Chapter 58
Back in her room, Ingrid found her phone charging on the desk. She checked her messages. Only a few potential clients, asking for appointments next week. Nothing from Miles.
She choked down the eggs and bacon and toast Mrs. Leimberger sent up, chugged the coffee, then took the hottest shower she could stand. She found the clothes she’d worn the previous morning laundered and folded neatly on a chair. She dressed as a knock sounded at her door.
“Come in,” Ingrid said, and a group of three men and one woman entered. She recognized two of them. Judge Norwood, the man who’d handled Scoot’s case, and Brooks Glover, the family’s lawyer. The two others she didn’t know.
“Ingrid,” the judge said, offering his hand.
She reached out, grasped it, and shook it limply, even as his eyes darted away from hers.
“This is Detective Ray Shannon with the Savannah PD.” He indicated a middle-aged man, portly and bald, bursting out of an ill-fitting blazer and tie.
“His partner, Detective Heather Lowe.” This was a tall woman, younger than her partner, and a lot prettier, with blond hair in a ponytail and no trace of makeup on her angular face.
Ingrid nodded at both detectives.
“Ingrid, hello,” said the third man, about the same age as Nor wood, slim and distinguished, with silver hair and a tasteful waft of aftershave emanating from his expensive suit.
His accent was thick Southern molasses, like Clemmie Fairburn’s and all the other Savannians of that older generation.
“I’m Brooks Glover of Glover Gilchrist Townsend. ”
“We’ve met,” she said.
He sent her a blank, bland smile, the kind of smile men in his position bestowed on forgettable, lower-class, young women like her. Of course, Brooks Glover didn’t remember her.
“Brooks is going to sit in while the detectives interview you about last night,” said Judge Norwood.
She noticed he was in golfing attire. He’d been called in at the last minute by Sailor or Scoot, no doubt.
“I’ll be here, too, as a friend of the family.
Just to make sure all the i’s are dotted and t’s crossed. ”
The detectives exchanged a look in which Ingrid thought she detected barely suppressed annoyance. Or possibly resignation.
“Shall we sit?” asked the woman.
They sat on the chairs arranged around the fireplace. Shannon pulled out a notepad. Lowe just crossed her legs and stared at Ingrid.
“So you’re a psychic by trade?” Detective Shannon asked.
Ingrid smoothed her jeans. “Psychic-witch, technically. I do readings—palm, aura. I took over my grandmother’s business when I was eighteen years old. After she was diagnosed with cancer.”
Everyone was quiet.
“I don’t mean to speak out of turn,” she went on.
“But I’m happy to be of assistance in the investigation in whatever way possible.
I know quite a few police forces use psychics to solve cases.
” She shut her mouth, wondering where that had come from and suddenly feeling like she’d accidentally blundered over some sort of invisible etiquette line.
She was nervous. She should be more careful.
“Never used a psychic in one of mine,” Shannon said mildly as he jotted something down. “But thanks for the offer.”
Ingrid nodded.
Lowe studied her thoughtfully. Detective Shannon was obviously the straight guy. Lowe, the reader. The one who picked up on a vibe, who noticed the shifting of eyes or the slight hesitation before an answer. The woman was probably psychic and didn’t even know it.
In that moment, Ingrid’s head cleared, and she knew exactly how she was going to play this interview. This reading. Because that’s what it was.
She cleared her throat and turned to Shannon. The guy in charge. “I know you’re probably wondering what I was doing in Rill’s study during the reception.”
She saw Brooks Glover and Judge Norwood both stiffen as if choreographed. The fixers. They were the ones who were going to have to clean up this mess. They just didn’t know how big a mess it was going to be.
“I just want to come right out with it because it feels wrong to hide anything.”
Alarm filled Glover’s face. He opened his mouth to say something, but she continued before he could, focusing on Shannon.
“Rill Loeffler and I were acquainted. I met him earlier this spring, through his daughter, Sailor. He was always kind to me. Thoughtful. He included me when many people of his … position in society probably wouldn’t.
” She cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, Scoot wasn’t as welcoming.
I think there’s some history with her and my grandmother … ”
“Go on.” Shannon was scribbling furiously.
“For the past few months, I have been carrying on a relationship … of sorts … with Cas Loeffler. Not dating exactly, but something close. Sailor and Scoot both knew about it, and I believe it gave Scoot another reason not to like me. I’ll admit it’s been kind of”—she glanced at Glover—“sexual in nature, our texting, but nothing physical actually developed. You’ll find it in his phone if you look.
