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Drayton waggled his fingers, indicating he needed more details. “And?”
“And nothing. According to Glass’s informant, which may or may not be credible, Lucket laughed at them.”
“Lucket certainly doesn’t act like a guilty man.”
“I don’t know,” Theodosia said. “What does a guilty man act like?”
“As if he doesn’t have a care in the world?” Drayton scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Or perhaps a guilty woman would act the same way.”
“Funny you should bring that up, because I’ve been thinking about Mignon all morning. Still wondering how and if she’s involved.” Theodosia glanced at the ornate Gustavian gilt clock that hung next to the stone fireplace. “I’ve been thinking about paying her a visit. Like, maybe even today.”
“There’s no time like the present,” Drayton said. “So why don’t you? Haley and I have things well under control here. And it might be interesting if you applied some pressure to Mignon, gave her your version of the third degree.”
Theodosia nodded slowly. “Exactly what I’ve been thinking.”
***
The front door stood open wide, and inside, Mignon’s shop bustled with activity. As Theodosia walked in, she saw three people in aprons and headscarves pushing brooms around, doing their best to put things right.
“Hello?” Theodosia called out.
All three heads shot up. Then Mignon recognized Theodosia and said, “Hey, come on in. That’s if you can find a clean place to stand.”
Theodosia looked around. There were half a dozen black plastic garbage bags filled with trash and a large gray plastic garbage bin heaped with dirty T-shirts, scuffed note cards, and broken teacups. And there was still a lot more work to be done.
“It looks like you’re making some progress,” Theodosia said.
Mignon stopped sweeping and walked over to where Theodosia was standing. She looked ten years younger in her denim shirt, jeans, and sneakers. “We’re getting there,” she said. “Thanks to my assistants, Sasha and Joyce, for their hard work and elbow grease. Ladies, say hi to Theodosia. She owns that lovely tea room over on Church Street.”
Sasha and Joyce managed weak hellos, then returned to their cleaning.
“Have you talked to your insurance agent?” Theodosia asked.
“He stopped by this morning. It’s... it should be okay.” Mignon swept an arm at the garbage bags. “Most of this is covered.”
“How about the damage to your walls?” Theodosia glanced at walls that still bore obnoxious slashes of paint and graffiti.
Mignon blew a tuft of hair off her forehead. “That’s covered as well. In fact, the painters are scheduled for Monday morning.”
Theodosia decided not to beat around the bush. “You know Booker was killed last night?”
Mignon’s eyes were hard as marbles as she met Theodosia’s gaze, while her two employees suddenly looked fearful and seemed to shrink into themselves.
“If Booker was the one who savaged my beautiful boutique, then I’m glad he’s dead,” Mignon spat out.
“You realize it was cold-blooded murder?”
“I don’t much care.” Mignon took a step back and her heel crunched down hard on a piece of broken china. “But I can see you’re fascinated. Still trying to help Holly, or...” Mignon stopped abruptly. Then a cagey expression slowly stole across her face. “Ah, I think I know why you turned up here. You think maybe I shot Mr. Booker, don’t you?” She barked out a harsh laugh. “If I knew for sure that Booker was the one responsible for this mess, then believe me, I would have gladly pulled the trigger.” Her mouth twisted into a sneer. “But in case you’re asking, I didn’t kill him. Is that what you’re asking?”
“I suppose in a way it is,” Theodosia said. She wasn’t surprised or even rattled by Mignon’s response. Just curious as to what Mignon would do next.
Mignon shook her head, bent forward, and vigorously pushed her broom around, scraping together the remnants of a glass figurine. Finally, she looked up at Theodosia and said, “Maybe you should leave.”
Theodosia left.
Sitting in her car, fingers tapping the steering wheel, Theodosia tried to sort through Mignon’s rambling words.
Is Mignon lying? Maybe. She’s goofy enough. But if she didn’t go out there last night and kill Booker, then who did?
