Coached to Death Page 6

  My first thought went to the boys, and I clutched the collar of my robe to my throat. “Ohmigod! What’s happened? Are my sons all right?”

  Shepherd’s brow flashed with confusion before he shook his head. “I’m not here about your children. I’m here about your neighbor.”

  I turned to look at Gilley, and he stared back with wide eyes, mouthing, Heather!

  “What’s happened?” I repeated to the detective, not knowing what to think.

  He pocketed his ID and said, “I’ll wait out here while you get dressed, ma’am.”

  My face burned with embarrassment. He’d said that like I was dressed in an unseemly way. “I took a bath,” I said, offering an excuse.

  He merely nodded and replied, “I’ll wait here.”

  Needing a moment to think, I shut the door in the detective’s face. Rude? Yes, but I was still a tiny bit inebriated and totally out of sorts. “That’s not gonna win him over to your side,” Gilley said as I leaned against the door.

  “What could’ve happened, Gilley?”

  “To Heather?”

  I nodded.

  Gilley shrugged. “Maybe somebody finally put her in her place?”

  I bit my lip. “I had nothing to do with any sort of violence against her.”

  “Duh,” Gil said, and he added a grin to reassure me, but his eyes were pinched with worry.

  I pulled the collar of my robe tighter around me. “Should I call my lawyer?”

  Gilley made a face. “I’d wait before I did anything drastic, Cat. That might make you look guilty.”

  My eyes widened. “Guilty of what?”

  Gilley shook his head, his own eyes wide. “Dunno. But with a detective out on the front step, waiting for you to change so he can talk to you, it can’t be anything good.”

  I rubbed my throat nervously. “I didn’t have anything to do with anything bad, Gilley. There were witnesses at that party. I left even before lunch was served, and I was here taking a bath and a nap for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Which is all you have to tell Detective Heartthrob out there.”

  Taking a deep breath, I gathered my nerve and opened the door. Shepherd was still on the front porch, his arms crossed impatiently. He frowned when he saw that I remained in my silk robe.

  “I live over there,” I said, pointing to the main house. “I was only over here visiting with my guest.”

  Shepherd blinked, but he didn’t say anything or stop frowning.

  “I’ll just go change then,” I said, scurrying around him and over to my front door. After letting myself in, I didn’t immediately head upstairs to change; instead, I went to the downstairs bath and searched through the medicine cabinet for something to relieve my pounding headache.

  It wasn’t until ten minutes later that I felt ready to face Shepherd again. Opening the front door to my home, I found him standing impatiently in the courtyard, looking a bit chilled in the early-evening air.

  I realized that I’d left him outside to wait, but I’d thought Gil would’ve at least invited him into the guest house. Which, now that I thought of it, might suit us better for a conversation. I could have Sebastian record every word, just in case something I said was later twisted and used against me.

  “Shall we?” I said, motioning back toward the guest house.

  At first, Shepherd appeared confused, but then he seemed to understand, and his features next held the hint of an eye roll, but he managed to hold back. Just barely.

  I went through the door first and found Gilley sitting at the table scarfing down a bag of Milano cookies. He stared at me and Shepherd as we entered, while a few crumbs tumbled down his chin and hit the kitchen table.

  “Oh,” he said. “Hewow.”

  “Hey,” I replied. “I thought we could conduct the interview in here.”

  “Is there a reason you’d prefer to be interviewed here versus your house?” Shepherd asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

  “There is.”

  “And that is . . . ?”

  I pointed toward the ceiling. “I’d like Sebastian to record our conversation.”

  Shepherd’s brow furrowed, and then he looked around the room until his gaze settled on Gilley. “You Sebastian?”

  Gil swallowed his mouthful before answering. “Nope.”

  “Sebastian isn’t a person,” I said. “He’s an AI butler.”

  Shepherd scratched his head. “A what now?”

  “Think of Amazon’s Alexa, but waaaay cooler,” Gil told him.

