“You. That comment is so Gemma.”

  “Whatever that means. I simply cannot see how anyone could have hit her with such force as to cause injury without being seen by people inside the restaurant. If this person threw her off the deck, again without being observed, they wouldn’t have been able to foresee that she’d hit her head and be unable to swim to shore. Granted, it is possible that’s exactly what happened; people often act rashly without thinking things through or considering the consequences. I will also admit, I do not know all of the facts. Speaking of which, are you making any progress with Tina’s case?”

  “Not a great deal. Her family don’t know of any issues she had with anyone. She confessed to a girlfriend she wanted to get back with Andy, but reluctantly admitted it didn’t look like that was going to happen. She was studying for her realtor’s license, and as far as anyone knew, it seemed to be going well. No evidence of any enemies there. Her family tell us she was not happy at having to give up her acting career, but they wouldn’t call her seriously depressed. Her doctor says she would have always had some residual pain from the injuries sustained in that car accident, but it wasn’t unmanageable or severe. The techies have her phone, but so far, they’re still giving it time to dry out before trying to turn it on.”

  And then he let me go home.

  I took the dogs for a walk through the dark, quiet streets. I debated calling Jayne to tell her about Robbie. She would want to know, but it was late. Jayne rose early, unnaturally early by my standards, to get to the tearoom and start on the day’s bread and yeasted dough. Time enough later this morning for her to be told of Robbie’s death.

  Then again, I didn’t want her to hear it on the news or even worse, through social media.

  Nose to the ground, which isn’t far for him to reach, Peony attempted to follow a scent, while Violet, older if not wiser, trotted happily at my side. I watched them and thought. I’ve found dogs are good at that: letting a person’s mind simply wander.

  I might have my doubts about the death of Tina Armstrong, but there could be not the slightest doubt Robbie Ellis had been murdered. I’d seen the killer myself. He shoved me aside and ran when he saw me. I’d been exposed, perched on top of a low wall. Why not kill me too? Because he dropped the knife and didn’t want to go back for it? Because he, or she, didn’t have anything against me?

  Because they thought, correctly, I’d put up a fight? I am not inexperienced in taking care of myself, and I would have yelled for someone to call the cops while doing so.

  Or because they themselves didn’t know how to fight and were afraid of engaging with me and finding out I did?

  That line of thought led me nowhere.

  I called to the dogs, and we turned around. It was coming up to three-thirty. Jayne would be up soon.

  * * *

  I crawled into bed but didn’t get much sleep. I’d phoned Jayne, deciding it would be best to break the news to her myself, even if that meant waking her up. She’d been shocked and saddened. Her main question to me was, “Why?” and all I could say was I didn’t know.

  I wrapped the covers around me while the dogs snoozed on the floor. I thought about Robbie, and about Tina, and about who might have wanted them dead.

  I came to no conclusions.

  The winter sun was doing its best to put in an appearance when I finally gave up on sleep and climbed out of bed. I let the dogs out for their morning romp and was putting the kettle on when Jayne phoned me.

  “Andy’s been arrested!”

  “Arrested or taken in for questioning?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matters a great deal. First, take a deep breath, Jayne. Try and calm down.”

  She breathed. “I can’t calm down. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “How did you find out? Did he phone you?”

  “Yes. He called a minute ago. He was leaving the police station.”

  “Then he is obviously not under arrest.”

  The kettle hissed and emitted a stream of steam before switching itself off. I poured hot water into my teapot with one hand and held the phone with the other.

  “He was taken to the police station last night and questioned for hours about Robbie’s death. The very idea that Andy had anything to do with it is ridiculous. Andy had no reason to kill Robbie and even if he did, Andy’s the gentlest man in—”

  “I know that, Jayne. You have no need to convince me. Stop and think clearly, and then tell me what you want me to do.”

  She did not take the time to think clearly. “What do I want you to do? Prove his innocence, of course. Talk to Ryan. Tell him Andy didn’t do it.”

