4 Impression of Bones (13 page)

Juliet also
explained her thinking that Dolph and Stephanie may have been caught trysting.
While one went in to shower, the killer had crept up on the other and broken
their neck—a violent act but not beyond what a reasonably fit woman could do if
she caught a victim unaware.

It was
doubtful that an autopsy would show who had died first, but she was willing to
bet that there would be signs of sexual relations to be found on her corpse.

“So, a woman
scorned?”

“Probably.
Though whether scorned in love or in
business, it might be hard to say. It could be that someone wasn’t happy with
their assignment on the project.”
Though probably no one
could complain about that as much as Juliet, unless it was Julia Mannering.
Having all her beautiful custom shelves stuffed down in a cellar that Dolph
didn’t want opened to the public unless it was for a morgue tour might have
been even worse than getting stuck in a castle tower.

Manoogin
grunted agreement with her thinking.

“Not that I’m
complaining, Miss Henry,” the lieutenant said as he escorted them from his
cubicle, a meaningless courtesy since there was no way that they could get lost
on the way to the door. “But it would be great if next time you could bring me
a murderer instead of another body.”

“I’ll give it
the old college try,” Juliet answered and refrained from sighing.

“Any psychic
tickles?” he asked hopefully.

“I’m thinking about
Dolph’s watch.” Juliet was glad when he didn’t ask for her to say anything
more. She didn’t know why the expensive timepiece had come back to mind as soon
as the body was pulled from the water.
Perhaps because the
body hadn’t been wearing one either.

“You know who
usually ends up getting arrested in homicides?” Manoogin asked as he held open
the door for Raphael. He sounded as sad and frustrated as Juliet felt.

“Stupid
people, I should imagine,” Juliet answered, and got a look of surprise and
perhaps a small amount of pleasure for not mentioning the spouse who was so
often to blame. In a domestic dispute, the spouse was an easy guess, but this
was a different kind of murder. She nodded at Esteban and Raphael, indicating
she would be just a minute longer. “People who are stupid enough to think that
murder will be a good solution to their problems. Then, being as God made them,
which generally means too disorganized and too imprudent to understand their
limitations, they fail to carry their killings off without a hitch or five. We
have to hope that this is the case here, because I am guessing that there isn’t
much usable physical evidence and there are a whole lot of suspects with means,
motives, and no provable alibis.”

Manoogin
nodded grimly.

“You do have a
succinct way of summing up.”

“Practice,”
Juliet said and went through the door to join her friends.

Once away from
the station and its odor of burned coffee and disinfectant, they agreed that
after their less than pleasant morning a sustaining lunch was in order. Raphael
knew of a good Italian restaurant in town that served excellent bivalves and
had a decent wine list.

Juliet was not
fond of clam sauce, but was always ready to address a plate of Bolognese, so
they retired to the candlelit cave with checked tablecloths and muted Italian
opera to hide from the heat and discuss events without official ears nearby.

The dissection
of a murder investigation in progress was getting to be old hat. While not
exactly commonplace, and certainly not anything she would voluntarily seek out,
Juliet had to admit that there was a wonderful sense of camaraderie when the
three of them bent their minds to a task. She had never enjoyed that kind of
solidarity in her old job.

“So what is
there left for you to do at the castle?” Raphael asked.

“I need to
paint one more tapestry panel and then hang them. There is also one window left
to fit with mirrors. The rest is just moving jars up those stairs. And finding
a killer, I guess.” Juliet finished her wine.

“You are going
to the open house?”

“I have to, I
suppose, if they hold it. Though at this point I think it would be best to
throw a little exorcism before the party. It would probably draw a larger crowd
than a mere open house.”

“I am free
tomorrow afternoon. Can you finish up your project if I help you?” Esteban
asked.

Juliet
considered.

“If I go home
and work on the tapestry now. It will be a bit damp for transport and I’ll have
to be careful, but it can dry hanging as easily as it can flat.” She considered
protesting the need for escort but decided not to bother. It would also save
her back and knees if she had help carrying the apothecary jars upstairs. And
maybe she didn’t need to bedizen her shelves with as many vases as she had
first thought.

“Let us be
off,” Raphael said and signaled the waiter for their check.

After their
enormous meal, a somewhat glazed Juliet lurched to Esteban’s car, thankful that
he was driving. Maybe clam sauce was better than Bolognese when it came to
resisting food coma. She hoped she could fight through the wine and carbs and
make a good job of her last tapestry.

It was not
terribly surprising that Garret should drop in to see her that evening. The
paints she was using were rather pungent, so Juliet had her door open to the
evening air. Mosquitoes could have been a problem after dusk, but apparently
they didn’t care for the pungent aroma either.

Marley mewed
at the sound of steps outside and got down off his perch on the chair to
saunter to the door.

“May I come
in?” Garret asked, stooping to pet the cat. Garret had recently acquired a pair
of kittens and discovered that he was very much a cat person.

“Please do.
You may want to stay back, a little way. Things are a bit messy.” And they
were. The shredding of the velvet had gone slightly awry and there was a dusting
of red powder on everything in the workshop. She would have to borrow Hans
Dillmeyer’s
shop
vac
to get it
all cleaned up.

The thought of
a shop
vac
made her frown and she stayed still,
tracking down the thought.

“Juliet?”
Garret asked as she stopped in place, frowning.

