Chương 4
“That seems like something for your lawyer.”
A breath left him. It was not quite a laugh.
“Yes.”
“Do you think I staged it?”
“I watched it fall.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think you staged it.”
Detective Voss watched him without expression.
Nolan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Vivienne says you’ve been staring at her all day.”
“I was working.”
“She says you asked unusual questions about the cake.”
“Diane told me to learn the setup.”
“She says you entered the bridal suite without permission.”
Rowan stared at him.
“I never entered the bridal suite.”
“Her mother says you did.”
“I delivered garment tape to the hall outside it. One of the bridesmaids took it from me.”
Nolan’s jaw shifted.
“Who?”
“I don’t know her name. Champagne-colored dress, dark hair, maybe thirty.”
“There were six women matching that description.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask for identification while carrying tape.”
Detective Voss glanced down, perhaps hiding a reaction.
Nolan did not seem offended.
“What do you need?” he asked.
The question disarmed her more than accusation would have.
“My phone. My bag. To go home.”
“You can’t yet,” Voss said.
Rowan nodded. “Then nothing.”
Nolan looked at her for another second.
“I owe you more than nothing.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know I was holding the knife.”
“And I know I damaged a cake that probably cost more than my mother’s car.”
“It cost more than my first car too.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“No,” he said. “Probably not.”
The ordinary uselessness of the exchange made Rowan’s eyes sting. She looked away before anyone could interpret it as collapse.
Nolan stood.
At the door, he paused.
“When the syringe hit the floor, Vivienne said it proved nothing.”
Rowan waited.
“What did her face look like to you?”
Detective Voss intervened. “Mr. Mercer.”
“I’m asking what she observed.”
“You are discussing another witness’s reaction.”
Nolan turned toward the detective. “I was there.”
“So was I by the time your family began explaining what everyone should have seen.”
He looked back at Rowan.
She could have told him Vivienne looked guilty. It would have satisfied something in him. It might have made him trust Rowan more. It might have protected her.
Instead she said, “She looked afraid.”
“Of the syringe?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of being caught?”
“I don’t know.”
His face closed slightly with each answer.
Rowan forced herself to finish.
“I won’t invent the part I didn’t see.”
He left without speaking.
The police released Rowan shortly after midnight. Her black low heels had blistered both feet, and the walk from the estate’s service entrance to the gravel employee lot felt longer than the aisle she had crossed in the ballroom.
Diane waited beside Rowan’s aging Honda.
She still wore the navy suit from the reception, though she had removed her gold earrings. Her tablet was tucked beneath one arm.
“You should have come to me,” she said.
“I tried.”
“You should have tried harder.”
“I stopped him.”
“You destroyed a twelve-thousand-dollar cake in front of one hundred and eighteen guests.”
“A syringe fell out of it.”
“We don’t know how it got there.”
Rowan unlocked her car.
Diane stepped closer. “Do you understand what this will do to the company?”
“No.”
“We organize private events because clients trust us not to become part of their stories. Tonight we became the story.”
Rowan opened the driver’s door.
“Am I fired?”
“You’re suspended until the investigation is complete.”
“That means fired.”
“It means don’t speak to the press, don’t post online, and don’t contact the client.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You also need to give me your access badge.”
Rowan reached into the side pocket of her bag.
The pocket was empty.
She checked the front compartment, then the small zippered section where she kept mints and a folded pharmacy receipt.
The badge was not there.
“When did you last have it?” Diane asked.
Rowan pictured the west service corridor. The faulty reader. Owen holding out his hand.
“Before five,” she said.
Diane’s eyes narrowed. “Your badge opened the cake preparation room at five fifty-two.”
“That’s impossible.”
“The system recorded it.”
“I gave it to Owen.”
“You gave your access credential to security?”
“The pantry reader rejected it twice. He said the stripe was dirty and took it to reset.”
“Did he return it?”
Rowan tried to remember.
Owen had clipped something to the edge of her supply cart while speaking to another guard. She had assumed it was the badge. Later, she had not needed it because the ballroom doors stood open.
“I thought he did.”
Diane exhaled through her nose.
“Go home, Rowan.”
“You believe I did this.”
“I believe you have a talent for standing in the worst possible place.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No,” Diane said. “It’s often more expensive.”
Rowan drove home with the radio off.
Her mother was asleep in the recliner when Rowan entered their apartment in Warwick. An old game show played silently on television. A blanket covered her legs, and a plastic cup of melting ice sat on the table beside three medication bottles arranged in a row.
Rowan set down her bag.
Her mother opened her eyes.
“You’re late.”
“There was a problem at work.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“Not your face. Your dress.”
Ivory frosting streaked the burgundy fabric near Rowan’s waist. She had forgotten it was there.
Her mother pushed herself upright. “What happened?”
Rowan sat on the edge of the sofa and told her.
Not all of it. She left out Vivienne’s accusation and the missing badge. She described the syringe hitting the floor, Nolan stepping in front of her, and the police taking everyone’s names. Her mother listened without interrupting, which frightened Rowan more than questions would have.
When Rowan finished, her mother picked up the cup of melted ice.
“You always do this,” she said.
“Do what?”
May you like
“Run toward things.”
“He was about to eat it.”
