“She was medicated,” Hollis said. “Taking prescription medication for her cancer. Maybe that affected her ability to recognize the difference?”
“She wasn’t wearing her reading glasses either,” Allison pointed out.
“I can’t see a damn thing without my readers,” Taylor admitted.
"I saw the setting at Evelyn's place. I know every piece in that julep collection down to the hallmark. I knew immediately it wasn't the one I'd prepared. “What was her plan? I couldn’t take a chance.” Reginald’s voice had gone very quiet. "So I fixed it."
"You switched them back."
"I switched them back. It took ten seconds. I put my straw where it belonged and I put her grandmother's straw in my jacket pocket and by the time the receiving line started, everything was exactly the way I'd built it to be. She never knew. Hyacinth never knew. Whatever Evelyn thought she was doing, I undid it.”
"And Hyacinth started wondering what the heck had happened," I said.
That was the part that landed. I watched something in Reginald's face go from careful confession to genuine, cornered fear, the difference between a man explaining a crime he'd made peace with and a man facing one he hadn't.
"She didn't know what she'd seen," he said, too fast. "But what if she figured it out?"
"You could have killed her," Hollis said.
“She’s expecting a baby,” I said, disgusted now with Reginald. “You could have killed her and her unborn child.”
There was a collective gasp.
Reginald didn’t speak. He didn’t even blink.
Silence stretched long enough that Teddy, who had been sitting with unusual patience at my feet through the entire confession, let out a low, questioning chitter, like even he understood something was about to give.
"I didn't plan it." For the first time, he looked almost surprised at himself, like he was hearing the sequence of his own actions for the first time. "It just happened."
“Poppycock,” said Taylor.
I fully agreed.
“You followed a woman into a powder room and bashed her over the head. That’s not an oopsie.”
Vivienne had lowered her phone slightly, filming her own lap now instead of his face, like even she'd found a line she didn't especially want to cross. Allison, for once, looked like she might be sick instead of thrilled. Taylor had set his mimosa down entirely, which, from Taylor, was a major sign of disgust.
Hollis stepped forward, unhooking the cuffs from his belt with the same unhurried, practiced motion I'd seen him use a hundred times on television and never once in person until right now.
"Reginald St. Clair, you're under arrest for the murder of Evelyn Carrington and the assault of Hyacinth Maxwell."
Reginald didn't fight it. He held his wrists out and let Hollis turn him toward the door.
At the threshold, he stopped, just for a second, and looked back. Not at Hollis, not at me, but up, at the chandelier over the staircase, the one that flickered when it felt overlooked.
"I really do love these old houses," he said, quietly, to no one in particular. "That part was never a lie."
Then Hollis walked him out into the spring sunshine, past the magnolias going brown at the edges, and the front door of Midnight House swung shut behind them with a sound that felt, for the first time in a week, almost like relief.
“Someone tell me this whole thing was an elaborate murder mystery weekend,” Taylor said.
“Sadly, no. It was all real.”
The room fell back into silence.
“Well, I have a plane to catch.” Taylor headed for the stairs.
Vivienne opened her mouth, but then closed it again. She turned on one heel and left the room.
