The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) (14 page)

“Where are you going?” I called after. “The hungry people are on the terrace.”

He ground to a slow halt, turned to me with a look of (and Burns never wore much expression on his face, so this was huge) mild confusion. “Are you proposing we feed our guests from paper bags, Ms Storm?”

“Of course not.” The GRIMMS had overstayed their welcome, murdered one of their own. These people were nothing more than intruders parading around as guests. I doubted my attitude would wash with Burns, though. “We’ll take the cartons out of the paper bags, but after that, it’s grab & eat. All the rage in the trendy restaurants at the moment, Burns, seriously. They’ll love the concept.”

Burns didn’t look convinced, but I left him no choice. I absconded through the lounge with the main course and the fortune cookies.

When I stepped out onto the terrace, I got my answer. Things here were eerily normal. The sky was just beginning to streak pink above the mountain tops in the distance. The lake lapped gently against the shore with the breeze. Classical music from the outdoor speakers played softly over the laughter and conversation. The mingling guests spilled off the terrace and along the boundary where the narrow lawn met the soggy rushes.

Nate was there as well, standing next to Charles, both men gazing out over the lake. As I watched, Nate ran a hand through his hair and kept it there, palm cupped at the back of his head. A smile unfolded and stayed with me as I off-loaded my bags onto the extended table pushed up against a wall. The table also held three large jugs filled with electric-colored cocktails and rows of pineapple Pina Coladas. I’d completely forgotten about the Hawaiian-themed dinner party we’d originally planned for tonight. Maybe I should have gone with pineapple and ham pizza instead of Savage Garden.

“You didn’t have to go to all this effort,” I said to Burns as he joined me.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Mr McMurphy was looking for something to do, so I merely offered a suggestion.”

“Joe?” I looked around and found him. Near the lake’s edge with the Parkers and a tall cocktail glass in hand.

He’d been holed up in his room for weeks, fingers glued to the keyboard. The reclusive act wasn’t typical, not for such long stretches anyway, but I’d assumed he was manic about finishing the new book so he could cash in his next advance check. There was only one thing I could think of that would bring him out into social butterfly mode.

My stare drilled into his back until he felt the prick and glanced my way.

I smiled, waved him over, and left Burns to unpack supper as I drew Joe over to the side. “I know exactly what you’re up to and you should know, I
do
mind and I
won’t
understand.”

“Maddie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He put a hand out to ward me off.

Me!

A
s if I were the one who’d lost my grip on reality.

“Your book has stalled again, hasn’t it? So now you’re sniffing around my guests, looking for inspiration or doing research or whatever the hell you want to call it.” I folded my arms, narrowed my eyes on him. “Maybe it’s just an experiment to you, but these are real people you’re messing with, Joe, real lives that could be changed forever. We’re not puppets you can shove back into the closet once you’ve got your chapter on paper.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. “This is still about Chintilly.”

“No, Joe, this is about you.”

“You’re right.” Joe blew out a painfully slow breath. “What I did to you, Maddie, the way I justified it to myself, was despicable. I’d never do that again, not to anyone.”

Yeah, forgive me if I didn’t trust him. “Then what are you doing downstairs?”

“Taking a break, that’s all.”

“Or maybe our little chat earlier reminded you that you had a shortcut to get around writer’s block.”

“It was the chat, but not the way you think,” he said wearily. “When my characters screw up, I control whether they get to fix it or not. It was easier to hide inside my story than admit I couldn’t fix what I’d done. But that wasn’t fair on you.”

“No,” I said in a small voice. “None of it was fair on me.”

“I know this doesn’t fix anything, Maddie, but I never meant to hurt you. I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you, for throwing away the best thing in my life.”

The emotion in his eyes threatened to swallow me. Dammit all, how was I supposed to stay mad now?

A tinkling sound snapped my head around.

It was Burns, announcing dinner with a silver bell that looked like it had been stolen off the set of a Jane Austin period drama.