  For a demonstration I said, “Sebastian?”

  “Yes, Lady Catherine?”

  “Can you make it a little brighter in here?”

  The four recessed lights in the living room brightened.

  “Ah,” Shepherd said with a nod. “And he can record our conversation?”

  “He can.”

  The detective crossed his arms. “Why do you think it’s important to record our conversation, Ms. Cooper?”

  “For the same reason I suspect you’d like to record it, Detective. You don’t trust me.”

  Shepherd’s eyes narrowed, but there was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but it was at least a break from the frown. “Okay,” he said, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

  I sat down too, and Gilley of course stayed where he was, wearing an expression of indecision. “Um . . . should I give you two some privacy?”

  “Stay,” I said.

  “Go,” said Shepherd.

  Gilley’s head turned from side to side, looking to me, then to Shepherd, then back to me. “I have no idea what to do.”

  “Stay,” I said.

  “Go,” said Shepherd.

  “Oy,” said Gil.

  “I’d prefer to talk to you in private, Ms. Cooper,” Shepherd said.

  “And I’d prefer if Gilley stayed.”

  “I’d prefer to not be in the middle of this,” said Gil.

  I turned to Gilley and glared. “You’re staying. End of story.” Then I looked up slightly and said, “Sebastian, please record our conversation.”

  “As you wish, ma’am.”

  Shepherd shrugged and got out his cell phone. Placing it on the table, he tapped at it for a few seconds, and I saw a recording app come up. He hit the red button and looked at me expectantly.

  So I returned the look.

  “My stomach hurts,” Gil said as the detective and I sat there in stony silence.

  “Ms. Cooper,” Shepherd began, “I’d like to know about the party at Mrs. Holland’s.”

  “What about it?” I asked. Truthfully, I didn’t feel it was a good idea to answer such an open-ended question without a lawyer present. I was worried that I’d talk myself into a trap.

  “What can you tell me about it?”

  “What, specifically, would you like to know about it?”

  “You were there, right?”

  “I was. Briefly.”

  “What happened when you were there?”

  “What happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you mean what happened?”

  “I mean, when you were there, what took place?”

  “Took place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  Shepherd sighed and rubbed at the scruff of his neck. Turning to Gil he said, “Is she always like this?”

  Gilley smirked. “No . . . sometimes she’s difficult.”

  I glared at Gilley, but I wasn’t really mad. I was stalling. I couldn’t figure out how to get Shepherd to tell me what’d happened to Heather without having to answer his questions first, and I knew how it must look from his vantage point. I’d been angry and vocal at a gathering of women who would pledge no loyalty to me.

  Shepherd turned back to me. “I’m not the enemy here.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “No?”

  “No. If you’ve done nothing to harm Mrs. Holland, then I’m your ally.”

  There! That was
my opening, and I pounced on it. “Harm? Heather has been harmed? What’s happened?”

  “I’d like for you to tell me about the party,” he said smoothly.

  Damn him. He’d turned it back to me as deftly as a tennis pro taps at a ball just at the net. “I have no idea what this is all about or why you’re suggesting she’s been harmed. The last time I saw Heather, she was standing among a group of women hosting a party. I left her home even before lunch was served, so whatever she told you I did to her, I didn’t.”

  “How do you know she told me you did something to her?” Shepherd said.

  My brow furrowed. “Why else would you and your hostile attitude be here, Detective?”

  Shepherd looked taken aback. “My hostile attitude?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about my attitude seems hostile?”

  “Oh, boy,” Gilley mumbled.

  “Well, how about that perma-frown you’ve worn from the moment I opened my door?”

  Shepherd’s brow darkened. “That’s just my face.”

  “Really?” I said. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

  Shepherd made a sound that resembled a growl. “Can we get back to discussing Mrs. Holland?”

  “That would be wonderful. I believe you were about to tell me what she’s claiming I did to her.”

