“No, I figured it was better to explain the situation in person.”
“And how did that go? What was her reaction?”
Where is this going?
“She didn’t take it particularly well. She said she had used the waiters before and never had a problem.” What I don’t say is that Eve implied one of our dinner guests might have taken the cash. Besides the fact that such a revelation would lead her back to the donors, it doesn’t seem relevant now.
“So she got her back up about it?”
“Yes, a bit.” I realize that the women in the kitchen may have overheard the conversation and confirmed this. “But in the end she said she’d look into it.”
“And then the call the next day.”
I nod. “I’m sure when you reach this woman she can tell you more.”
Corcoran nods her head lightly, and I can’t decide if she’s agreeing with me or simply considering what I’ve said.
“Do you think one of the waiters did it?” I ask. This is all I really want to know right now. If that’s a possibility, Guy and I need to up our security.
“Ms. Harper, you must realize I can’t discuss possible suspects with you.”
“But if one of them is the killer, and it relates to the money, my husband and I could be in danger.”
“I can only offer you the same advice I’d offer anyone in Saratoga right now. Be cautious. Lock your doors. There’s a killer at large.”
Oh, that’s helpful, I think. Next, she’s going to tell me to leave a porch light on at night.
She purses her lips again and flicks through a few more pages of her notebook.
“I believe that’s it for now,” she says. “You mentioned the other day that you’re up here for the summer. So if we need to ask you additional questions, you’ll be available?”
“Yes, I’m around for the next few months.”
I pray it won’t take that long for them to solve this. I hate the idea of the murder hanging over our heads all summer.
I start to rise, and Corcoran raises an eyebrow.
“One of my colleagues mentioned that you’re an author.”
“Yes, that’s right.” I force a smile.
“Working on another book while you’re here?”
“I am, yes,” I say, grateful I’m not hooked up to a polygraph machine.
She thanks me and walks me out through the labyrinth of desks. Though most of the other cops keep their eyes focused on their work, a couple glance up quickly, checking out my presence. In the foyer, Corcoran nods good-bye.
“We appreciate your cooperation. Have a good day.”
I exit, wondering how good of a day I can possibly have now. I thought I’d be leaving with a hint of whether the police are seriously eyeing one of the waiters, if they even have him in custody, but she gave nothing away.
Plus, there was that whole weird business about the mystery woman who called me Saturday morning. Does Corcoran think the caller knows something about the murder—or could even be the killer? Instinctively I touch my hand to my bag, where my phone is, wondering whether I should try to call the woman back. But the cops would hardly appreciate that.
At least Corcoran didn’t demand the names of our dinner guests, though that could change in a heartbeat. If one of the waiters is the murderer, the cops will surely want to speak to everyone at the party that night.
As I make my way back up Lake Avenue, fatigue plows into me from behind, nearly knocking the wind out of me. I’ve overdone it, with both the lunch date and the trip to the police station. Where have I parked my car? I don’t even remember.
By the time I reach Broadway, I’m swaying. I look to the left, squinting toward the row of cars parked along the curb, trying to spot my own. I raise a hand to my brow, trying to steady myself.
“Bryn?”
I swivel to my right. It’s Sandra, the woman from the arts council. She’s juggling a soft leather briefcase and a large purple shopping bag bulging at the sides. I do my best to smile in greeting.
“Oh, hello,” is all I manage to get out.
“What a nice surprise . . . Wait, are you okay?”
I obviously look as pathetic as I feel.
“Yes, thanks, I’m just awfully tired suddenly.”
“But you’re white as a ghost. Has something happened?” She glances over my shoulder in the direction I’ve come, as if that’ll provide an explanation.
“I had to give a report—at the police station. It . . . it turned out to be very draining.”
“Why don’t we find a place to sit down? There’s a café right up the block.”