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“I think that you are trying to find whoever killed your murder victim. I can even see from your viewpoint that I make a fairly likely, if weak, suspect. After all, I described the murder in almost the exact detail in my book. For the record, I had nothing to do with it. And to answer your question, let me ask you this: when was the man killed?”
“How do you know it was a man?” he asked.
Fiona couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Now, he was just being difficult and deliberately obtuse. “Even a casual glance revealed he was naked, and he had dangly parts that women don’t have. So, when did he die?”
“We don’t have an official time of death, but the doctor’s best guess was sometime early this morning.”
“Depending on the time, the only alibi I have is that I was up in my loft over the bookstore working on my latest novel…”
“How’s that coming along?” asked Christie.
“Not bad. I actually figured out…”
Raferty snapped his fingers several times. “Focus. You were giving me an alibi?”
“Ah yes, alibi. You’ll have to forgive us. For authors, the writing is the most important thing. So, I was in my loft until I went down to Holy Grounds to get a Barbajada...”
“What the hell is a Barbajada?” asked Christie.
“It’s a Milanese hot chocolate-coffee drink,” answered Rafferty. “They make those here in town?”
The chief of police nodded. “Yeah, Joyce’s place down the street specializes in the more exotic and fancy coffees. She’s made real caffeine addicts of us all.”
“As I was saying, I was working on my latest novel and then went to get a coffee and then I was busy getting ready and getting together with my friends. Then we had lunch or rather, we started to and then found Nagisa down at Seraphim.”
“Nagisa?” asked Rafferty.
“The bronze statue that’s been missing since the days of Prohibition?” said Jimmy. “Fiona and her friends found Nagisa in a hiding place—she’d been bricked into a wall down in the wine cellar.” He turned to Fiona and Christie. “Folks in town are pretty excited, and the mayor wanted me to convey not only his thanks but that when she is reinstalled, he’d like all of you here to receive the keys to the town.”
Rafferty snorted as he shook his head. “So, what you’re saying, Ms. Fowler, is that you have no real alibi.”
“I spoke to both Joyce and her daughter when I was getting my coffee.”
“Well, Slade, unless you have anything more substantive, I think I’m going to have to insist you let Fiona go, said the chief of police”
“You’re not in a position to do that, Jimmy.”
“I’m afraid I am. You don’t have enough to hold her on. Hell, you didn’t really have enough to arrest her.”
“I never actually arrested her.”
“You told me I was under arrest…”
“Well, you weren’t. I took you into custody on my strong suspicion that you were involved with the death of Daniel Monkton. I didn’t have you booked.”
“Then if Fiona isn’t technically under arrest, you have no reason to hold her against her will,” said Christie. “Come on, Fi. Rafferty doesn’t have enough to hold you. We’re going back to your place.” She turned to Rafferty. “Stay away from her, Rafferty, or I will personally have you brought up on charges.”
“What charges?” Rafferty asked.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that; I’ll think of something. And I may only be a retired cop from Baltimore, but I have friends all over and can make your life miserable.”
“Are you threatening me, Ms. Crofton?”
“Not technically. Technically, I’m just offering you a friendly piece of advice.”
Fiona had to give it to Christie; the woman had moxie.
“Come on, Fi; the girls are waiting. They’ve gone to the store and picked up something to make for dinner.”