  I took the teapot to the table and sat down. I poured myself a cup. “That Andy was not held means the police have no reason to hold him.” That wasn’t entirely true. All it meant was the police didn’t have sufficient evidence. Yet. Depending on what Andy had to tell her, Louise Estrada might be searching for such evidence. I didn’t say so, trying to keep my voice cheerful and upbeat. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

  “Yes. Tell him Andy didn’t do it. Tell him—”

  “I mean Andy. Do you want me to talk to Andy? Ryan will be kept a long way away from this if Andy is … a person of interest. They’re too close.”

  Jayne sighed. “Please?”

  “Did Andy say where he was going? Home or to the restaurant?”

  “To work. When he’s upset, he needs to work.”

  “I’ll go there now. I can’t say how long I’ll be. Ashleigh’s off today. Gale isn’t due to come until noon. Hang a sign on the Emporium door saying something to the effect of closed for a family emergency.”

  “Thank you, Gemma.”

  “No thanks needed,” I said.

  I finished my tea, checked the weather forecast, and called Violet and Peony to come in. They were covered in mud from the bottoms of their feet to their furry bellies. Violet had managed to get mud on her ears. I toweled them down as they wiggled in delight and then went to have my shower and get dressed. According to the forecast, it would be sunny with increasingly warm temperatures. That should help melt the lingering patches of dirty snow and dry up the puddles of cold rainwater.

  My phone rang as I was telling the dogs to guard the house. Louise Estrada. She did not bother with familiarities.

  “Where are you?”

  “At home. I’m about to go out.”

  “Wait for me there. I’m on my way.”

  “Like I said, I’m about to go out. Is it important?”

  “If you are not at your house when I get there, I’ll have you brought to the station.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She arrived no more than ten minutes later. Notably, Ryan was not with her but rather a uniformed officer. He was young, fresh-faced, trying very hard to look stern. I’d seen him at the scene last night but didn’t get his name. New to town, perhaps.

  “I have some further questions about last night,” Estrada said after I’d invited them in. Violet and Peony provided greetings as is traditional when receiving guests. The dogs don’t usually know (or care) who’s here as a friend and who is not.

  I led the way to the kitchen and dropped into a chair at the table. Estrada hesitated and then sat. The uniformed officer stood against the counter, arms crossed, expression stern, watching me as though daring me to make a break for it. The detective got straight to the point; I expected no less. “Have you had any further thoughts about what happened last night? Anything you forgot to mention or later remembered?”

  “No. I have thought about it a great deal, but nothing new comes to mind.”

  “I’m interested in the person you say you chased.”

  “The person I chased.”

  “You can’t identify this individual by anything more than general size and a guess at their approximate age? No gender. No race. Hair, distinguishing features.”

  “As I told you, he or she was dressed in loose trousers and a large heavy coat and moved quickly. Their face was concealed by the hat and scarf. They were around my height. Not substantially taller or shorter at any rate, and not excessively large.”

  Estrada watched me. I shrugged, not knowing what she expected me to say. The officer shifted from one foot to another. Peony sniffed at his boots. He tried to ignore the friendly little fellow.

  “This person appears to have killed a man mere moments before encountering you standing in the way of their escape,” Estrada said. “Yet they, he, didn’t attempt to do the same to you? Have you wondered why not? You were unarmed. By your own admission, you were caught completely off guard and in a difficult physical position.”

  “I considered that as well. The knife had been left behind. Meaning they likely didn’t have a weapon. Perhaps they thought me a more formidable opponent than I am. When fight or flight instincts clash, no one knows which will win out. Sheer panic, usually.”

  “Has it occurred to you they didn’t kill you, or attempt to harm you, because they like you? Or perhaps you’re close to someone this person cares about?”

  “It has not.” So that’s what she was after. She wanted me to say Robbie’s killer might have been Andy. “I did not get the warm and fuzzies from them, no.”

