Page 80 of She Doesn't Have a Clue
“Fine, Nancy Drew, what’s your evidence trail? Who are your suspects?” Juliette clapped her hands together. “Let’s knock this out.”
“Well, it’s not that simple,” Kate mumbled.
A heavy, expectant silence hung over the room, all eyes on Kate. She hesitated just long enough that Juliette gave up a groan. “Oh my god, you don’t know, do you?”
The rest of the room burst out in similar groans as Kate leaned into Juliette. “You know, you could do a little less heckling and a lot more helping.”
“And miss this crash and burn?” Juliette countered. “Never. You really don’t know?”
“I have… hunches,” Kate ground out.
“Hunches?” Juliette said derisively. “Hunches are worse than gut instincts. Hunches are the tinfoil hats of investigative work. You should be confirming alibis, revisiting the evidence, leaning on people. God, don’t you read your own books?”
“I was just about to do all of that before you started heckling me!” Kate burst out, rubbing her face. “Kennedy, what do you know about your aunt’s historical designation process? Did you ever see any of the documents she had to submit?”
“Oh, sure,” Kennedy said, nodding. “I had to sign off on all of them as a witness. She said she didn’t trust anybody else in the family, not until the deal was done. It was such a mess. I think Auntie R thought if she donated a huge amount of money, the trust would let her do what she wanted. But they were stubborn about following protocol. They had to see all the original architectural documents, and they insisted on an in-person inspection to confirm the state of the Manor. She was so angry she threatened to fire all of them, but then she found out they’re mostly volunteers.”
“This really would be so amazing as a historical site,” said Jean-Pierre wistfully.
“I’m surprised she found someone willing to do the in-person inspection,” Kennedy continued. “Most of them hated her so much by the end they refused to speak with her. They even staged a walkout at some point. That’s why she had to get me involved. They all called her Attila the Hunter behind her back, because of the taxidermy. And because she was so ruthless.”
Atilla the Hunter. It wasn’t the first time this weekend Kate had heard that name. But it had to be a coincidence, right? Marla couldn’t possibly…possibly…
“Kennedy, did you invite Marla this weekend?” Kate asked, needing the answer to be rational. Logical. Of course Kennedy invited Marla for the weekend, and Marla probably just overhead that nickname at her artists’ commune here on the islands. Marla couldn’t have done all this, it would be…
Well, it would be psychotic, wouldn’t it?
Kennedy frowned. “Marla Lynch? No. I mean, I wanted to. I wanted to invite all of Spencer’s local authors. But he told me not to, because of the contracts stuff. I guess he changed his mind, though.”
But Kate didn’t think he had. And if Marla wasn’t there by Spencer or Kennedy’s invitation, it meant someone else had invited her. The only other person on the island with the authority to do so. Rebecca was the only one who could confirm her suspicion, and she wouldn’t be divulging her secrets anytime soon. Still, Kate was sure she had it. She knew who had poisoned Kennedy, who had dragged her down the secret passage stairs and stubbed their toe against a barrel they couldn’t have possibly known was there, because they’d only ever seen the passage on blueprints and not in person.
“I need to sit down,” Kate said, dropping to the carpet beside Cassidy before the other woman could properly make room for her.
“Hey!” Cassidy said, tugging her leg out from under Kate’s butt. But she made a face as she considered Kate. “You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t feel so good,” Kate muttered, staring at the Greek chorus ofMamma Mianarrating her fate. She and Marla might not be the good friends they’d been back in college, and they might have drifted apart, but Marla couldn’t have donethis, could she? Poisoning Kennedy? Framing Kate? Why would she do such a thing? And why offer to help with the investigation?
Unless she was only offering to help so she had an inside line into what Kate was investigating. Kate had thought they were reconnecting and bonding, but now that she really thought about it, Marla had been too keen to find that evidence Kate swore was lying around. She’d probably planned to take the champagne glass and use it to implicate Kate even more, but she hadn’t expected Cassidy to steal it for the DNA test. And Kate would bet she hadn’t expected Rebecca to take the poisoned bottle and stash it in the pool room, either. Still, none of that evidence conclusively pointed to Marla, not without the rosary peas. Kate could barely stomach the idea of one of her oldest friends doing something so diabolical; she certainly couldn’t go around accusing her of it without more solid proof.
Louis maneuvered in beside her, snapping a picture of her mid-solve. She had the urge to demand he delete that photo, and hadn’t he taken enough unflattering photos of her for the weekend? But then she remembered the photo that Marla had “accidentally” made her delete, and turned to him with a sudden flash of inspiration.
“Louis, can I—”
“No way,” the photographer said before she could complete her request. “I just got the bacon grease off the buttons.”
“And I apologized for that,” Kate said patiently. “But the last time I looked at your photos, my… friend deleted one. Can you recover it? In high resolution, preferably.”
Louis straightened and sighed. “Maybe, but I would need my computer for that, and I don’t have it with me right now. Obviously.”
Kate turned to Kennedy. “Can we borrow your laptop?”
Louis took the SD card from his camera and plugged it into Kennedy’s reader, the raw photos coming up in a file. He worked some technical magic Kate didn’t understand, and the deleted photo popped up.
“Boy, she really tackled Ken, didn’t she?” mused Cassidy as the full-size image loaded.
“It’s not the most… flattering of captures,” Kate murmured, but she wasn’t focused on the scene she and Kennedy were causing in the foreground. She scanned the background, trying to find what it was Marla hadn’t wanted anyone else to see. And there, small but distinct in the far left corner, was the evidence she needed.
“Is that… Marla?” Juliette asked, leaning in close. “What is she doing?”