“Had you been to the doctor?”
“Yes, I’d been to the doctor. Any old guy who doesn’t have a cardiologist is an idiot, and I took medications for high cholesterol and hypertension,” Jeremy said. “I was careful. No incidents—I took my meds just as directed. I did the right things. Watched out for what I ate, didn’t smoke, only had a glass of red wine now and then... I looked after myself.”
Marnie felt a little buzz. Her phone was in her pocket.
There was a text.
She excused herself and checked the phone. The text was from Bryan; he must have called Angela, who would have told him Marnie had a horrible headache and was lying down. Bryan wouldn’t have taken the chance of waking her.
At the station; going in with David Neal. But got a call from Jackson, who is down at the morgue with Vining. Some tests in. Jeremy must have been expecting a date—blood work showed large amounts of an erectile dysfunction drug. Poor guy...must have wanted someone very badly.
Marnie looked across the room at Jeremy Highsmith.
“What?” he demanded.
“Uh—nothing.”
“What is it, Marnie? Damn it, come on.”
“All right, all right... Who was she, Jeremy?”
“Who was she? She who?” Jeremy asked.
“Yeah, who was she?” Cara demanded.
“There was no she!” Jeremy declared. He sighed. “She didn’t tell you, did she? Cara. Cara and I had been seeing each other before...before...”
“Before I was slashed to ribbons!” Cara said. “And you think a heart attack hurts? Imagine getting chopped up by an actual sword.”
“Well, then...” Marnie said.
“Look. I honestly wasn’t seeing anyone. I didn’t expect to see anyone. I was mourning Cara. I was feeling a bit dizzy, so I was in bed, trying to nap, for God’s sake. What is going on?” Jeremy demanded.
Marnie took a deep breath. “There was a massive amount of an erectile dysfunction drug in your system, Jeremy.”
“What?” Jeremy said.
“What?” Cara echoed.
Marnie repeated herself.
“But I didn’t!” Jeremy said weakly.
“Oh, my dear Lord!” Cara said.
“I didn’t,” Jeremy said. He gasped suddenly. “Oh, my God. It was the mousse.” He looked at Marnie. “Did you have the mousse? The salmon mousse? At lunch yesterday—did you have the mousse?”
“Um...no,” Marnie said. She hadn’t really liked the look of it. And there hadn’t been much, not for the size of their group. She’d thought she’d leave it for people who enjoyed it more.
“Mousse?” Cara said.
“Oh, our killer is a bastard! I didn’t die from any natural cause,” Jeremy said furiously. “Our killer... He chose the damned salmon mousse. Unbelievable!”
“So...the killer was there. Yesterday,” Marnie whispered.
She dialed quickly.
Her call went straight to voice mail, but Bryan called her right back.
“So, you got my message. I guess Jeremy didn’t realize his heart couldn’t take the drugs. I wonder who he was seeing.”
“He wasn’t seeing anyone. And he didn’t take any erectile dysfunction drugs, Bryan.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s here. Jeremy Highsmith is right here. With Cara. They were seeing one another before Cara died, and now... He says the drugs must have been in the mousse. We had lunch with the murderer!”
15
Bryan slid his phone back into his pocket, looking at Sophie Manning.
Jeremy had been murdered, too.
“Murdered?” Sophie said skeptically. She studied him. “It’s easy to think at this point that everything is suspicious. But Jeremy was old...er. I can’t tell you how often—when I was a younger cop—I’d be called in for help, escorts on a hospital run, that kind of thing, because someone just had to impress their lover and overdid it, having an erection that went on and on for hours and hours, or as in this case, Bryan, bringing on a heart attack because their systems just couldn’t deal with it. Why would this be any different?”
Because Jeremy Highsmith said so.
That wasn’t going to work.
“I just spoke with Marnie. She was very good friends with both Jeremy and Cara and—only known to friends—they were seeing one another before Cara died.”
“How was the drug given to him?”
“We suspect in food. At lunch.”
“Then were you all running around like hopped-up rabbits yesterday?”
“It must have been in the mousse. I didn’t have any. Not everyone there did. It had a kind of gray cast to it, and salmon isn’t my favorite. Whether our fellows at the luncheon were having wild, wicked sex after drop-off, I don’t know. We had cops at their doors, not in their bedrooms.”
Sophie still looked skeptical.
“David Neal just admitted to drugging Marnie’s drink, and you’re sure he didn’t have anything to do with this?”
“There’s no way he could have seen Jeremy Highsmith yesterday. Unless your cops are bad,” Bryan pointed out.
“You want me to just let him go?”
“I don’t know. What he did was definitely unacceptable—he was obsessed with her. I think he wanted some sure way to be with her, but in the end he chickened out. And he ran. He can be charged.”
“He could do it again—he should be charged. Although...” She paused, wincing. “Then we have to prove that it wasn’t Bridget or Angela.”
“He confessed.”
“And he asked for an attorney. I don’t know. I think we should at least hold him.”
“An attorney will get him out of here unless you press charges.”
“I can hold him for a while. I know that Vining and your friend Special Agent Crow are at the autopsy. I can stick around here and work on Neal and kill time if you want to see if there is anything else.”
He thanked her. He really liked Sophie Manning.
“I’ll do that,” he said.
The autopsy would still be taking place. He wasn’t sure that it mattered. He was pretty sure that what he knew now was the reason for Jeremy Highsmith’s death.
And then there were none! He couldn’t help but think.
Jeremy and Cara were gone.
That left Roberta, Grayson and Marnie in the main cast.
Malcolm Dangerfield...near them.
And Vince Carlton.
One of them, he was sure, was a killer.
*
“You need to come out to the living room with me,” Marnie said. “We have to let Angela see you—and talk to you.”
“I’d like that,” Cara said.
“It isn’t going to happen,” Jeremy said.
“Why not?” Marnie asked.
“Because...” Jeremy began.
Then he faded away.
Cara sighed softly. “He’s just beginning to get it. Poor man. He wanted to be at his autopsy. I said don’t do it! Not nice, won’t make you happy. Now, a funeral on the other hand... Everybody crying and saying wonderful things... He’ll just have to get to the funeral.”
She was fading, as well. She was gone when Marnie heard the last of her voice.
“Just tell them all of what he said...”
Marnie sighed. She’d told Bryan, but she could tell Angela herself.
George whined. And then he barked—loudly and excitedly.
Marnie tensed immediately. It was impossible not to worry.
This killer seemed capable of anything.
She leaped off the bed and opened the door; George raced out ahead of her.
“It’s all right, George, it’s all right!” she heard Angela say. “Friend, George. He’s a friend.”
Curious, Marnie hurried down the hall. She frowned.
Angela was there, hugging a man who appeared to be about eighty, but a very good eighty. He was thin and very tall, and he still had a headful of silver-white hair.
Dignified—that would be the word she would use if one word was needed to describe him.
“Marnie, you’re awake,” Angela said, extracting herself.
“Miss Davante!” the man said. “A pleasure. I am a true fan!”
“Marnie,” Angela explained, “I’d like you to meet Very Special Assistant Director Adam Harrison—my real boss. Jackson is our boss in the field, but we exist because of this wonderful gentleman.”
Marnie walked forward, taking the hand that was extended to her.