Not under my real name but probably ‘Saint.’”
“Your generation,” mumbled Detective Lowe, “y’all don’t really go in for the in-real-life thing, do you?”
She turned her eyes to study Lowe’s aura. In the spirit world, she saw a small group of people circled tightly around the detective. The woman didn’t have much family left, but the ones she did have were important to her. She’ll do anything to protect them.
“If Rill and Scoot Loeffler were your parents,” Ingrid said to Lowe, “I’d imagine you’d have your share of neuroses as well. I try not to judge people who are just trying to make it through their lives as best they can.”
The room went quiet. Ingrid resettled herself.
“Go on,” Shannon said.
“Recently … well, a couple of weeks ago, I was made aware …” She slowed her words. “I was made aware by Rill Loeffler that he … that he was actually attracted to me himself.”
Shannon’s head jerked up. One side of Lowe’s mouth curved up in a disbelieving smile. Brooks Glover looked startled. Judge Norwood let out a long sigh and turned to the window.
“When he first told me of his feelings, I declined his offer. He’s married.
But then, last night, at the reception, he said his situation had changed.
He said that Scoot was moving out permanently.
He suggested that I accompany him to Scotland for several days so we could explore the possibility of starting a relationship. ”
Now everyone was openly goggling her. Even in the midst of her grief, she felt an inappropriate burst of laughter trying to escape her. It was so strange, this feeling of swooping through the air, suspended by only a wing and a prayer. She felt high.
“He said his grandfather belonged to a golf club over there.” She looked around. No one was moving, but now Judge Norwood’s and Brooks Glover’s expressions had both gone sour, their eyes narrow in disbelief.
“He mentioned a cottage … a castle … where we could stay.”
“No kidding,” Lowe said.
Ingrid glanced at Judge Norwood. “In Strathkinness. Yes.”
Glover coughed.
Ingrid addressed Lowe. “I knew it was wrong, and I know I’m airing dirty laundry here, but I think it’s best to tell the truth. He said he and Scoot had an agreement, that she was moving to Tybee when she got out of her … current situation … and he wanted me as his mistress.”
“And what did you say to him?” Lowe asked.
“I said I had to think about it.”
“What about Cas?” Lowe asked.
Ingrid went quiet. Looked down at her fidgety fingers. “He didn’t want me.”
“And you were in love with him?” Lowe asked.
“With Cas?”
“No,” Lowe said steadily. “With Rill.”
Ingrid hesitated. “No. I was not in love with Rill, but I was attracted to him. And I believed that it could possibly turn into more, on my end.”
“How romantic,” Shannon muttered.
“Not every relationship has to be romantic. Lots of situations are arranged or just decided on for pragmatic reasons.”
“And what about Miles Drummond?” Shannon asked.
“Oh.” Ingrid looked around at the men. “You know him?”
“We know him,” Shannon said flatly.
“Miles and I aren’t … we’re just roommates. Friends. Not romantically involved.”
They watched her. She resisted the smile that was trying to spread across her face. They had come into this interview expecting to have to ferret the truth out of some trashy, low-class, sidewalk witch, but she’d turned the tables on them.
She’d told the truth, given them everything they could possibly want, and more, and now they had nowhere to go. She might technically have secrets, but she had no motive to kill either one of the Loeffler men. She was innocent.
Shannon’s phone bleeped, and he stepped out into the hall to answer it.
Ingrid eyed Detective Lowe. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
Ingrid hesitated. “If there was suspicion that a cancer patient had gotten sick because someone poisoned them, could they dig the remains up and do an autopsy to prove it?”
Lowe’s face softened slightly. “You think someone you know was poisoned?”
Ingrid shrugged. “I don’t know. I might.”
“What type of poison was it? Some kinds stay in the body forever. Others eventually dissipate.”
“Beryllium. That’s one of the causes of lung cancer, the doctor said. I wonder if my grandmother was poisoned back in the nineties and then got sick for real years later.”
Lowe paused a long time. “Well, private exhumation costs a lot. And to be honest with you, I’m not sure that kind of metal is still going to be present in the body after three decades, but I’m no expert.”
“Okay.” Ingrid bit her lip.
“I did know of a case once over in Charleston. Double homicide. They used a psychic to find the bodies.” She regarded Ingrid thoughtfully.
But Ingrid did not have a chance to decide because just then Shannon stuck his head around the door. “Lowe,” he said. “Down stairs. They found something.”