cream-colored jacket off and draped it on the back of the chair. “Now, switching the topic— and rather abruptly I admit, and I do apologize for doing so— but I’m wondering if you’ve had a conversation with the police chief lately?”
Lizzie wondered for a split second how Molly knew about their hike but then decided it was simply a question.
“Not about the case,” she admitted. “Why? Has something else come up?”
“Well, I had a call from Stephanie, poor child, as if she doesn’t have enough to worry about. Seems that new officer questioned her again. And Bob’s all in a huff because she questioned him, too. I’ll bet she didn’t know he’s the former chief, but I’m sure he set her straight in no time sharp.” She chuckled, then sobered quickly. “It’s like they suspect one of us and are hoping the others will give something away.”
Lizzie put a hand over Molly’s. “I think you’ve been reading too many mysteries. Don’t take this personally, Molly. We were all there; they have to check and double-check our stories. I doubt they seriously think any one of us is the murderer, though.” She tried to sound reassuring, although her true thoughts were far from calm. “I’m sure I’ll be on that list, too.”
“Well, you come and see me after they question you and we’ll compare notes.” Molly sounded a bit put out.
This would not do. Lizzie tried to mollify her. “I don’tmean to take your concerns lightly, Molly. And I am worried about this, too. But we know we’re all innocent, so I can’t imagine how they’ll come up with any damaging evidence that says otherwise.”
Molly sighed. “I guess you’re right, Lizzie. It’s just a worry, that’s all. It’s kind of like a Christie plot: the murder takes place offstage, the victim is someone we don’t sympathize with, mainly because we don’t know him and he did so rudely wander into my house, and although Christie didn’t often use a gun as the weapon, it did happen. Problem is, Agatha Christie often had a second murder take place and that was often someone likeable. Someone who knew too much. But I guess that lets all of us off the hook ’cause to hear tell it, we know nothing.”
“I wish the police would believe that.”
“Ah, yes. That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Also, well, I hate to mention it…”
“What is it, Molly?”
“Well, I seem to be missing a few small items, nothing that breaks the bank, but they were special to me.”
“Like what?” Lizzie leaned forward.
“Well, a small cloisonné egg that Claydon gave me many years ago. And a ceramic thimble. Things like that. Nothing large. They were all in a small glass display cabinet I have in Claydon’s study.” Molly sighed and took a sip of her wine.
“Do you think that Frank Telford may have taken something after all?”
“I’m wondering. However, I’m also misplacing things these days. But I’m pretty certain I hadn’t taken them out to dust or anything recently.” Same as with the gun, Lizzie thought, and wondered fleetingly if Molly in fact might be getting more forgetful these days.
Their food arrived, and they didn’t talk again until after the server left.
“That might give credence to the theory that Telford was casing your place and maybe pocketed some small items forhimself, including the gun. Then he has a falling out with his partner when they met outside. And he ended up dead.”
Molly nodded. “That would make sense. Maybe you could mention the items to the chief, see if he can locate them stuffed in the car or something. It might sound more convincing coming from you. They might think I’m coming up with this because it was Claydon’s gun that was used.”
Lizzie paused, fork in midair. “Or maybe the accomplice took them. Yes. He got mad that Telford tried that on his own, shot him and grabbed the evidence.”
Molly smiled. “You’ve been reading a lot of mysteries yourself, honey.”
She had. And
Lizzie wondered for a split second how Molly knew about their hike but then decided it was simply a question.
“Not about the case,” she admitted. “Why? Has something else come up?”
“Well, I had a call from Stephanie, poor child, as if she doesn’t have enough to worry about. Seems that new officer questioned her again. And Bob’s all in a huff because she questioned him, too. I’ll bet she didn’t know he’s the former chief, but I’m sure he set her straight in no time sharp.” She chuckled, then sobered quickly. “It’s like they suspect one of us and are hoping the others will give something away.”
Lizzie put a hand over Molly’s. “I think you’ve been reading too many mysteries. Don’t take this personally, Molly. We were all there; they have to check and double-check our stories. I doubt they seriously think any one of us is the murderer, though.” She tried to sound reassuring, although her true thoughts were far from calm. “I’m sure I’ll be on that list, too.”
“Well, you come and see me after they question you and we’ll compare notes.” Molly sounded a bit put out.
This would not do. Lizzie tried to mollify her. “I don’tmean to take your concerns lightly, Molly. And I am worried about this, too. But we know we’re all innocent, so I can’t imagine how they’ll come up with any damaging evidence that says otherwise.”
Molly sighed. “I guess you’re right, Lizzie. It’s just a worry, that’s all. It’s kind of like a Christie plot: the murder takes place offstage, the victim is someone we don’t sympathize with, mainly because we don’t know him and he did so rudely wander into my house, and although Christie didn’t often use a gun as the weapon, it did happen. Problem is, Agatha Christie often had a second murder take place and that was often someone likeable. Someone who knew too much. But I guess that lets all of us off the hook ’cause to hear tell it, we know nothing.”
“I wish the police would believe that.”
“Ah, yes. That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Also, well, I hate to mention it…”
“What is it, Molly?”
“Well, I seem to be missing a few small items, nothing that breaks the bank, but they were special to me.”
“Like what?” Lizzie leaned forward.
“Well, a small cloisonné egg that Claydon gave me many years ago. And a ceramic thimble. Things like that. Nothing large. They were all in a small glass display cabinet I have in Claydon’s study.” Molly sighed and took a sip of her wine.
“Do you think that Frank Telford may have taken something after all?”
“I’m wondering. However, I’m also misplacing things these days. But I’m pretty certain I hadn’t taken them out to dust or anything recently.” Same as with the gun, Lizzie thought, and wondered fleetingly if Molly in fact might be getting more forgetful these days.
Their food arrived, and they didn’t talk again until after the server left.
“That might give credence to the theory that Telford was casing your place and maybe pocketed some small items forhimself, including the gun. Then he has a falling out with his partner when they met outside. And he ended up dead.”
Molly nodded. “That would make sense. Maybe you could mention the items to the chief, see if he can locate them stuffed in the car or something. It might sound more convincing coming from you. They might think I’m coming up with this because it was Claydon’s gun that was used.”
Lizzie paused, fork in midair. “Or maybe the accomplice took them. Yes. He got mad that Telford tried that on his own, shot him and grabbed the evidence.”
Molly smiled. “You’ve been reading a lot of mysteries yourself, honey.”
She had. And
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