“The wine
cellar,” she said and then managed a smile. “Sorry, thinking about the killing.
Has Manoogin been keeping you updated? Has he finished ransacking Stephanie’s
place? I don’t know that he is going to find out much except that she likes
musk perfume and hot-pink dresses.”

“I haven’t
heard anything. He’s impressed as all get out with you, though not so happy at
having body number three turn up out at the castle. That’s as many homicides as
they had in all of last year.”

Juliet
shrugged. The whole thing annoyed her too. At least he was getting paid for the
bother and nightmares.

“Weston isn’t
much help to him,” she said.

“I gathered
that. And he has no love for you either.”

“I know.
Weston has made zero effort to be polite. He also drinks.
On
the job.”

“I’ve heard
that too.”

“Garret, do
you know anything about roses?”

“I know they
smell good. Why? Are you thinking about the engraving on that watch?”

Garret was
small town, but not stupid.

“Yes,
a rose by another name
…. I really need
to speak to Rose Campion about this.”

Juliet blinked
after she said this and considered her words. The first thought was immediately
pushed away. The watch had said
a rose by
another name
and Rose was a timid creature, older and shyer than Dolph had
liked. And she had nothing to do with the project. Not to mention that she was
quite petite.

However, the
idea was still a good one. Rose would have gardening catalogues and books.
Maybe she could help with finding other names for roses, or have some idea what
the engraving meant.

Garret was
used to her sudden mental withdrawals and wasn’t offended by her distraction
and soon left her to her dark thoughts.

After Garret departed,
Juliet made a cup of tea and went outside to stare at the moon. Her contemplations
were not romantic.

Was anyone
mourning Dolph’s passing? There had been no talk of the artists holding a
memorial. Maybe people would prefer to gather round a wassail bowl and drink to
his demise. His death had to have brought some unspoken relief to those he was
pressuring for sexual favors. Truth to be told, Juliet didn’t mind his being
gone. John Donne had said that
any man’s
death diminishes me
, but Juliet didn’t feel any sense of loss, though she
objected to murder on principle.

And then there
was Stephanie. Juliet hadn’t known her—hadn’t wanted to know her—but her
killing felt … what? Less deserved?
More of a loss to the
world?

Dismissing for
the time being the question of who might actually regret Dolph’s death and why
Stephanie’s murder bothered her more, Juliet again considered the more
measurable facts of the case. There were several telling things about the event,
not the least of which was the manner of the deaths. It would take someone
strong—and angry—to kill that way twice. Could the lack of a weapon mean that
the crime wasn’t planned ahead? That the killer simply took advantage of the
moment and killed with their bare hands? That wasn’t standard for women
killers, but rage could make anyone crazy.

The autopsy
would tell them more, but she was betting that Dolph and Stephanie had died
close to the same time. Stephanie was wearing the same clothes she had had on
that morning which was suggestive if not conclusive.

Unfortunately,
the manner of death, while indicating someone strong, could not rule out any of
the females on the project. A lot of the artists worked in wood or metal or
stone and were fit enough to kill in that manner. It didn’t actually take that
much strength to give a head a one-eighty—not if the victim were surprised from
behind while sitting or lying down.

“Come on,
Marley,” Juliet said, looking down at the warm body twining around her ankles.
“It’s too late to see Rose tonight. Let’s hope for a night without dreams. I
work better when I’m not tired.”

Rose was whacking
away at a bundle of tuberous roots, once in a while slashing at them with a
utility knife and setting a subdivision of gray tangles aside. Her nearly full
coffee cup had stopped steaming and there was tanbark floating on the oily
surface.

“The cymbidiums
finally broke free,” she said by way of greeting and nodded at a broken clay
pot. There were two new pots waiting, truly wanton affairs with white draperies
and doves that had to be Mickey Shaw’s work. “They don’t mind being a little
pot-bound but these were being strangled.”

“Apparently
they’ve been playing in the tanbark,” Juliet answered.

“They prefer
it to regular potting soil.” Rose set the last clump aside. “Would you like
some tea? I made coffee but it’s not very good this morning.”

“Tea
and some information.
I’ve come to pick your brain about roses.”

Rose looked
pleased.

“Oh? How nice.
There’s still lots
of time to order before the fall
planting.”

Part of
Juliet’s successful friendship with her timid neighbor was her ability to
regulate truth. She didn’t usually lie, but she knew not to burden Rose with
too many unpleasant facts.

“I was trying
to do some research online, but apparently there are a lot of different names
for roses. Like floribunda and hybrid tea.”

Rose
tut-tutted.

“It’s so difficult
to shop online. A lot of places don’t even have pictures. And almost none of
them talk about the scent, which is the best part, unless you are growing them
for the hips, of course. Just wait a moment while I find my catalogues,” she
said, starting for the door. “I have one that rates them for perfume values.
And it lists all the names for the US—hundreds and hundreds of them.”

“Hundreds
and hundreds?”
Juliet asked with dismay.

“Oh my, yes.
Roses grow all over the world, you know, except maybe in the arctic, and US
growers have started importing everything they can get ahold of.”

Juliet
reviewed the heritage of every artist on the project.

“Any
from Ecuador or Hungary?”

“I should
think so,” Rose answered from inside. “I think they’re called
Hungaricums
.
There is one named Saint Elisabeth of Hungary. It was supposed to have grown up
out of the saint’s body or something dreadful like that. They call it
the miracle of the roses
. And Ecuador
exports roses, tinted ones, but I think that’s a fairly new thing. They have
one that’s popular called a
BellaRosa
. It’s red.”