She gave a tinkly laugh. “So true! If you’ll excuse me.” She was already moving, already swallowed up by the thinning crowd near the terrace doors, moving with the unhurried speed of someone trying very hard to look like they weren’t fleeing.
“Well,” Reginald said, into the silence she left behind. “That was either very stupid or very smart.”
“You said that about the bracelet the first time,” I told him.
“It bears repeating.”
Hollis watched us volley. “What are you talking about?”
I told him about the bracelet and the footage Vivienne had. “Hyacinth Maxwell buried her bracelet in the hedge, as you saw,” I said. “The one with her hand on Vivienne’s footage. She lied about it to my face just now, badly, and then fled.”
“Did she flee?” Reginald asked. “She didn’t see in a particular rush.”
This man and his semantics. I wished he’d stick to cornices.
Hollis turned to eye the retreating Hyacinth. When he turned back to me, I didn’t approve of his expression. He looked amused.
“Please don’t tell me Hyacinth is clever or that she looks too sweet to be guilty of anything because I won’t be responsible for what I might say to you if you do,” I warned him.
“Ah, so you’re good friends?” He gave me a grin.
“Not even frenemies.”
Hollis looked toward the terrace doors where Hyacinth had disappeared, then back at the hedge, then at me, and I watched him do the math on whether to chase her down himself or send an officer.
“Stay,” he told me, for the second time that night, with the specific flat emphasis of a man who did not believe I would.
“I”m not a dog,” I told him.
“A dog would be more obedient.” He strode toward the house.
My jaw dropped. “That’s very rude!” I called after him.
“Do we dig up the bracelet?” Taylor asked. “Seems a shame to leave it in the dirt.”
But before any of us could respond, two uniformed officers were already heading toward the hedge with a flashlight and an evidence bag that was surely destined for the same collection as my mint napkin.
The detectives who arrived on scene wandered around a bit and asked us a few questions. None of them seemed particularly concerned with the situation. I imagine they had their doubts as to whether they were even dealing with a homicide or not.
The questions they asked our little Midnight House cohort were simple.
Did you see Mrs. Carrington sip her drink?
Can we see any pictures of video you took?
And that was that.
“I thought they’d at least ask if she had any enemies,” I complained. “That seemed very surface level.”
“We’d be here all night if they asked that,” Allison said.
It was a biting comment. I wasn’t used to Allison being that sharp and I eyed her. But Allison just looked exhausted. She hadn’t even wanted to return to the gala and now it was creeping up on midnight.
“We can head back to Midnight House now,” I said. “Is everyone okay with that?”
“Yes, please,” Allison groaned.
Taylor was asleep in a wrought iron chair, his chin resting on his chest. Reginald gave him a hard thump on the upper back. “Wake up, man. The train is rolling out.”
