Copy Cap Murder: A Hat Shop Mystery Part 13

Of course, I didn't say any of that. Instead, I offered up my sincerest "help the customer get to yes" smile and said, "Absolutely, how can I help you?"

Inspector Simms was built solid, with shoulders wide enough to carry around the grief that came with his position. I liked that about him. His thick head of dark hair was matted from his hat and he ran his fingers through it as if to fluff it up.

His light brown eyes were serious and not a little intimidating under the thick eyebrows that met in the middle in a menacing line on his prominent brow, although in the time I'd known him he'd never once menaced, if that counts for anything.

It was a good thing that I knew him; otherwise I might have been nervous. Instead, I remembered the time he and Inspector Franks had popped into the shop, eaten their fill of tea and crackers and left without ever arresting anyone, namely Viv, even though there were a couple of times where it wouldn't have been completely out of order to do so.

"Excellent," he said. "About the night of the Carson bonfire party . . ."

He paused and I wondered if he was hoping that I would just start talking and tell him who killed Winthrop Dashavoy, as if I wouldn't have done that already if I'd seen it.

"Yes?" I asked.

"You said that you were with Mr. Wentworth," he said.

"That's right," I said.

I forced myself to meet his gaze and not look away. I have heard that everyone has a tell when they are fibbing, and I'm not sure what mine is, but I knew that looking away from someone was considered suspect so I made sure not to do that. Also, I didn't blink. This seemed to convince him.

"So other than the time Mr. Harrison was away getting drinks, which you both mentioned was when you were approached by Mr. Dashavoy, then the two of you were together," he clarified.

"That's right," I said. Still I didn't blink or look away.

Now his unibrow lowered over his eyes. "That's interesting because I have it from Mr. Wentworth that after the scuffle with Dashavoy, he left you again for a few minutes."

d.a.m.n Harrison, why did he have to go and tell him that? I was supposed to be his alibi. What an idiot!

"I'm sorry but you said 'other than the time Mr. Harrison was away getting drinks' so I a.s.sumed you meant both times we were apart since he left me to get drinks both times. In fact, the second time he was gone no longer than a few minutes since he was just retrieving the drinks he had bought earlier from a nearby bar."

"No longer than a few minutes?" Simms asked. "Are you quite sure?"

"Yes," I said.

"How?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

"How do you know how long he was gone?" he persisted.

I glanced around the shop. It was empty, not a customer in sight. This was not helpful. I thought back to the party and the time Harrison had left me to get our beverages.

I knew it had been less than a few minutes. How? Well, because I had watched him. Could I say that? Would that even sound plausible? Did it matter if it helped Harrison?

"I know because I watched him," I said. "I never let him out of my sight."

Simms's brow rose and he straightened up a bit.

"Any particular reason why?" he asked.

This time I glanced away. Vulnerability is not an emotion that I wear well. I don't like to let my soft underbelly show; rather I like to hide behind the polished veneer of an independent professional young woman even if it does feel like a faade most of the time.

When I'm honest with myself, I know that I was drawn to the hospitality industry because I like to feel needed. It makes me feel important and fluffs up my self-esteem to help someone else. Otherwise, people might think I'm emotionally needy, and I just couldn't stand that.

Now, admitting that I had been watching Harrison to make sure that Tuesday didn't get near him made me feel like a stupid schoolgirl with her first crush. It was mortifying to admit that I liked him that way and was feeling turfy about him.

"Were you worried that he and Dashavoy were going to mix it up again?" Simms asked. "Is that why you watched him? Did you have a feeling something bad was going to happen, Scarlett? I need you to be honest with me."

"Ugh," I groaned and leaned my head back as I studied the ceiling. Yes, one part of me was looking for an escape hatch that I knew wasn't there.

"Scarlett, you aren't helping him if you lie for him," Simms said. His voice was filled with paternal concern, a trick I a.s.sumed he had learned from his partner, Inspector Franks, since I knew Simms was single, without kids, and not much older than me.

"I'm not lying," I said. I could feel how hot my face was and I resented that the truth was being embarra.s.sed out of me so I sounded a bit snippier than I would have liked. Again, vulnerable is not my comfort place. "The truth is I was watching Harrison because, oh, man." I paused before continuing, trying not to choke on the mortification that was forthcoming. "Because I have a crush on him and there was another woman there who was interested in him, and I wanted to make sure she steered clear, all right?"

Simms blinked. He looked nonplussed and then a small smile tipped the corner of his mouth.

"I thought there was something going on with you two," he said.

"You did not," I said.

"Yeah, I did, weeks ago, in fact," he said. "But I thought it was more him s.h.i.+ning on you than you on him."

"Well, now you know," I said. "And I would appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything."

"Don't see why I would." He shrugged. "But you are absolutely sure he was never out of your sight after the fight with Dashavoy. I'll have your word, and I know I don't need to remind you that if you lie, you'll be charged with impeding an investigation."

"I would never!" I protested. "I kept my eye on him for all but a matter of seconds, and I saw him talking to a stout man in a bright green jacket. I'm sure Harrison could give you his name if he hasn't already." Okay, I was mostly sure but that had to be close enough, right?

Simms nodded. "I didn't think so but we have to make certain. There is one more thing."

I noticed he looked ill at ease, and I braced myself.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts after the tussle with Dashavoy? Anyone other than Wentworth?"

I hadn't seen that coming. I thought back to my time waiting for Harrison. He was the only person who might have noticed me and he was off getting wine and sharing laughs with old men.

