“You know, there just aren’t as many psychopathic killers running around as people think.”
I took it philosophically. “Another myth busted.”
She shrugged. “That’s my job.”
After I led her out to the gallery and pointed out the various players, Inspector Lee corralled most of my students back into the classroom. She isolated Cynthia and Tom, as well as the four staff members, Naomi, Ned, Marky, and Karalee, in separate offices, each with a cop taking preliminary information from them.
My students and I were dealt with quickly and told to go home. I walked back out to the gallery just as the front door opened. From across the wide space, I saw two men walk in with Gunther between them. Seconds later, Derek strolled into the foyer.
Without thinking, I gave a little cry and ran toward him. Derek saw me coming and opened his arms.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered, not even caring if I sounded like a wimpy girl.
“And I’m glad to be here,” he said. “Especially now, with you wrapped around me.”
My insides shuddered at his words. Could we just find a room somewhere and forget everything that had happened here tonight? He’d dressed up for our date, too, in a beautiful black suit, crisp white shirt, and dark crimson tie. I didn’t know an Armani from an armadillo, but I knew his outfit had to cost a few thousand pounds. And it was worth every last penny, I thought, as I nuzzled up next to him and felt the soft wool against my cheek.
“What has you so upset, darling?” he said, his breath unsettling the fine hairs of my neck. “We saw the police cars. Was there another attack?”
“Yes. Oh, Derek.”
“You’re shaking, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Layla Fontaine.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“She was murdered. A bullet in the chest. Blood.” I shivered again.
He pushed back and held me at arm’s length. “Layla Fontaine? Murdered?”
I gulped. “I didn’t do it.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it quickly. He drew me close and I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Of course you didn’t do it. For heaven’s sake. I didn’t for one minute think you were responsible.”
“But I found her,” I whispered. “And somebody’s going to connect her death to Abraham’s and, you know, what happened in Scotland. They’ll just assume I had something to do with it.”
He rubbed my back in a soothing, circular motion. “They’ll answer to me if they do.”
“Stone?”
Derek whipped around. “What is it?”
Gunther’s face was pale. “Did you hear? Layla. My God, she’s dead.”
“Yes, I’ve just been told.”
Gunther’s Austrian accent seemed to grow thicker as he became more agitated. “Is this some kind of joke?”
I took a small step away from Derek. “No, it’s not a joke.”
Gunther’s gaze homed in on me. “Who are you? What happened? A heart attack? Did she choke?”
I looked at Derek, then back at Gunther. “She was murdered.”
“Commander Stone?” Inspector Jaglom approached. “I thought that was you. Welcome back to the States.”
“Thank you, Inspector,” Derek said, shaking the man’s hand. They had worked together during Abraham’s murder investigation. The first time I’d heard Jaglom greet Derek by the title of Commander, I realized the guy was actually a former commander in the Royal Navy. Before that, I was pretty sure he was a killer. Of course, he was convinced I was, too. Ah, the memories.
Derek continued, “Inspector, let me introduce you to Gunther Schnaubel.”
There were somber murmurs of greeting; then Gunther said, “Inspector, I demand to know what happened here.”
“That’s what we intend to find out, Mr. Schnaubel.”
Gunther rubbed tight knuckles across his jawline. “This is unacceptable. I spoke to Layla a mere hour ago. She sounded fine. We were to meet here and discuss certain arrangements.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Schnaubel,” Jaglom said, studying the Austrian carefully as he pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket. “What sort of arrangements were you planning to talk about with the deceased?”
Gunther licked his lips. He had the grace to look flustered, as if he was just now realizing how big a bull’s-eye he’d painted on himself.
I cleared my throat. “Inspector, Mr. Schnaubel is one of the honored guests Ms. Fontaine invited to the book festival running these next two weeks. He’s a world-renowned artist and he’s teaching several classes as well as donating some important pieces to the silent auction.”
Gunther looked pleased by my words.
“I see,” Jaglom said, as he wrote in his notepad. “What sort of artist are you, Mr. Schnaubel?”
“What does that matter?” Gunther said, angry now and posing with his fist on his hip and his nose in the air, as though he expected some underling to clean up the mess that was causing havoc in his well-ordered life.