Page 42 of Killer on the First Page
“I can’t,” she said. “If I was deputized, I wouldn’t be permitted to write about any of this.”
A flicker of respect from Ned. “Well spotted. You’re right, Scoop. I was thinking I could kill two birds with one stone: obtain the necessary statements and manage the press.”
He said “manage” but meant “muzzle.”
Andrew had almost passed out by this point. “Me, Chief Buckley! I’ll do it!”
Ned was considering tossing the coin he kept in his wallet to decide, but in the end simply said, with a resigned sigh, “Okay, Andrew. Repeat after me...”
With a perfunctory declaration of oath, it was done.
“Consider yourself deputized.”
“Cool! Do I get a badge?”
This was met by another sigh, even more resigned than the last. “We’ve been over this before, Andrew. You don’t get to have a badge when you’ve been deputized. It’s your civic duty, not a formal title. You can start by taking down people’s statements.”
Deputy Nguyen, instantly in control!
“Everyone! Listen up! I want complete, honest answers and nothing but! Full disclosure.Capiche?”
“Andrew, darling, don’t say ‘capiche,’” Miranda tutted. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Ned was already regretting his choice. “Interview the locals first and then let them leave.Where were you from 7:30 to 8:30 this evening? Did you notice anything or anyone acting suspicious? Did you see anyone leave and return to the reception during that time?Make sure they review and sign off on their statements when they’re done. Always ask if they have anything to add; they always do. As for the writers, keep them here.” He leaned in, whispered, “If there is a killer among us, odds are it’s one of them.”
Bea was first in line to be interviewed, wanting to get back to her B&B, with Tanvir and Harpreet right behind her.
As two queues formed, one for the interviews, the other for the ink pad, Penny Fenland came up alongside Miranda, having given her fingerprints to Officer Holly. She was cleaning her fingers with a wipe as she spoke: “The selection of authors for this festival. Did Edgar choose them?”
“I think Middlemist arranged it. That’s the marketing company that put the event together and then hired Sheryl to promote it. She’s overwhelmed, poor thing. This will only make matters worse. From a PR point of view, how does one ‘spin’ a murder?”
A pause from Penny. “Middlemist. That’s a type of flower, isn’t it?”
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason. It’s probably nothing...” said Penny.
From her Pastor Fran days, Miranda knew that “probably nothing” meant “almost certainly something.”
“And where is Inez, anyway?” Penny asked. “You’d think theempress of gore would be tickled pink to be in proximity of a real corpse, even if it is in the next room.”
But Penny Fenland was only partly right about Inez. Tickled, yes. Pink, certainly. But not from murder.
The answer to Inez’s whereabouts came, quite literally, from above. Edgar was glaring at the ceiling. “Unbelievable,” he said.
Directly above them, Miranda could hear the creak of floorboards and the heavy sound of footfalls. No one should be upstairs right now, yet two pairs of feet could be heard, along with the sound of Emmy skittling about excitedly. Then came thethump-thump-thumpof footsteps tromping down the stairs.
A moment later, Emmy came rushing out, tail wagging like mad, ecstatic at discovering so many people (or “mobile ear scratchers and tummy rubbers,” as she thought of them) gathered on the main floor.
“Dammit, Owen!” Edgar rushed over to corral the golden Lab, as Owen McCune blundered through, whiskers uncombed and the silk sash over his coveralls askew, a grin plastered on his face.
“Sorry, Edgar, I was just showin’ Ms. Inez around the place.”
“Myplace,” Edgar snapped, getting a grip on Emmy’s collar. “You were showing her my place.”
Inez floated in behind Owen like an airy, ethereal black-and-white cloud. “There seems to be much ado down here,” she observed. “Murder most foul?”
“Kane Hamady,” said Edgar, as he sought to calm his dog down, “is dead.”
