Страница 46 из 62
Cyan shrugged. “No idea. But with all she’s been through lately, maybe she just wants to keep her private rooms private again.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. Addressing Agda, I asked her if there were any other changes.
She shook her head. “No.”
“What are you expecting, Ollie?” Cyan asked again.
“Just wondering if the guests are still the same.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
Now I shrugged. “Just a hunch.”
Rafe had been right about one thing: Keeping my hands busy in the kitchen had been the perfect panacea for my uneasy mind. We were serving chicken-fried beef tenderloin tonight. Topped with more of the white onion gravy we’d made earlier and served with my late-to-the-party icebox rolls, we rounded out di
I’d seen him earlier when I passed the China Room. Now that the gingerbread house was complete, Marcel had given up squatter’s rights and Gav had been using it as a lecture hall. When I walked past, he’d been in the midst of talking to some of the staff, so I hadn’t interrupted. But I definitely needed a few minutes of his time.
He was still there.
“Got a minute?” I asked.
They’d brought a folding table into the room, and he sat at it, staring down, elbow propped, holding his head. The rest of the room was empty.
When he looked up, he didn’t seem very happy to see me. “What is it?”
I’d intended to ask his opinion of the Kirsten Zarzycki situation, but I faltered. “Is something wrong?”
When people’s eyes crinkle, it’s usually because they’re smiling. In this case, Gavin looked as though he’d suffered a quick pain. He took a long moment to speak. “Why did you give a copy of Sean’s letter to the First Lady?”
I started to answer, but he cut me off.
“She’s involved a lot of… others.” He shook his head, and it looked as though his phantom pain intensified.
“We were talking,” I said. “She and I…” I stopped myself from the apology that nearly tumbled off my tongue. “Why shouldn’t I tell her? The situation involves a family member.”
I watched Gavin force himself to be patient. He came close to losing the battle.
Another hard pain-squint. “When you first presented the information to me, I had a unique opportunity to make discreet inquiries. Now,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice, “I have been shut out of the investigation by the agencies involved.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. All I could think of was that if other agencies were investigating, then at least some good was coming of my bringing it to Mrs. Campbell’s attention. “Who’s handling it now?”
His mouth set into a thin line. “What is it you needed from me?”
I felt stupid bringing up the Kirsten Zarzycki issue after being scolded. “Forget it,” I said. “It’s nothing.”
He rubbed his temples and spoke with clipped consonants. “You came in here intending to tell me something. What was it?”
I really didn’t want to get into it, but I also didn’t want to bear the burden of this information myself. “Did you hear about that reporter who was murdered late last night?”
“Shot in the head?”
“That’s her,” I said, dejectedly. “She came to visit me yesterday evening.”
“Here?”
I shook my head, then gave him a quick rundown of our discussion.
When I was finished talking, Gav’s anger had all but dissipated. “Where did she get the idea that Nick Volkov was responsible for Mrs. Campbell’s father’s death?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
He stared upward, toward the ceiling, before meeting my eyes again. “Mrs. Campbell’s father died in a car accident.”
“I know.”
He stood. “Who did you talk to about this?” he asked. “Besides me?”
I shook my head. “No one.”
“This time, keep it that way,” he said. Without another word, he bundled up his papers and left the room.
CHAPTER 20
IT WASN’T LONG BEFORE MRS. CAMPBELL’S di
Cyan and I intended to handle tonight’s di
I warmed the onion gravy on the stove, about to ask Cyan a question, when I heard Treyton Blanchard’s voice in the next room. “Elaine, thank you for having us. A shame about Volkov, isn’t it?”
Turning down the heat, I inched toward the wall, hoping to hear more. A shame? That hardly seemed an appropriate reaction to Volkov being responsible for her father’s death.
“I hope Nick is all right,” Mrs. Campbell answered. “And I hope we hear more soon.”
“Let’s hope we hear from him directly.”
I pressed my fingers to my forehead. This conversation made no sense.
Jackson came in, letting us know that di
Mrs. Campbell and Senator Blanchard moved into discussion about other things, family and such. I heard him murmur his repeated condolences about Sean, and Mrs. Campbell said something in return I couldn’t catch.
“Hey, Nancy Drew,” Cyan whispered. “What’s so important in there?”
I moved away from my eavesdropping perch. “They’re talking about Volkov.”
“So?”
“He’s still coming, right?”
Cyan twisted her mouth. “What’s with you today? I think they’re all coming.” She glanced at her watch. “And no one is officially late, yet. But Helen Hendrickson hasn’t arrived either…”
“Helen,” Mrs. Campbell exclaimed in the other room. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “She’s here now.”
Cyan and I arranged stuffed cherry tomatoes on one plate and set out another platter for the bacon-and-cornbread muffins while I waited for some word as to whether Volkov was coming or not. At the same time, I kept my ears open for any further mention of his name.
The silly bet I’d played with myself now rose up to mock me. I tried reasoning with myself. Even if the man didn’t show up, it wasn’t as though I could take that fact to the nearest police station and claim that he was guilty. But as the minutes ticked by and Volkov became officially late, I became ever more convinced that Kirsten Zarzycki’s allegations had more going for them than just ravings of an eager-to-be-promoted reporter. The fact that she was dead sealed it for me. I wondered who else she may have talked to.
Then a thought hit me so hard it made me stagger.
“Ollie? What’s wrong?” Cyan asked.
I held on to the edge of countertop, forcing my brain to slow down instead of making the terrible conclusions it preferred to leap into.
If Kirsten indeed had access to information that incriminated Volkov-and she had been killed to maintain silence-then I had to worry about who else she might have talked to. Because whoever was responsible for her death might have known she talked to me.
My fingers formed a vise around the counter edge.
“Ollie?”
“I’m okay,” I whispered to Cyan, though I was anything but. The horrible thought bounced around in my brain-what if Kirsten had mentioned me? What if whoever killed her was looking to tie up other loose ends?