… looking… for my contact,” Cassidy said, sweeping her hands over the floor with wide strokes.
“So you snuck in here through a secret passage just to stand around frowning?” Juliette asked. “Seems like you could have done that on your own somewhere else.”
“No,” Kate said, shaking her head. “I’ve gathered you all here today—”
“You didn’t gather us here,” Veeta said in confusion. “We were already here. You’re the one who just showed up.”
“Okay, well… be that as it may,” Kate said, determined to soldier on, “I’ve metaphorically gathered you all here today to reveal, once and for all, the true murderer.”
Juliette rolled her eyes. “Kate, you’re not a real detective.”
“Well, I’m not a real killer, either,” Kate snapped. “Didn’t stop you accusing me.”
Juliette only shrugged. “I’m still not convinced you’re not the murderer.”
“Just let me do my fake job,” Kate said, exasperated.
“Fine, Nancy Drew, what’s your evidence trail? Who are your suspects?” Juliette clapped her hands together. “Let’s knock this out.”
“Well, it’s not that simple,” Kate mumbled.
A heavy, expectant silence hung over the room, all eyes on Kate. She hesitated just long enough that Juliette gave up a groan. “Oh my god, you don’t know, do you?”
The rest of the room burst out in similar groans as Kate leaned into Juliette. “You know, you could do a little less heckling and a lot more helping.”
“And miss this crash and burn?” Juliette countered. “Never. You really don’t know?”
“I have… hunches,” Kate ground out.
“Hunches?” Juliette said derisively. “Hunches are worse than gut instincts. Hunches are the tinfoil hats of investigative work. You should be confirming alibis, revisiting the evidence, leaning on people. God, don’t you read your own books?”
“I was just about to do all of that before you started heckling me!” Kate burst out, rubbing her face. “Kennedy, what do you know about your aunt’s historical designation process? Did you ever see any of the documents she had to submit?”
“Oh, sure,” Kennedy said, nodding. “I had to sign off on all of them as a witness. She said she didn’t trust anybody else in the family, not until the deal was done. It was such a mess. I think Auntie R thought if she donated a huge amount of money, the trust would let her do what she wanted. But they were stubborn about following protocol. They had to see all the original architectural documents, and they insisted on an in-person inspection to confirm the state of the Manor. She was so angry she threatened to fire all of them, but then she found out they’re mostly volunteers.”
“This really would be so amazing as a historical site,” said Jean-Pierre wistfully.
“I’m surprised she found someone willing to do the in-person inspection,” Kennedy continued. “Most of them hated her so much by the end they refused to speak with her. They even staged a walkout at some point. That’s why she had to get me involved. They all called her Attila the Hunter behind her back, because of the taxidermy. And because she was so ruthless.”
Atilla the Hunter . It wasn’t the first time this weekend Kate had heard that name. But it had to be a coincidence, right? Marla couldn’t possibly… possibly…
“Kennedy, did you invite Marla this weekend?” Kate asked, needing the answer to be rational. Logical. Of course Kennedy invited Marla for the weekend, and Marla probably just overhead that nickname at her artists’ commune here on the islands. Marla couldn’t have done all this, it would be…
Well, it would be psychotic, wouldn’t it?
Kennedy frowned. “Marla Lynch? No. I mean, I wanted to. I wanted to invite all of Spencer’s local authors. But he told me not to, because of the contracts stuff. I guess he changed his mind, though.”
But Kate didn’t think he had. And if Marla wasn’t there by Spencer or Kennedy’s invitation, it meant someone else had invited her. The only other person on the island with the authority to do so. Rebecca was the only one who could confirm her suspicion, and she wouldn’t be divulging her secrets anytime soon. Still, Kate was sure she had it. She knew who had poisoned Kennedy, who had dragged her down the secret passage stairs and stubbed their toe against a barrel they couldn’t have possibly known was there, because they’d only ever seen the passage on blueprints and not in person.
“I need to sit down,” Kate said, dropping to the carpet beside Cassidy before the other woman could properly make room for her.
“Hey!” Cassidy said, tugging her leg out from under Kate’s butt. But she made a face as she considered Kate. “You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t feel so good,” Kate muttered, staring at the Greek chorus of Mamma Mia narrating her fate. She and Marla might not be the good friends they’d been back in college, and they might have drifted apart, but Marla couldn’t have done this , could she? Poisoning Kennedy? Framing Kate? Why would she do such a thing? And why offer to help with the investigation?