  “You and I have known each other for a number of years, Gemma. Sometimes to my intense regret. I know you to be unnaturally observant and almost preternaturally aware of your surroundings. Yet you can’t tell me any more about the person you saw last night.”

  “I might be observant, Louise. But I am human. I can’t see what is not visible to the naked eye. It was night. His or her features were almost completely concealed by their clothing and face coverings. They wore baggy winter clothes. They were not particularly large or noticeably small. They didn’t run with a limp, and they didn’t drag their knuckles on the ground or swing from trees or shout at me in Russian. If they had, I would have told you.”

  “Would you? Would you tell me if you recognized this person if you wanted for some reason to protect them?”

  “The question is moot, as I did not recognize anything about them. Now that’s settled, tell me about the car. Did Rose Jane McMaster of Chatham confess to taking her car for a spin last night?”

  “Ms. McMaster is a seventy-two-year-old woman, a retired university professor. Of modern European history, I believe. She didn’t even know her car wasn’t in the driveway until our officers asked her about it.”

  “A nondescript car, probably not with all the latest in antitheft gadgets. Parked out in the open in a suburban driveway at night. Easy target.”

  “The car is being thoroughly gone over, but nothing yet. Once again, those pesky winter gloves.” Estrada looked down. Bored with the conversation, Violet had gone back to the living room for a nap. Peony had abandoned the unresponsive cop and sat at Estrada’s feet, still hoping for some playtime. “Does Andy Whitehall have pets?”

  “As he would have told you last night, no, he does not. Neither does Jayne. Did you find dog hair in the car?”

  “Ms. McMaster has two longhaired dachshunds. She doesn’t often clean her car. Complicates the search for evidence considerably.”

  I jumped out of my chair. “If that’s all, Detective, I have a busy day ahead of me. I’ll let you know if anything further develops.”

  Estrada didn’t jump, but she did stand up. “You do that, Gemma. You do that.”

  I showed them to the door and waved a cheery goodbye. Then I closed the door and leaned my back against it with a deep sigh. Estrada was looking to pin this on Andy. Even if Jayne hadn’t asked me to, I needed to talk to him.

  I decided to walk into town. I needed the air to clear my head, and I needed time to think. Sherlock Holmes had his pipe and time to indulge in a three-pipe problem. I had a fifteen-minute walk. Likely not enough.

  The sun was out and it was warm on my face, so that went some way toward improving my mood. As I walked down Blue Water Place to Harbor Road, the ocean stretched out before me, blue and sparkling. Jayne’s wedding was to be held at the Cape Cod Yacht Club not far from here. It was less than a week away. We should be finalizing last-minute details, checking in with the club’s restaurant, ticking off the guest list one last time, ensuring the flowers were ordered and would be ready when needed. A bride and her best friend should be having fun doing all those things. Not asking the groom if he’d recently committed murder.

  As the harbor and the Blue Water Café came in sight, I texted Andy to tell him I needed to talk to him. Now.

  He was standing in the vestibule when I arrived. He unlocked the door and let me in. The police tape had been taken down outside; the restaurant put to rights after the party; balloons taken away, tables laid, floor swept. The pile of Jayne’s presents was gone.

  “I hope the police didn’t take the gifts as evidence,” I said.

  “No. I dropped them off at Jayne’s yesterday after meeting you at McGillivray’s.”

  The restaurant was quiet, but the scent of something deeply rich and intensely spicy came from the kitchen.

  “You’re cooking?” I asked.

  “Testing a new recipe. A crab and shrimp curry I’ve been wanting to finalize for some time. It should be ready right about now. Want to try it?”

  “Love to. But might I suggest you need to get some rest.” He did not look well. Haggard face, deep circles under his tired eyes, blond hair hanging limp over his forehead. He didn’t have his chef’s uniform on and drops of orange sauce decorated his T-shirt.

  He was, I couldn’t help but notice, the right general size to have been the man I saw last night. I shoved the thought away.