My throat felt very dry when I answered, "Um, no."

Simms left shortly after that. He didn't ask to talk to Viv or Fee, and I wasn't sure how I felt about being the one singled out for a chat. Then again, I was the one who had tussled with Dashavoy before Harrison came to the rescue so I supposed it made sense.

As Simms disappeared from sight, I had a horrible thought. What if Simms hadn't been here to discuss Harrison's alibi? What if he had really stopped by to go over mine? I was the one Dashavoy had gotten grabby with, so it stood to reason that I was the one who might have been holding a grudge.

Maybe the police thought that in a fit of ire, I strangled Dashavoy for excessive groping. I am a redhead and I had an embarra.s.sing history of losing my temper in public, maybe they thought this was just another example of my instability. I'm not gonna lie the thought hurt.

Disquiet filled me as I realized Simms had been questioning me, not to discover Harrison's whereabouts, but rather to pinpoint mine. Perhaps Simms thought I was Dashavoy's killer.

The horrible idea took root like an invasive weed in my brain and no amount of tugging could dislodge it.

Chapter 16.

There is nothing a dirty martini can't put into perspective, or so I told myself as Nick handed me my second martini of the evening, heavy on the olives.

Viv and I were ensconced at the bar in the corner of Nick and Andre's studio. Miles Davis was playing in the background, making his trumpet weep while night settled onto Portobello Road, tucking us in under its wing like a mama bird putting her hatchlings to bed. We were not listening.

"Has there been any news about Dashavoy's death?" Andre asked.

Viv and I exchanged a glance. I had told her about Inspector Simms's visit and my alarming realization that I might be a suspect.

"No news as yet," I said. "But they do seem to be checking every possibility."

Andre met my gaze across the bar. One of his eyebrows went up just a little bit higher than the other.

"Harrison?" he asked.

"Me," I said.

Nick gasped.

"I know," I said. "Can you believe it? As if I could ever murder anyone."

They were all silent, even Viv. I glanced at each of their faces but no one was meeting my gaze.

"Do not tell me that you believe me to be capable of murder," I said. "I swear I will go out and find all new friends if you do."

"You do have a temper, Scarlett," Nick said.

"And if someone you cared for was in jeopardy . . ." Viv began.

"I could see you doing some damage," Andre interrupted. "You're tougher than you look."

"So you all think I did it? Is that it?" My voice hit a high note that I think rated on the low register of the hysterics range.

"No!" Viv said. "We're just saying that anyone under the right circ.u.mstances might be driven to murder."

"Well, this was not the right circ.u.mstances," I said. "I'd knee a man in the privates for being too grabby, not strangle him."

"Of course you would, pet," Nick said. He patted the back of my hand and I felt a teeny bit better.

"I wish the police were as certain as you," I said.

"There has to have been someone at the party who had a stronger motive to murder Winthrop Dashavoy than you," Viv said.

"Well, I just happened to be chatting up one of my patients today, Ophelia Thift, of the Kensington Thifts," Nick said. "And she had some dish about Dashavoy that really came out when the nitrous oxide went in."

"And this is the first you're mentioning it?" I asked. "Nick, we've been here for an hour already!"

"Ophelia? Isn't she that horrid woman who likes to toss her badly processed brown hair over her shoulder and wear cute little flowery dresses like she's twenty-five instead of forty-five?" Viv asked.

"The same," Nick said.

"Not a bestie?" I asked Viv.

"Not in this life or any other," she a.s.sured me. "She's all fur coat and no knickers. You know her type-when you meet them at a party they give you the cold, limp hand and then look past you to see if someone more important is hiding behind you."

I nodded. I'd met Ophelia's kind before; in fact, I was quite certain that Tuesday Blount fell into that category.

"She's just a source, darling," Andre said. "Don't dwell on it."

"You're right," I agreed. I turned to Nick, who looked ready to bust. "What did you learn?"

"Winthrop Dashavoy had a little side business," Nick said. "According to Ophelia, he was into pharmaceuticals."

"Like investing in them?" I asked. Yes, because I am obtuse like that.

"More like pus.h.i.+ng them, I imagine," Andre said.

"You mean he was a drug dealer?" Viv asked.

"Sort of," Nick said. "Apparently, Ophelia's friend Deena Parsons, also a client of mine, has a small OxyContin problem, and when she's in need, one of her sources is, or rather was, Winthrop Dashavoy."

"This is fantastic!" I cried.

"That Deena is a pill popper?" Nick asked. "How do you figure?"

"No, no, not that," I said. "If Win was supplying prescription pills to desperate people, then that gives us a whole list of people who might have wanted him dead."

"We can start with Ophelia and Deena," Viv said.

"And if we can figure out where he was getting his pills from, that's a whole new lead," I added.

"Wait, wait, wait." Andre raised his hands in a stop gesture, which was somewhat diminished by the Jameson on the rocks he held in his right hand. "You are not meeting with anyone except Inspector Simms to tell him what you know."

"And you can't tell him that I told you," Nick said. "Patient confidentiality and all."

"I thought that was for doctors. Is it true for dentists, too?" Viv asked.

"If you want this dentist to still be able to get the dish for you, then yes," he said. "I can't have a reputation as a goss; people will stop telling me their secrets."

"Of course we won't tell where we heard," Viv said. "We'll make it sound as if it's just some tearoom chin wagging we overheard."