and is easily influenced by her cuckoo mother.”
Tony smiled one-sidedly. “Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself?” His eyes drifted to my stomach. “I can think of one selfless thing you’ve done, at least.”
“Maybe I don’t completely suck. Not sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“I notice you didn’t say I was being too hard on my mother.”
“No, she’s cuckoo, all right.”
We both laughed a little.
The log snapped and cracked, and we fell silent, watching red-hot embers drift upward.
After a while I ventured, “You’re gonna have to give me something.”
“Something more than soup and sandwiches and pie?”
“Something that will appease Mother.”
He frowned. “Can’t we leave your mother out of this?”
“She saw me go off with you. She’ll want to know what I pried out of you.”
“Tell her you didn’t pry anything out of me.”
“No. That’s not how you keep Mother at bay.”
“How about, give her an inch and she’ll take a mile?”
“Not Mother—it’s more like, deny her an inch and she’ll take the highway.”
He said nothing.
“Hey, we’re involved, Mother and me. She feels responsible for all of this.”
“How?”
“She put the auction in motion. It led to all those people getting sick, and poor Madam Petrova dying of food poisoning, and that Martinette character maybe getting murdered.”
He was staring at the fire. “No maybe about it.”
“It was murder?”
“Just about had to be. Coroner says the nature of the injuries is consistent with a fall from the platform above. With that railing, you would have to be shoved to go over.”
“He couldn’t have slipped?”
“Possibly. I suppose a stray banana peel might havefound its way up there. Or he could have had a sudden urge to kill himself.”
“Neither likely.”
“Neither likely. And there was bruising on the arms, indicating the man had been grabbed, hard, before he’d been sent on his way.”
“So it’s a murder.” I felt a chill despite the fire. “With all that media there, you have video to look at, don’t you? That can show you who followed Martinette, after he grabbed the egg?”
He shrugged. “We’ve been going over the tapes, but so far they’re not proving useful. When the crowd fled, the cameras on tripods in the back got knocked over.”
“And the ones up front—the hand-helds?”
He shrugged. “Focused on the stampede.”
“Kind of a coincidence, isn’t it? Everybody getting sick right on cue? Covering up a murder?”
Another shrug. “Killing Martinette could have been spur of the moment. The food poisoning might just have given somebody an opportunity to get that egg.”
“And somebody followed Martinette up those stairs to that platform, and took the egg away from him. And shoved him over to cover it up.”
“Could be.”
He was going taciturn on me. The chief didn’t like being interrogated, particularly when the “transcript” might be shared with Vivian Borne.
“You don’t really think everyone getting sick was a coincidence, do you?”
Tony shook his head. “More like a diversion.”
“Really,” I said flatly. “Then someone deliberately poisoned the food.”
He nodded.
“What with?”
“Rat poison.”
“Good Lord.”
“Arsenic-based.”
I shuddered. “That’s evil. Which dish did they put it in?”
“The coroner tested the remains of every dish served—it was the stew.”
“Mrs. Mulligan’s stew?” I gaped at him. “But it can’t be!”
He gave me a quizzical look.
“Tony, that’s what I ate!”
He frowned, cocked his head like his mutt might have. “What, just a smidge of it?”
“No! Lots of it!”
“You ate with the others at the church?”
“Why…no. Pregnant women eat when they feel like it. I had my servings of stew about, oh, an hour and a half before lunch was served.”
I told him about sneaking into the kitchen through the secret passageway, and getting a preluncheon sample of Mrs.
Tony smiled one-sidedly. “Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself?” His eyes drifted to my stomach. “I can think of one selfless thing you’ve done, at least.”
“Maybe I don’t completely suck. Not sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“I notice you didn’t say I was being too hard on my mother.”
“No, she’s cuckoo, all right.”
We both laughed a little.
The log snapped and cracked, and we fell silent, watching red-hot embers drift upward.
After a while I ventured, “You’re gonna have to give me something.”
“Something more than soup and sandwiches and pie?”
“Something that will appease Mother.”
He frowned. “Can’t we leave your mother out of this?”
“She saw me go off with you. She’ll want to know what I pried out of you.”
“Tell her you didn’t pry anything out of me.”
“No. That’s not how you keep Mother at bay.”
“How about, give her an inch and she’ll take a mile?”
“Not Mother—it’s more like, deny her an inch and she’ll take the highway.”
He said nothing.
“Hey, we’re involved, Mother and me. She feels responsible for all of this.”
“How?”
“She put the auction in motion. It led to all those people getting sick, and poor Madam Petrova dying of food poisoning, and that Martinette character maybe getting murdered.”
He was staring at the fire. “No maybe about it.”
“It was murder?”
“Just about had to be. Coroner says the nature of the injuries is consistent with a fall from the platform above. With that railing, you would have to be shoved to go over.”
“He couldn’t have slipped?”
“Possibly. I suppose a stray banana peel might havefound its way up there. Or he could have had a sudden urge to kill himself.”
“Neither likely.”
“Neither likely. And there was bruising on the arms, indicating the man had been grabbed, hard, before he’d been sent on his way.”
“So it’s a murder.” I felt a chill despite the fire. “With all that media there, you have video to look at, don’t you? That can show you who followed Martinette, after he grabbed the egg?”
He shrugged. “We’ve been going over the tapes, but so far they’re not proving useful. When the crowd fled, the cameras on tripods in the back got knocked over.”
“And the ones up front—the hand-helds?”
He shrugged. “Focused on the stampede.”
“Kind of a coincidence, isn’t it? Everybody getting sick right on cue? Covering up a murder?”
Another shrug. “Killing Martinette could have been spur of the moment. The food poisoning might just have given somebody an opportunity to get that egg.”
“And somebody followed Martinette up those stairs to that platform, and took the egg away from him. And shoved him over to cover it up.”
“Could be.”
He was going taciturn on me. The chief didn’t like being interrogated, particularly when the “transcript” might be shared with Vivian Borne.
“You don’t really think everyone getting sick was a coincidence, do you?”
Tony shook his head. “More like a diversion.”
“Really,” I said flatly. “Then someone deliberately poisoned the food.”
He nodded.
“What with?”
“Rat poison.”
“Good Lord.”
“Arsenic-based.”
I shuddered. “That’s evil. Which dish did they put it in?”
“The coroner tested the remains of every dish served—it was the stew.”
“Mrs. Mulligan’s stew?” I gaped at him. “But it can’t be!”
He gave me a quizzical look.
“Tony, that’s what I ate!”
He frowned, cocked his head like his mutt might have. “What, just a smidge of it?”
“No! Lots of it!”
“You ate with the others at the church?”
“Why…no. Pregnant women eat when they feel like it. I had my servings of stew about, oh, an hour and a half before lunch was served.”
I told him about sneaking into the kitchen through the secret passageway, and getting a preluncheon sample of Mrs.
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