  “I cook when I’m stressed,” he said. “Might as well take all the free time I’ve suddenly found myself with to try out a few new things. Can I assume Jayne called you?”

  “She did. I know you were taken down to the police station last night and questioned about the death of Robbie Ellis. Want to tell me about it?”

  He gave me a grin containing not the slightest bit of humor and led the way to the kitchen.

  The room was spotless, surfaces scrubbed, floor washed, pots and pans, spices and ingredients put away, everything in its place. Steam rose from a heavy frying pan on the gas stove. Andy picked up a large wooden spoon and gave the curry a stir. My mouth watered.

  “You probably know more than I do about what went down, Gemma,” he said. “They told me you’d been there. I was home in bed when the cops knocked on my door. Uniforms, not Ryan or Louise. They said the detectives needed to talk to me and they were taking me to the station.”

  “You were not arrested?”

  “No. Just a chat, they said. When I got there, Louise was waiting. Again, just to talk. She wanted to know if I’d seen Robbie that night. I had no idea why she was asking. I told her the restaurant was still closed, so no need for waitstaff. She asked if he and I ever socialized on a personal basis, had I ever been to his apartment. I said no. And then she told me he’d been killed earlier tonight. Murdered.” Andy shook his head. “At first, I didn’t understand why she was telling me about it. But then she started asking me what I’d been doing tonight and if I knew Robbie had been bothering Jayne.”

  “He wasn’t bothering Jayne,” I said. “Although I have to admit I feared it might come to that.”

  “I told Louise I knew nothing about that. Because I didn’t. She then switched to Tina. Was I angry when Tina gate-crashed the party? Did I still have feelings for Tina? Did I fear Tina would somehow sabotage my relationship with Jayne?” Andy stirred the curry. He scooped up a small amount of the gorgeous deep-orange sauce and tasted it. “Almost ready. Hand me one of those bowls.”

  I did so, and he dished out a small serving. “British people like their curry, right?”

  “Chicken tikka masala has been called the national dish of England.” I accepted the bowl, and Andy handed me a spoon.

  I lifted the bowl to my face and breathed. The scent was powerful, hinting at the strength of the flavors hidden inside. I dipped the edge of the spoon into the curry.

  “I want total honesty now,” Andy said. “If you wouldn’t order this a second time in a restaurant, tell me.”

  I touched the spoon to my tongue. Flavors exploded in my mouth: hot and spicy, rich and creamy. I dug the spoon further in. The shrimp was firm and infused with flavor, offering just the slightest resistance to my teeth. The shreds of crab were light and flaky, punchy with taste. “Absolute perfection,” I said with total honesty. The inside of my mouth burned ever so slightly and exceedingly pleasantly.

  Some of the darkness lifted from behind Andy’s eyes, and he gave me a genuine grin. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. More?”

  “Oh, yeah. Not my usual breakfast, but I can make an exception.” I passed the bowl to him and he filled it.

  “For serving, I’ll sprinkle freshly chopped herbs across the top. Cut some of the heat, add some additional color. I need to experiment a bit more, decide how spicy, or not, to make it.” Then his face fell. “If I’m here to make it.”

  “You will be,” I said around another mouthful. “If you want me to help, and I want to help, you have to tell me what you told Estrada—and what you didn’t tell her. Robbie died at about ten-thirty. Where were you then?”

  “Here. Cooking this curry, as it happens.”

  “That late?”

  “That’s not late for me, Gemma. Nights I’m working, I don’t normally get home until well after midnight. I thought the curry would benefit from time in the fridge, let the flavors mingle, so I prepared it last night and only reheated it and made some minor adjustments to the seasonings this morning.”

  “I suppose you were alone here.”

  “Sadly, yes. I spent a good part of the evening working on my accounts, and then I wanted to give the curry a try. So I stayed. I finished up and was heading home around quarter to eleven.”

  At a quarter to eleven, Robbie’s killer had been driving at great speed west on McConnell Street, pursued by yours truly.