  Shepherd rubbed his face. “Jesus, lady, Heather Holland isn’t telling me anything. And she’s not telling anybody else anything either. She’s permanently silenced, if you get my drift.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face, and I stood up abruptly. “What?”

  Gilley jumped up too, his chair rocking violently from the move. “She’s dead?”

  Shepherd remained seated while he calmly considered the two of us, as if assessing the authenticity of our reaction. “I’d like to ask you again, Ms. Cooper. What happened today at Mrs. Holland’s house? Why did you leave? What did you say? And what did you do?”

  I sat back down heavily. I couldn’t believe this turn of events. It hadn’t yet dawned on me how much trouble I might be in. I think I was too stunned to fully appreciate how precarious my situation truly was.

  “I . . . I was invited to the luncheon by Heather. She was very specific in her invitation. She wanted me to wear black and white, which I did. Then, when I got there, I realized that I was the only invited guest wearing the same color scheme as her staff. Everyone else was wearing jewel tones. Heather did that on purpose. She wanted to humiliate me in front of her other guests, and I got angry. And I yelled at her. Then I left.”

  Shepherd nodded like he’d already heard the story from others. “Did you threaten her?”

  “Of course not!”

  It was Shepherd’s turn to cock an eyebrow as he pulled out a small notebook from his blazer pocket and flipped it open. “Really?” he said to me, lifting the notebook to read from it. “You didn’t say, ‘Mark my words, Heather Holland, you’ve been messing with the wrong woman. I am done playing nice,’ and then add something about leaving her a bloody mess in the end?”

  Gilley let out a small gasp and put a hand to his mouth.

  I ignored him and focused on Shepherd as a cold sweat broke out across my brow. “That was just talk. I was legitimately upset, so, yes, I made a public outburst. But then I came home, had a glass of wine, took a very long bath, ordered my lunch, and passed the rest of the afternoon trying to forget about the entire incident.”

  Shepherd tapped the table. “You came here.”

  “Yes.”

  Shepherd shifted his gaze to Gilley. “And you were here too?”

  Gilley bit his lip and eyed me nervously. “Um . . . maybe?”

  Shepherd narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “He wasn’t here,” I said for Gil.

  “So no one witnessed that you were in this house for the entire rest of the day?”

  I rolled my eyes. I didn’t like the fact that he was pressing me on the point. It felt like I was being set up to take the fall, which I probably was. And then I thought of something. “I wasn’t entirely alone. I had Sebastian.”

  “Sebastian? You mean your virtual butler?”

  “Yes. Sebastian monitors my every move to ensure that the rooms I’m in are always comfortable. He ran my bath and ordered my lunch too.”

  Shepherd shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “Ms. Cooper, unless your virtual butler can be deposed, I don’t see how he could back up your alibi.”

  While Shepherd was speaking, Gilley had gotten up to retrieve his laptop. Opening it, he began to type furiously. “You don’t understand, Detective,” Gil said excitedly. “Sebastian has a log, and I can access it. He keeps track of Cat and anyone else in the house at all times.”

  “That’s creepy,” Shepherd said.

  I glared at him. “Sebastian is not creepy. He takes care of me.”

  “If he can confirm you were here between four-thirty and six-thirty, then that’s all that matters,” Shepherd replied.

  Gilley suddenly stopped typing and looked up triumphantly. “I’ve accessed the log. I’m printing it now.”

  Gil got up to retrieve the log, but I was starting to feel the first hint of nervousness. I hadn’t been in this house from about three to six p.m. I’d been in my own home, and Sebastian wasn’t there.

  I looked at Gil as he crossed the room to the printer and retrieved the document. He began to read it as he came back toward us, and I knew immediately that he was seeing what I already knew.

  Stopping midway back to the table he looked at me, as if uncertain about what to do.

  “What’s the matter?” Shepherd asked.