My stomach rumbled. No surprise there. I was a stress-eater, always had been. You know how some people say you can’t eat away your problems? Well, I’m living proof that they’re wrong.

“Hey.” Joe touched my arm. “Are we good?”

I looked at him. Those expressive eyes I’d fallen into so many times. Sandy hair that felt like silk when I ran my fingers through it.

That dull, bruising ache in my heart was still there, but it also felt like the truth when I said, “We will be.”

Nate had reached the table ahead of us. He turned to me, weighing one carton against another in his hands. “Chicken noodles or shrimp fried rice?”

I took the noodles. “Thanks.”

He studied me for a moment. “Everything alright back home?”

“Oh, yes.” I smiled to reassure him, then lowered my voice. “But we did learn something interesting. Did Joe tell you?”

“He only said you were okay, and that you were spending the afternoon with your parents.” Nate grabbed two pairs of chopsticks. “Let’s take this somewhere quieter.”

The GRIMMS had spread themselves into groups at the intimate tables. I was pleased to see Burns sitting with Joe and Miss Crawley instead of standing on duty. He was finally getting into the spirit of the revised weekend schedule.

Nate and I took our food off the terrace and out of hearing distance. The crumpled ticket in my jeans pocket made an uncomfortable bump as I landed cross-legged on the grass.

I raised one butt cheek to pull it out and tossed the paper ball at Nate. “Can you take care of that?”

He caught it out of the air and shook it open to read. “Yeah, sure, I don’t mind paying this.” His eyes lifted to me, slate-grey with warmth. “You short of cash?”

“God, no!” Embarrassment burned to the tips of my ears. “I’m not asking for money. I thought you could, um, squash it for me.”

His jaw firmed. “Is this what Spinner does for you?”

“Jack Spinner wrote that ticket,” I muttered.

“That’s a relief.”

“For you, maybe.” I grabbed the ticket back, mortified.

“I don’t mean to come down hard on you, but squashing tickets is the kind of thing that can give a cop a bad rep. Spinner’s a good kid. I’d hate to see him ruin his career before it got started.”

“Don’t worry.” I opened my carton and stuck my chopsticks in. “I haven’t corrupted him yet.”

“Maddox, I’m sorry.” Nate planted his elbows on his crossed knees and speared a shrimp with the end of his stick. “I’m being a real bastard today.”

I slurped my noodles and nodded.

Well, he was.

“It’s these GRIMMS,” he spoke around a mouthful. “They’re being deliberately obstructive.” He finished chewing, looked at me, his eyes creasing into me as the moment dragged.

“You and Joe seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion back there,” he finally said. “None of my business, I know, except I am sleeping in your bedroom. If that’s causing you any trouble, I’ll make other arrangements.”

“Like moving in with Miss Crawley?”

He chuckled, then grew serious, his gaze suddenly intense. “I don’t want to be in the way of any chance of you guys patching things up.”

“You’re not in the way, Nate.” I dropped my eyes to my food with a sigh. “We can’t be patched.”

He waited a beat, but didn’t push the subject. “Okay, then, you want to share that interesting information?”

I told him about Mom’s discovery, that the rope had been taken before the main course was served. “The rope was definitely there before we sat down to dinner, I saw it for myself.”

“That means the most likely suspect got up from the table before the main course was served,” Nate concluded aloud. “Do you have a name for me?”

“That’s rather optimistic,” I drawled. “I have three.”

Nate grinned. “Three is good.”

“Well, Jonas got a call on his cell and he left the room to take it,” I rehashed. “He wasn’t gone long, though, maybe ten minutes. Then Charles spilled red wine on his shirt sleeve. He was worried about it staining and wanted to soak it in the bathtub. He was wearing a fresh shirt when he returned. And lastly, Julie excused herself to use the restroom.”

We tucked into our food again.

“My vote goes to Jonas,” I said when I felt Nate had had enough time to process.

