Reginald was at the head of the table reading the newspaper with singular intensity, which made me think he wasn’t actually reading at all, just staring at the page. He must have been up for a while though because I didn’t get a newspaper delivered. He had to have walked to the store and picked one up.
Taylor looked green around the gills and he was pouring an electrolyte pack into a glass of water and stirring it very, very slowly.
Vivienne was the only one who looked remotely rested.
“Sleep well?” I asked her, jealous of how perky she looked as she strode into the room. I was a puffy mess of inflammation with dark circles under my eyes.
“Ashwagandha,” she said.
“Bless you,” Taylor said, lifting his head up from his stirring.
Vivienne laughed. “Thank you, but no. It’s an herb. It helps with your circadian rhythm.”
“So does bourbon,” Taylor remarked, lifting his glass in salute.
I'd made a full pot of chicory coffee and a tray of biscuits nobody was eating, and Teddy had positioned himself under the buffet table in a strategic begging formation that he assumed nobody could see.
I could see him. I bent over and frowned at him. “Behave.”
He chittered.
"Did anyone else hear anything last night after we all went to bed?" Allison asked.
"No," Reginald said, without looking up from his magazine.
“Like what?” Vivienne asked. She sat at the table opposite Allison.
"Like footsteps.”
“Probably one of us walking,” Reginald murmured.
“Not even a creak?" Allison insisted.
"Old houses creak, Allison. That is, structurally speaking, their entire personality."
"I heard something," Taylor offered. "But it might have been my own stomach."
"You could have kept that to yourself,” Vivienne told him.
He shrugged. “It was a joke.”
As someone whose joke often fell flat, I could sympathize.
I was saved from further participation in this conversation by the sound of my back door opening, which by now was such a familiar occurrence that Teddy didn't even bother to look up from his position under the table. My assumption was it was Hollis but there was really no telling who it was.
Fortunately, it was the detective, letting himself in the way he always did.
"Morning," he said to me. "You look tired."
"Thank you. You look like you've had four cups of coffee already and are considering a fifth."
"Don’t be dramatic. This is only my third cup." He walked into the dining room and poured himself coffee off of the buffet table.
“Help yourself.”
Yes, that was sarcasm on my part.
No, I didn’t actually mind that Hollis acted like he owned my house.
