Dead Girl in a Green Dress (16 page)

Following him, Reuben nodded. "Black horses have been a tradition at the Grand for over a hundred years."

"Do most of them drive and ride?" The horse in the stall had only a small white star on its forehead, and no white anywhere else.

"Nope.
We don’t have much need for saddle horses so most of them are strictly carriage teams."

Tate glanced into the next stall, but that horse had four white stockings. He looked back at the stable master. "I saw Mrs. Prince riding a black horse up at Arch Rock yesterday."

"Yeah, that would be her favorite,
Chancey
– only she calls him
Charon
, some kind of underworld character."

Sounded like something the ostentatious Mrs. Prince would do, name her horse after a Greek myth. "Does she ride a lot?"

"More than I expected. She even handles her own tack."

Which meant she could probably come and go unnoticed.
Tate cursed silently, but decided to ask anyway. "Was she out riding yesterday afternoon around four?"

Reuben shrugged. "I took the afternoon off yesterday. But she was out the day before around then."

If he remembered right, the first attack on
Byrony
had been a little earlier, but as far as Tate was concerned it was close enough. He would insist that Nick Brandon bring Cristina
Woodleigh
Prince to his office for questioning. That ought to rattle her cage.
If he could bully the Sergeant into letting him sit in.

What the hell! Why take the chance
?
.
Whether she was the killer or not, Mrs. Prince was neck deep in this mess.
If he questioned her right now, maybe he could wrap this case up.

"Is she out riding right now?"

"Nope.
When it rains, she generally uses one of the hotel’s carriages."

Swearing inwardly again, Tate thanked the older man and as he walked back to his horse, he mentally adjusted his game plan one more time. Unfortunately, it didn’t bode well for getting back to
Byrony
soon. He took out his phone and called her, but his call went directly to voicemail.

"Hey Sunshine, you better have lunch without me. I’m leaving the Grand stable for the hotel, and if the
Sarge
is there, you might have to bail me out of jail."

***

Trying to keep herself occupied,
Byrony
went through her own case file for probably the thousandth time. She kept going over and over the details that didn’t make sense. Tate believed Jessica’s body had been moved to the place it was found. She was convinced the killer had changed Jessica’s clothes. Her sister could have never afforded that designer dress. Plus the dress was totally not her style.

As she sat drumming her fingers on the desktop, her gaze strayed to Tate’s laptop case. The corner of a file folder protruded from the back pocket of the case, and she pulled it out without hesitation. Most of the information matched what she had in her own file, but Tate’s scribbled timeline caught her attention. Several question marks peppered the notations. She studied the timeline for many minutes before she dialed Detective Shaffer’s number.

When she got his voicemail, she tried the Mac City police department’s general number. The operator told her Shaffer was not available and put her through to his partner, Detective Rosen. As she explained who she was, the detective sounded gruff to the point of rudeness. "Look Miss Long, I’m very sorry about your sister, but we’ve made an arrest, and I have other work to do."

 
Byrony
stifled her growing annoyance and kept her tone even. "I appreciate that, but there are some things that I don’t understand.
 
Please detective, indulge me for a few minutes?"

After an awkward pause, Rosen gave in impatient sigh. "Jim told me you didn’t take no for an answer. I’m a busy man, make it quick."

His churlish remark dissolved any remnants of
Byrony’s
unease and she spoke matter-of-factly.
 
"I’m curious about the time-of-death. I realize it’s not an exact science but the coroner’s report differs from your and Detective Shaffer’s notes."

More silence ensued from Rosen’s end, as if her comment had made him uncomfortable, which gave
Byrony
a nudge of satisfaction. When he answered his tone sounded blustery. "No, it’s not an exact science. Plus Detective Shaffer and I showed the photo around Main Street. Several people said they’d seen a red-haired woman in a green dress shortly after the last ferry left for Mac City." Muffled voices caused him to break off a moment. "Sorry, Miss
Long,
gotta
go." And he rang off.

Byrony
stared at the phone in her hand, the heat of outrage burning its way from the pit of her stomach up her neck to her face. And she knew she could do nothing about the detective’s callous dismissal. She tossed the phone on the bed and picked up the remote with an unsteady hand. She’d thought they were getting close to solving her sister’s murder. But now everything seemed to be working against them.
Time to lose herself in some mindless TV.

An hour later as
Byrony
switched off yet another decorating show, her phone rang.
Tate.
Her pulse kicked up a notch. But the number wasn’t his. In fact, she didn’t recognize it so she answered hesitantly.

"Miss Long, this is Michael Prince. Please don’t hang up. I need to tell you something."

Fighting the urge to verbally
lambast
him,
Byrony
replied with deadly calm, "I can’t imagine you saying anything I want to hear, since you seem incapable of telling the truth."

After a long pause he spoke softly in a conciliatory tone. "I suppose I deserved that considering all that’s happened. But I feel you deserve to know that I truly loved your sister Jessica."

She couldn’t help herself.
Byrony
made a derisive sound.

"I knew you wouldn’t believe me, but it’s the God’s honest truth." Prince insisted in a whisper that sounded preoccupied, almost as if he were haunted.

"You were more than twice her age!"
Byrony
spat in disgust.
"And she was your employee."

"I admit Jessica was young," He sounded a bit too smooth in his quick defense. "But she made me feel like I was young too. The world was bright and full of hope when I was with her."

"Oh please!"
Byrony
interrupted, unable to listen to another word. "Spare me your bull-shit. You took advantage of her, had a fling with a naïve young girl."