  I focused on Shepherd. “It’s true that I was home between one and six p.m., Detective. But I wasn’t in this house. I was in the main house. I took a bath here, then I left to take a nap in my own bed, so Sebastian’s tracking of me would’ve ended around two-thirty p.m., I think.” I looked to Gilley to confirm, and he nodded and came back to his chair, setting the log facedown on the table.

  Meanwhile, Shepherd appeared puzzled. “Can’t you just grab the log from that house?”

  “Sebastian isn’t wired over there,” I said. “He will be next week, but for now he’s only here.”

  “So you have no alibi?”

  “No,” I said. “I definitely have an alibi. I was home. I haven’t left my home since arriving back from Heather’s party.”

  Shepherd nodded, and at first, I thought he believed me. But then he said, “The party where you threatened to kill her, and then she was murdered a few hours later.”

  “I didn’t threaten to kill her,” I said sternly.

  Shepherd sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Looking at me squarely, he said, “I have a room full of witnesses that say otherwise, Ms. Cooper.”

  “I was angry, and I misspoke. There wasn’t anything else to that. Certainly not a threat.”

  “Really?” Shepherd said, unconvinced. “Leaving her a bloody mess sure sounds like a threat to me—especially when she turns up dead.”

  “This is ridiculous! Detective, I had nothing to do with her murder! I don’t even know how it happened! I mean, how do you know she was murdered?”

  I suspect that Shepherd had been waiting for me to say something exactly like that because his mouth quirked into a knowing smile, and he said, “She was found facedown with a large open wound to the back of her head and shards of crystal from a punch bowl all around her. We have witnesses that say the punch bowl belonged to you.”

  I gasped. Beside me, Gilley reached for my hand and whispered, “Molly, you in danger, girl!”

  Chapter 4

  The conversation with Shepherd ended abruptly after he shared the news about the punch bowl. Actually, it ended with a panicked call to my attorney, who told me to shut my mouth and not say another word until he arrived.

  When I relayed the message to Shepherd, he put away his notebook, gave me a twisted smile, and said, “I’ll be in touch.”

 
With that he was gone.

  And I was left shaking.

  “I’d offer you some wine, but I’m not sure you’d be able to get it down,” Gil said.

  I’d been staring off into space when he spoke, and the sound of his voice caused me to jump. “Yeah. I think I would like a glass of water, though.”

  Gil was up in a flash, tending to me. I took a sip of the glass of water he offered, and I will admit, my throat was so tight, it was hard to swallow. “You’re shivering,” Gil said, and off he was again to fetch me an afghan.

  “Thank you,” I said when he laid it around my shoulders. Then I looked up at him. “Gilley? What just happened?”

  Gil sat down and reached for my hand again. “Someone is using your outburst at the party to frame you for murdering Heather.”

  His words were like a sock to the stomach. “Who?” I asked. It came out as a hoarse whisper.

  “Don’t know, lovey. But I have a bad feeling that if we don’t find out, you might have to think about how to accessorize prison orange.”

  I actually smiled. It was so absurd. “Thanks for sugarcoating it.”

  “I think it’s best to be blunt,” he said, but he grinned and squeezed my hand.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It helped a tiny fraction. “My lawyer will be here soon. He’ll know what to do.”

  Gilley sat back in his chair and furrowed his brow. “Will he, though?”

  “Of course. Tony is an excellent attorney.”

  “I’m sure he’s the best that money can buy, but is he a criminal defense attorney?”

  “A . . . what? No. He handles all my real estate interests.”

  “Then why the hell is he coming over?”

  “Because I have him on speed dial,” I said sharply. Too sharply.

  Gilley winced.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “What I mean, Cat, is that you’re going to need a criminal defense lawyer.”

  I started shivering again.

  “Lady Catherine,” Sebastian said. “I’ve noticed a dip in your body temperature. Shall I turn the heat up?”

  I pulled the afghan around me tighter while I noted that Gilley—who definitely ran a few degrees warmer than me—had a slight sheen across his brow. “No, Sebastian, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”