“She apologized to everyone, picked up the chair, and then left, too.”
I was having a difficult time envisioning a woman luring Melissa to her death using a picture of Silas’s teddy bear, but I couldn’t mention this to Makayla since I’d promised Sean I wouldn’t tell anyone about the photograph. Instead, I argued, “But would a woman have the strength to strike Melissa down?”
“This woman was pretty combative. And those finger points were meant to be a threat. I don’t have to be an FBI profiler to read that kind of body language,” Makayla insisted. “Besides, that wasn’t the only time I saw this crazy lady. She confronted Melissa again last night and her claws were showing even more then.”
“When? At the costume party?”
Makayla nodded. “I was just arriving and heard raised voices in the parking lot. I saw an Edgar Allan Poe push a vampire against a car, so I ran over to see if everything was all right. The vampire was—”
“Melissa!” I interjected, sitting forward. “But Kirk Mason was dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe last night. How do you know it wasn’t him?”
“I know a man when I see one, Lila,” Makayla said with a snort. “This Poe had green eyes, auburn hair, and a whole face full of freckles. It was as if someone upturned the pepper shaker and started sprinkling. Only one person at this festival had that face. And no matter how tight that gal’s suit coat was, she couldn’t hide those double Ds! Not many Poes running around with that bra size, no, ma’am.”
I sat back in my chair and sighed. “What happened after you approached them?”
“I asked if everything was okay and the green-eyed woman glared at me and said, ‘We’re fine.’ When I looked at Melissa, she told me not to worry. But I hung around long enough to hear the woman roar, ‘You’ll be sorry. I’ll make sure of it!’ before she stalked off like a lioness on the prowl. Melissa and I walked into the party together, and she told me that the woman was an irate writer with the personality of a spoiled pop princess.”
“Do you think she was capable of murdering Melissa?”
“It didn’t occur to me then that she might be dangerous.” Makayla shook her head. “But after I heard what happened to Melissa, I thought about her words some more and decided that she might have gone off the deep end. So I told the police everything that I saw.”
I pondered Makayla’s narrative. Had the green-eyed woman lured Melissa to her death? Could her hostility have turned into a murderous rage while they were in that dark, lonely corridor? My certainty that it had been Kirk Mason began to waver. “What did the police say?” I wondered.
“Not much.” She frowned in disappointment. “If only I’d heard her name, the police would stand half a chance of finding her. But Melissa never said it.”
“I wonder what they were quarreling about.”
“Maybe Melissa rejected her book and the woman took leave of her senses. Of course, killing someone over a book is pretty damned over-the-top, but you know writers better than most. Nuttier than a bag of circus peanuts at times, aren’t they?”
“‘There’s the scarlet thread of murder running through the colorless skein of life,’” I said, quoting Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. We both stared blankly at the shifting crowd, unable to comprehend the workings of a murderer’s mind.
I HAD BEEN correct in assuming that my shift at the information desk would be a quiet one. The festival was winding down and people didn’t approach me except to say good-bye. I had brought along some manuscripts to read, but I was too distracted to concentrate. I kept going over all the reasons I thought the murderer was Kirk Mason and saw him in every thin man with black hair who walked by, but Mason did not make an appearance. I was also watching out for a green-eyed, freckle-faced woman with short auburn hair, but didn’t catch sight of her, either.
The tireless police officer was still at his post. I was convinced that he hadn’t moved from his position once today. I’d yet to see him eat or drink anything, and he’d only changed his formidable posture to exchange a few words with Sean before resuming his military stance again.
However, with the lobby nearly empty and the members of the media aggressively intercepting festivalgoers heading for their cars or Inspiration Valley’s train station, I assumed Officer Bunyan would relax.
Despite the fact that I was reassured by the police presence, I couldn’t shake the guilt I felt over my part in Melissa’s violent demise and kept thinking about the poor little boy with the teddy bear who would grow up without his mother. Melissa’s husband would have arrived by now, and Sean would have interviewed him. Had Mr. Delaney given any insights that could help lead the police to an arrest?
Reaching for my cell phone I punched in Sean’s number.