Page 36 of Murder By the Millions
“Yesterday you said you wanted to oppose the mall he was building. You were very upset.”
“Yes, I was, but I got over that.”
He gazed at Jason’s lifeless body. “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Get over it?”
I tilted my head. “What are you implying? Are you accusing me of murdering him? Zach, get real.”
“You said the spearpoint could be from your collection.”
“If it is, I didn’t bring it here. Are you going to accuse Bates, since he owns a few? One could be missing from his place.”
“Can you explain this?” Zach opened his fist. In his palm lay a gold Celtic knot dangle earring. “Look familiar?”
My insides snarled. “It’s not mine, and you’ll notice … no earrings.” I cupped a hand behind one ear.
“You’re wearing your necklace.”
“As well as the Celtic knot ring Marigold bequeathed me.” I had Celtic heritage on my mother’s side, which favored the more talkative Irish nature than the direct and economical English personality. “No earrings.”
“Maybe you had them on, but you and Gardner struggled, and your earring fell off. You couldn’t retrieve it before we arrived, so you slipped the matching earring into your pocket.”
“Want to pat me down?” I asked testily, turning sidewise and motioning to my pants pockets. “Feel free to probe.”
“Don’t take an attitude.”
“Look, a week ago I lost an earring similar to the one you’re holding while I was making deliveries. I haven’t worn the other since.”
“Uh-huh.”
I glowered at him. “You don’t truly think I killed him, do you?”
He didn’t reply. I could see he was weighing the possibility. The evidence was mounting. The earring. The spearpoint. Me rashly coming to the house alone.
After a long moment, he said, “No, I don’t.”
“Thank you for your reticent vote of confidence. I swear I came because Jason texted me to come over.”
“Let me see your phone.”
Pulling it from my pocket, I remembered the text thread had mysteriously disappeared, and my gut wrenched. Zach would think I’d lied.Shoot!
“Zach,” Bates said from the doorway. “A few neighbors are outside wondering what’s going on.”
Zach strode to the front door and came to a stop just over the threshold. Granted a brief reprieve, I followed him and peeked around his torso. At least ten people, some in jackets and pants, others in robes or pajamas, stood facing the house.
“I heard a scream!” yelled a woman younger than me. “It was faint but shrill.” In her pink jumper, her hair swooped into a messy bun, she reminded me of Pinkie, a cuddly stuffed bunny my nana gave me when I was six.
“Was it a man or woman, miss?” Zach asked.
“Woman. I’m sure of it.”
“It wasn’t me,” I whispered.
Zach cut me a look.
