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“Did Lucy St. George say anything to the men in the boat?” asks an officer whose mouth is hidden by a bushy white mustache.
Jane tries to remember. “Yes,” she says. “I think Lucy said, ‘I’m not doing it again, it’s a waste of my talents, and yours too, J.R.’ Or something like that. I was pretty far away and the water was noisy.”
“Not doing what again?” asks the mustached officer. “And who’s J.R.?”
“He’s the man who drove the boat away,” Jane says.
“Hmm,” says the officer. Jane can hear worlds of communication in that “hmm.” In these officers’ long careers, she’s the most useless witness they’ve ever questioned.
They ask her questions about her own history and her reasons for being in the house. They seem bored by her answers. She tries to sound casual when she tells them about never actually having seen Ivy’s gun. She aims for a blasé tone when she tells them about Ravi not having been in his bedroom too. They perk up a little at that, which deflates her. Ravi could be the accomplice, couldn’t he? Couldn’t his tantrums be an act? If they are, he deserves to be caught. Right?
No. Jane can’t believe Ravi is involved. Then again, she once thought the same about Lucy. “Do the police give medals to dogs?” she asks.
“Thank you for your time,” they respond grimly, then sweep Jane back into the gold sitting room.
“How was it?” asks Ivy, who’s still sitting there.
“I have no idea,” Jane says.
Toenails scrape and ring on tile as Jasper comes barreling into the room. His ear is bandaged and attached loosely to his neck with tape. When he sees Jane, he throws himself at her. Jane drops down to the floor, takes him into her lap, pets him, and, naturally, begins to leak tears again. He pants hotly into her face.
“I’ve never seen that dog behave toward anyone the way he behaves toward you,” says Ivy, searching through her many pockets, finally unearthing a tissue. She brings it to Jane, crouches down, and, while Jane’s still hugging the dog, touches the tissue, gently, to Jane’s face.
For a moment, Jane feels that everything is right.
“Ivy Yellan,” says an officer who appears in the billiard room doorway, in a tone of acute boredom. “And you,” he says, jutting his chin at Jane.
“What?” Jane says. “Me? You just talked to me.”
“Yes,” he says. “I haven’t forgotten your scintillating testimony. Do us a favor and go find Ravi Thrash, will you? He’s next.”
“I’m right here,” Ravi says, appearing in the ballroom doorway.
“Good,” the officer says to Ravi. “Kindly stay.”
The officer and Ivy disappear into the billiard room, leaving Jane and Ravi, who studies Jane’s face. She sniffles hard, wiping her eyes on her pajama sleeve.
“What are you crying about?” asks Ravi.
“The dog,” Jane says, which is true, if an understatement.
“Yeah,” he says grimly.
“You look tired,” she says.
“The FBI should be handling this case,” Ravi says. “If our artwork is still in New York State, it’s a miracle. Vanny is literally trying to give me an ulcer, calling in the state police instead of the FBI. How was it, talking to them?”
Jane pauses, then speaks in a particular tone. “I answered all their questions honestly.”
He rubs his neck, sighing. The white streaks in his hair suddenly make him seem old, tired. “Is there a reason you shouldn’t have?”
“I went looking for you first,” Jane says. “This morning. I went to your room first, before going outside. It was just before dawn and you weren’t there. I told them.”
Ravi’s eyes linger on Jane. “And now you’re telling me you told them,” he says, “so I’ll know not to tell them I was safely tucked up in bed the whole time?”
“Yeah,” says Jane. “I guess so.”
The corner of Ravi’s mouth turns up. “You’re a puzzle.”
“Ravi, if that’s a segue to flirting, I’m literally going to lose it.”
This elicits a sad smile, then a weary shake of the head. “I spent the night with my dad in the library,” he says, “listening to the Beatles.”
“The Beatles!” Jane exclaims. “I forgot to tell the police about the Beatles.” Placing Jasper on his four feet, she stands, turns, and barges through the billiard room door. Four surprised faces swivel up to look at her.
“I forgot to tell you that as I was crossing the atrium on my way to the servants’ quarters,” Jane announces, “I heard someone playing the Beatles.”
The faces stare at Jane in bewilderment. She leaves the room and shuts the door before things deteriorate any further.
“I’m pretty sure I’m their least favorite witness ever,” she tells Ravi.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “Patrick will brood, Kiran will be silent and depressed, Colin will be condescending, and Phoebe will say something snobbish and defensive.”
“Thanks,” Jane says. “That makes me feel better.”
His half grin again. “Keep me company while I’m waiting?”
Jane has sympathy for Ravi, who’s had a rotten morning. But she’s still dressed in her Doctor Who pajamas, she’s run through the ramble, fallen over, rolled around, had a gun pointed at her, been bled on by a dog, bawled her eyes out, and been interrogated by the police. She needs a shower, and a deep, dark nap with Jasper snoring into her ankles. “I need to get cleaned up,” Jane says.
“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Send me Kiran if you see her, will you? I’m worried about her.”
“Why?”
Ravi throws himself into an armchair and closes his eyes. “Nothing to do with any of this. Let’s just call it twin stuff.”
* * *
One moment, Jane is passing through the ballroom with Jasper at her heels, weary and spent, dodging gala staff whose voices are too sharp and bright. The next moment, she’s ravenous. This is why Jane does, indeed, cross paths with Kiran, who’s with Colin in the breakfast room, a little nook off the banquet hall, poking at a poached egg with a spoon.
“I just wish I was more surprised,” Jane hears Colin say. “Who’s your guess for her accomplice? Someone in the house? A servant?”
“I don’t have a clue,” says Kiran.
“She could have an entanglement with the guy who mans your boats,” says Colin. “One of those secret relationships across class.”
“Patrick?” says Kiran, sounding thoroughly confused, and rubbing her temples as if they hurt. “Where are you getting this from?”
“They look pretty cozy together. I can’t see him turning her down,” says Colin.
There’s a smugness to his tone, subtle, indefinable; he’s pleased with his own speculations.
Something inside Jane mutinies. “Colin,” she says. “Why do you keep pushing her into conversations she doesn’t want to have?”
“What?” Colin says, looking up at Jane. His hair is damp. He’s showered and bright as a daisy. “Pushing who?”
“Kiran!” Jane exclaims. “You keep badgering her.”
Colin sits back, offended. “I love Kiran,” he says. “What do you know about anything? You’re a child, and a stranger here.”
“She doesn’t want to talk about it,” says Jane. “She wants to be alone.”
“She’s depressed!” Colin says. “I’m getting her interested in something!”
“You bully her!”
“You have a lot of nerve,” Colin says, then turns to Kiran. “Sweetheart, do I bully you?”
Kiran is holding her spoon so tightly that her fingertips are white. “Colin,” she says to her plate, “I think it’s time we broke up. In fact, I’m sure of it. I’m sorry, but it’s over.”
Two spots of red grow in Colin’s cheeks. After a moment, he pushes his chair back qui
etly, and stands. “Very well,” he says stiffly. “By the way,” he adds, flashing hot eyes into Jane’s, “you’re wrong. She doesn’t prefer to be alone. She’s quite fond of a certain one of her servants. I used to think she could be happy with me, but now I’m not sure she’s capable of happiness.”
“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Kiran says, “you patronizing prick.”
Colin opens his mouth to speak, then claps it closed tight. He turns to go. As he’s walking away, he spins back suddenly and addresses Jane.
“Incidentally,” he says, “I hate to tell you, but there was an accident with your umbrellas. They fell into the street in Soho and got run over by a truck. I’m awfully sorry. I don’t suppose they were insured?”
