Half-Price Homicide by Elaine Viets Page B

and flew out of the store.
    “Well, I hope that answered your questions about my sources, Detective,” Vera said. “Now, may I ask you one? Why hasn’t Danny been arrested for Chrissy’s murder? I thought the husband was always a prime suspect. Or do you give developers a pass?”
    Helen could hear the anger in McNally’s voice. “He would be, Vera, except for one complication. He was in a meeting for the Orchid House development fifteen blocks away at the time of his wife’s death. Danny has thirty witnesses.”
    “And how did you know the time of death?”
    “His wife told us,” Detective McNally said. “The victim’s watch stopped when she was attacked. It fell to the floor and broke. Oh, one more thing. Ms. Hawthorne, your fingerprints were on that watch. And on the murder weapon.”
     

A shattering silence followed Detective McNally’s statement. The street sounds outside Snapdragon’s Second Thoughts disappeared. A flock of chattering tourists passing the shop seemed to make no sound.
    Helen’s shocked brain scrambled to hold on to Detective McNally’s words: Your fingerprints. On that watch. And the murder weapon.
    Finally, Helen managed to ask two questions that made sense: “Why would my fingerprints be on a scarf? Can you get fingerprints off a scarf?”
    “Your fingerprints weren’t on the scarf, Ms. Hawthorne,” McNally said. “Mrs. Martlet was coldcocked by a white porcelain pineapple. We found her blood and hair on it and your fingerprints on the bottom of the ornament.”
    “I dusted it,” Helen said. “I hated it, too. I never thought pineapples were ornamental, but rich people put them on everything. They like those stupid monkeys, too. They bring in monkey lamps, bookends and candlesticks to sell. Some of them are wearing turbans. The monkeys, not the rich people. I don’t get it.”
    Detective McNally interrupted. “Now that we have your opinions on decorating,” he said, “let’s go back to your fingerprints.”
    Helen had bought enough time to gather her scattered thoughts. “My fingerprints should be on that pineapple,” she said, and grew more confident. “They should be all over this shop. It’s my job to dust the stock. You should be surprised if my fingerprints aren’t on anything in this shop.”
    “Mrs. Martlet’s watch wasn’t part of the stock,” McNally said.
    “I thought the glass on Chrissy’s watch face was broken,” Helen said.
    “We found your thumbprint on the metal back.” “Oh. Right. Chrissy dropped her watch. The clasp was broken. I picked it up, followed her to the dressing room and handed it to her.” “And you didn’t tell me?” McNally asked. “I forgot.”
    “How many times did you go over the events on the day of the murder?”
    “Five,” Helen said. “Or maybe six.”
    “And you forgot six times?”
    “There was a lot happening,” Helen said.
    “What about you, Ms. Salinda? Did you see Ms. Hawthorne pick up the watch belonging to the victim?”
    “Yes. But I forgot, too,” Vera said.
    “Perfect. Double amnesia. What about Ms. Drubb and Ms. Stranahan? Did they see anything?” “Who’s Ms. Drubb? ” Vera asked.
    “That’s Jordan,” Helen said. “I don’t think those two women were nearby.”
    “Amazing,” McNally said. “And convenient.”
    “Look, I’m sorry I forgot,” Helen said. “I only talked to Chrissy the day she died, but she seemed like a nice lady. She dropped her watch. I took it back to her while she was accusing her husband of cheating on her. She said he’d been staring at another woman’s chest the night before.
    “Commissioner Stranahan showed up back there after I returned the watch, and there was another fight. Chrissy told Danny she knew about the three thousand new jobs his project would bring into the city and also the house of the seven toilets. That made him mad, but I don’t know why.”
    “We checked that, too,” Detective McNally said. “Danny Martlet owns a house in the