Read Online Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) by Mary Kennedy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Kennedy
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plate and fork toward her. She held up a hand in protest, but I ignored her. “Sugar, you need sugar,” I insisted. “Just have a few bites if that’s all you can manage.”
I poured her a cup of steaming espresso and she accepted it gratefully. No one said anything for a few minutes as we sat at the table, lost in our own thoughts, listening to the commotion outside. I noticed that Barney and Scout were awake and alert, ears forward, balancing on the window ledge, watching the scene below.
I expected Sam Stiles to burst in on us at any moment, and I wanted Gina to have a few minutes to pull herself together. My own heart rate had slowed and I was feeling calmer. Just as well because I knew Sam would be in full detective mode when she confronted us, and friend or not, we’d have to be on our toes.
9
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Sam said minutes later. She was slightly breathless, and her face was flushed after rushing up the stairs from the shop. She sank into one of the ladderback chairs around the kitchen table and waved away the coffee and pastry. “I told Bates to keep you at the studio,” she said peevishly. “I’m going to have to have a word with him. He never should have let a material witness exit a potential crime scene.” She tsk-tsked to herself, whipped out a notebook and pen, all set to take our statements.
“Gina wasn’t well,” I pointed out. “Surely you saw her sitting on the curb. She might have been in shock, and I was worried about her health. I thought it was more appropriate to bring her inside.”
Sam flashed me a steely look, not prepared to be conciliatory. “Be that as it may, we have certain protocols for these situations. Normally the three of you would be separated, and you would each give your own statement. Witnesses are interviewed independently. That’s one of the first rules of investigation.”
Her eyes bore into mine, and she waited a moment for that to sink in. I knew where she was heading. She was annoyed that all three of us had had time to talk to each other and maybe even be in collusion, providing alibis for each other. But we were friends, weren’t we? If Chico was the victim of foul play—and I still wasn’t sure that was the case—she didn’t suspect us, did she?
“Since it’s too late for separate statements”—she heaved a sigh—“I’ll interview you all together right now.”
I spread my hands in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry if we caused any problems for you, Sam. I’m the one who insisted that Gina come upstairs. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”
She nodded briefly and turned to Gina. “You’re the one who found the body. Why don’t you walk me through it. What were you doing at the studio today?”
Gina took a deep breath and related how she’d come over to borrow the key and Sam interrupted her. “Ali, you had a key to the studio? That seems odd. How come you had a key and Gina didn’t?”
Ali flushed. Her brow furrowed as she considered the question. “Chico and I exchanged keys just in case of emergency. You know, in case there was flooding or a fire or . . . something. In either one of our buildings, I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off and she gave a little helpless wave of her hand.
“We tried to look out for each other.”
Sam was eyeing her coolly, as if she didn’t believe a word of it. “So Ali, you had a key for”—Sam paused—“emergencies, and Gina, who worked at the studio every day, didn’t have her own key.” She arched her eyebrows suspiciously.
“I did have my own key a long time ago,” Gina said sullenly. “One day Chico forgot his key and borrowed mine. He never gave it back. It wasn’t a big deal. He was at the studio night and day; it was his whole life. That’s how I knew something was wrong when he didn’t let me in.” The last words ended in a sob, and she raised a napkin to her eyes.
“So tell me what happened next,” Sam pressed on.
Gina continued
I poured her a cup of steaming espresso and she accepted it gratefully. No one said anything for a few minutes as we sat at the table, lost in our own thoughts, listening to the commotion outside. I noticed that Barney and Scout were awake and alert, ears forward, balancing on the window ledge, watching the scene below.
I expected Sam Stiles to burst in on us at any moment, and I wanted Gina to have a few minutes to pull herself together. My own heart rate had slowed and I was feeling calmer. Just as well because I knew Sam would be in full detective mode when she confronted us, and friend or not, we’d have to be on our toes.
9
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Sam said minutes later. She was slightly breathless, and her face was flushed after rushing up the stairs from the shop. She sank into one of the ladderback chairs around the kitchen table and waved away the coffee and pastry. “I told Bates to keep you at the studio,” she said peevishly. “I’m going to have to have a word with him. He never should have let a material witness exit a potential crime scene.” She tsk-tsked to herself, whipped out a notebook and pen, all set to take our statements.
“Gina wasn’t well,” I pointed out. “Surely you saw her sitting on the curb. She might have been in shock, and I was worried about her health. I thought it was more appropriate to bring her inside.”
Sam flashed me a steely look, not prepared to be conciliatory. “Be that as it may, we have certain protocols for these situations. Normally the three of you would be separated, and you would each give your own statement. Witnesses are interviewed independently. That’s one of the first rules of investigation.”
Her eyes bore into mine, and she waited a moment for that to sink in. I knew where she was heading. She was annoyed that all three of us had had time to talk to each other and maybe even be in collusion, providing alibis for each other. But we were friends, weren’t we? If Chico was the victim of foul play—and I still wasn’t sure that was the case—she didn’t suspect us, did she?
“Since it’s too late for separate statements”—she heaved a sigh—“I’ll interview you all together right now.”
I spread my hands in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry if we caused any problems for you, Sam. I’m the one who insisted that Gina come upstairs. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”
She nodded briefly and turned to Gina. “You’re the one who found the body. Why don’t you walk me through it. What were you doing at the studio today?”
Gina took a deep breath and related how she’d come over to borrow the key and Sam interrupted her. “Ali, you had a key to the studio? That seems odd. How come you had a key and Gina didn’t?”
Ali flushed. Her brow furrowed as she considered the question. “Chico and I exchanged keys just in case of emergency. You know, in case there was flooding or a fire or . . . something. In either one of our buildings, I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off and she gave a little helpless wave of her hand.
“We tried to look out for each other.”
Sam was eyeing her coolly, as if she didn’t believe a word of it. “So Ali, you had a key for”—Sam paused—“emergencies, and Gina, who worked at the studio every day, didn’t have her own key.” She arched her eyebrows suspiciously.
“I did have my own key a long time ago,” Gina said sullenly. “One day Chico forgot his key and borrowed mine. He never gave it back. It wasn’t a big deal. He was at the studio night and day; it was his whole life. That’s how I knew something was wrong when he didn’t let me in.” The last words ended in a sob, and she raised a napkin to her eyes.
“So tell me what happened next,” Sam pressed on.
Gina continued
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