“He is the odd man out.” Nate said thoughtfully. “I learnt something interesting today as well. There are ten places on the GRIMMS Honored Masters scroll and Jonas is the only one here who doesn’t hold a spot. In order to get onto the scroll, he has to knock someone off.”

“I assume you don’t mean kill?”

Nate shook his head. “They keep some type of tally at these events, a scorecard of who has solved the most murders. A Master has to maintain their status throughout any given year, or they’ll lose their place to the next up and coming member.”

“Jonas?”

“Could be.” Nate shrugged. “The thing is, the current Masters don’t change often. They’re apparently streaks ahead of the rest, year after year. But if Jonas couldn’t rack up enough points, maybe eliminating one of them would do the trick.”

“I don’t know, Nate. Would he really kill someone just to get onto some silly list?”

“There’s financial motivation,” Nate said. “The Honored Masters hold a lot of cards. They can blacklist a venue, or promote it to their society. That kind of power could mean hefty bribes.”

“Hmm…” I finished the last of my noodles and scrunched the carton.

“You have a better theory?”

I looked around to make sure Jonas hadn’t snuck up on us. “What if he’s the hired hitman?”

Nate’s jaw went slack. “Ah, I saw the note you added to the whiteboard.”

“You should speak to Miss Crawley.”

“Miss Crawley won’t say hello to me without a lawyer.” A vibrating noise sounded, and he dug his phone out of his front pocket to answer a call. “Spinner, yes?”

Nate listened, then he started listing, “Got it, brown hair, hazel eyes, early twenties…” His gaze sharpened on me. “Hang on, Spinner,” he said and pressed the phone to his chest. “Maddox, you didn’t happen to walk into Cuppa-Cake and confess to murder, did you?”

Uh, oh.

He read the expression off my face and sighed heavily.

“I can explain,” I said.

“Please don’t.” He put the phone to his ear again and spoke in abrupt sentences abbreviated by short pauses for Jack’s part of the conversation. “Your anonymous tip is Maddox. No, she didn’t call it in, she’s the one who confessed. How the hell should I know? Why don’t you ask her next time you see her? For God’s sake, no, don’t file the statement.”

He gave me an aggrieved look as he spoke, as if I were the one who’d called in an anonymous tip based on an overheard conversation taken completely out of context. It was probably the young mother with blue hair. She seemed like the sort to act impulsively without thinking it through.

Nate glanced at his phone. “I’ve got another call waiting,” he said and answered the second call before I could butt in to defend myself.

I was still building my argument inside my head when he ended the call on, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“You’re going somewhere?” I asked.

“That was the Auburn station,” he said. “Fieldman managed to get a flight out of Turkey and he’s just come in. I need to talk to him.”

“You can’t interrogate him before you—”

“I’m just going to talk to him,” Nate cut in. “Ask a few questions about who might have had a grudge against his wife.”

“Hear me out,” I said with an irritated huff. “The man’s involved in smuggling Asian artifacts and Lydia found out about it. She was going to confront him and then go to the cops.”

“That’s a serious accusation, Maddox. Where did you hear this?”

“From Miss Crawley,” I informed him tartly. “Who heard it from Julie Brown, who heard it from Charles Sitter, who heard it from Lydia Fieldman herself.”

“Then it must be true,” Nate muttered under his breath.

I frowned at his skepticism. “There’s no smoke without fire.”

“Normally I’d agree, but I’ll make an exception for the GRIMMS. They haven’t exactly been helpful today.”

“They
did
tell you the truth about their Honored Masters scroll,” I pointed out. Not that I was their number one fan, but I wasn’t ready to let go of my hitman theory.

“Yeah, they didn’t,” Nate said. “My Auburn team got that from our archives. There’s been a number of complaints lodged against the society from unhappy event handlers, so we have a file on them.” He pushed to his feet and looked down at me. “Will you be okay here? I shouldn’t be gone long.”