"It wasn’t like that, I swear!" The usual smoothness had completely disappeared and his voice trembled slightly, his control slipping. "We were going to be married. Jessica wanted to tell you. She thought you would understand, but I wanted her to wait until I’d filed for divorce."

"But now she’s dead."
Byrony
stated flatly, not convinced that his assertions were anything but an act.

"Y-yes."
The catch almost sounded like a sob. "But I needed to tell you, what Jessica and I had
was
real."

"Save your breath Mr. Prince. The only thing I see that’s real is Jessica’s death." She inhaled deeply to give herself the strength to continue her attack. "I find this all very convenient for you. Perhaps I’d be more inclined to believe you if you’d been this forthright with the police."

"But I don’t know who killed her!" His cry sounded anguished, but
Byrony
still doubted his honesty. "I wasn’t even here. I left Saturday morning and when I got home Monday night, Jessica was – she was --" His voice broke.

"I don’t think you killed her."
Byrony
grudgingly admitted, remembering Tate’s words after they’d first met with Prince. "But I believe you know who did, and it wasn’t Justin Saunders."

"But the police…" Prince sputtered.

Byrony
remained unmoved. "Mr. Prince, if you truly loved my sister, as you claim, then you’ll go to the police and tell them what you suspect."

"But I – I"

"Good-bye Mr. Prince." She disconnected and dropped the phone on the bed. Then she pounded the pillow muttering, "Liar! Liar!
Liar!" with every punch.

After taking the edge off her anger, she started to wonder what had possessed Michael Prince to call her. What had he hoped to accomplish? And could he have possibly been serious?

The uncertainty made her head throb. So many of her beliefs had been challenged, things she never would have imagined had happened. Until a couple of days ago, she’d never have believed Jessica capable of having an affair with a married man, especially not a sleazy one like Michael Prince.

A wave of guilt swamped her. She had no business judging her sister’s behavior, not after the things she done in the previous thirty-six hours. Thinking about making love with Tate should have made her feel self-conscious, but it didn’t. This sudden and intense involvement with him might seem like a fling to someone else, but it didn’t feel the least bit like it to
Byrony
. And though the idea repelled her, she couldn’t help thinking that Jessica might have felt the same about Michael Prince.

She was struck by a sudden intense longing to see Tate, hold him.
Which was ridiculous since she’d only seen him a few short hours ago.
But she picked up her phone anyway, and noticed the missed call. Hearing Tate’s sexy drawl sent tingles of pleasure down her spine, even if she didn’t relish the idea of lunch without him. Neither did the thought of eating in the room alone. Pulling on her jacket, she grabbed her umbrella and headed for the diner.
 

Probably due to the nasty weather, the place was packed and
Byrony
found herself sitting on a stool at the counter. The same flirty waitress seemed frazzled as she rushed around pouring coffee and carrying plates. When she finally came over to take
Byrony’s
order, she looked around and asked, "No boyfriend today?"

Taken aback that the woman had actually noticed her last time,
Byrony
muttered, "He’s busy."

"I’ll bet he is," the bleached blonde said with a snort.

Not sure whether to be insulted or not,
Byrony
ordered an omelet and sipped her coffee. As the rush subsided, the waitress came back to refill
Byrony’s
mug and lingered to ask where she was from. Then when
Byrony
answered Chicago, the woman rhapsodized about the great shopping.

"But you have lots of shops here on the island."
Byrony
reasoned.

"Yeah, but not like Chicago," the chatty blonde replied.

Struck by sudden inspiration
Byrony
asked, "If I wanted to buy a designer dress, is there a shop here I could go to?"

The waitress tapped her bottom lip with her pen. "Gina’s Closet has really cute stuff, but if you want big name designers you’ll probably have to go to the Purple Iris. It’s on Huron Street."

"Thanks, I’ll check it out."

The other woman looked incredulous. "Does your boyfriend really like designer stuff?"

Stifling the urge to say, "He likes it on the floor,"
Byrony
gave a furtive smile and said, "You’d be surprised."

According to the GPS on her phone, the Purple Iris was only three blocks away. The rain had slacked off, so
Byrony
decided to walk. The clean, fresh air would help her shake off the negativity that clung to her.

Unfortunately, the first thing she saw when she left the diner was the black carriage from the Grand Hotel. She took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths and tried to ignore the tingling dread crawling up her spine. But in spite of telling herself to keep calm, the closer the high stepping horses approached, the stronger the urge to run grew within her. Silently cursing her irrational and embarrassing behavior, she curled her toes inside her shoes in an effort to keep from bolting. As the horses and carriage swept past, muddy water splashed up on the leg of
Byrony’s
pants.

"Shit!" Her breath came out in whoosh and she shook her head at her rotten luck.

Then, with the carriage no longer in view,
Byrony
crossed the street and continued her quest for the dress shop. Still, she almost missed the tasteful sign on the ground floor of a small Victorian house that marked the Purple Iris. But she had to smile at the second floor office of Tanner and Martin, CPAs. She could hear Tate’s voice inside her head drawling, "Bean
counters,
can’t get away from ‘
em
."

She left her wet umbrella in the fancy ceramic stand on the porch. No other customers were inside the shop, which was decorated with antique furniture that had pieces of clothing hanging from them. The salesclerk, who was
fiftyish
with immaculately coifed platinum hair, emerged from a side room when the bell over the front door tinkled.

"Welcome to the Purple Iris. Can I help you with anything?" She seemed unfazed by the fact that
Byrony
wore sweatpants and a damp
hoodie
.