Unless she was only offering to help so she had an inside line into what Kate was investigating. Kate had thought they were reconnecting and bonding, but now that she really thought about it, Marla had been too keen to find that evidence Kate swore was lying around. She’d probably planned to take the champagne glass and use it to implicate Kate even more, but she hadn’t expected Cassidy to steal it for the DNA test. And Kate would bet she hadn’t expected Rebecca to take the poisoned bottle and stash it in the pool room, either. Still, none of that evidence conclusively pointed to Marla, not without the rosary peas. Kate could barely stomach the idea of one of her oldest friends doing something so diabolical; she certainly couldn’t go around accusing her of it without more solid proof.
Louis maneuvered in beside her, snapping a picture of her mid-solve. She had the urge to demand he delete that photo, and hadn’t he taken enough unflattering photos of her for the weekend? But then she remembered the photo that Marla had “accidentally” made her delete, and turned to him with a sudden flash of inspiration.
“Louis, can I—”
“No way,” the photographer said before she could complete her request. “I just got the bacon grease off the buttons.”
“And I apologized for that,” Kate said patiently. “But the last time I looked at your photos, my… friend deleted one. Can you recover it? In high resolution, preferably.”
Louis straightened and sighed. “Maybe, but I would need my computer for that, and I don’t have it with me right now. Obviously.”
Kate turned to Kennedy. “Can we borrow your laptop?”
Louis took the SD card from his camera and plugged it into Kennedy’s reader, the raw photos coming up in a file. He worked some technical magic Kate didn’t understand, and the deleted photo popped up.
“Boy, she really tackled Ken, didn’t she?” mused Cassidy as the full-size image loaded.
“It’s not the most… flattering of captures,” Kate murmured, but she wasn’t focused on the scene she and Kennedy were causing in the foreground. She scanned the background, trying to find what it was Marla hadn’t wanted anyone else to see. And there, small but distinct in the far left corner, was the evidence she needed.
“Is that… Marla?” Juliette asked, leaning in close. “What is she doing?”
“I believe she’s poisoning the bride’s bottle of Dom Pérignon,” Kate said, a heavy weight settling in the pit of her stomach. Marla’s distinct red-tipped hair and lace-up boots identified her more than her face, and while Kate couldn’t see specifically what was in her hand, she was positive it was a small bag or vial of crushed rosary peas. Kate could at least make out the bright red For the Bride sash the bartender had put around the neck of the bottle in her other hand. The same bottle Kate had found in Rebecca’s locker in the pool room. The bottle only Kennedy was supposed to drink out of for the weekend, before Kate had knocked her glass out of her hand and then distracted Kennedy with the scene she had caused during Spencer’s speech.
“You know, in a way, I think I actually saved your life,” Kate said, bemused. She shook her head, knowing she had the evidence she needed, but missing the most critical piece— why .
“You think Marla did all this?” Juliette asked.
“We need to find her and talk to her,” Kate said, her voice sounding funny even to herself. She couldn’t begin to imagine how or why Marla had done what she’d done. She’d found Kate after the speeches and lured her down to the wine cave, conveniently abandoning her in the kitchen under the guise of looking for glasses. She’d been in Kate’s room helping her change, digging through her suitcase. She could easily have planted the necklace then.
But why? Why poison Kennedy at all? Why frame Kate for it? She couldn’t possibly have done this, could she?
Juliette took a long, slow breath, letting it out in a huff. “I’d believe worse of her with less evidence. Her books always had too much body horror for feminist retellings. Where’s your low-rent Hemsworth stand-in? Why isn’t he here to back you up?”
Kate looked away. “We had a… misunderstanding.”
Juliette snorted. “See, this is why I only fuck guys I don’t like. Then when I have to cut them off, I never feel bad about it. You need backup?”
Kate looked at her in surprise. “Are you offering it?”
“I’ll search Marla’s room,” Juliette said. “Since you are clearly no Loretta when it comes to real-life investigations. This doesn’t make us friends.”
“And here I was, ready to give you half a heart necklace that says Be Fri ,” Kate said dryly. “If you find her, don’t do anything until I can talk to her.”
“You know I won’t promise that,” Juliette said grimly.