red lacquer liquor cabinet was conveniently positioned near the sofas. Cocktail, wine, and cordial glasses sparkled behind the glass doors. A handsome silver corkscrew occupied a place of honor in the center of the open shelf.
There were colorful throw pillows and gleaming tiles everywhere, but the rich Mediterranean hues did little to warm and brighten the house. It was infused with shadows.
Well, there had been a death in the family, Lyra thought. Gloom was expected.
“Please sit down, Miss Brazier,” Marcella said, gesturing toward one of a pair of sofas.
A porcelain teapot, cups and saucers, dainty spoons, and a sugar bowl were neatly arranged on the silver tray that sat on the coffee table between the sofas.
Lyra perched on the edge of one of the sofas. She had not slept after the nightmare, and a low-level tension had been rattling her all morning. The cold chills on the back of her neck had gotten worse after she had made the decision to call Marcella Adlington and request the meeting. She told herself her nerves would settle down after she got the answers she needed.
Marcella sat on the facing sofa, picked up the pot, and poured tea into the two cups. “Sugar?”
“No, thank you,” Lyra said.
Marcella set the cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of Lyra, positioned her own cup in front of herself, and smiled a cool smile.
“Now, what is it you want to ask?” she asked.
“I will come straight to the point,” Lyra said. “I know you used the golf club to strike Mr. Adlington at least a couple of times after I left the patio to greet the police. Did you strike him because he moved? Were you afraid he might awaken and perhaps try to attack you again?”
“In other words, you want to know which one of us killed Charles.”
“Yes.”
“He did not regain consciousness, but I went close to see if he was still breathing. I had to know, you see. I had to be sure. I touched his wrist. He still had a pulse. I grabbed the golf club and struck him again. Three times. I was in an absolute panic. Terrified that he might survive. And if that happened I knew he would come after me and he would not stop until he murdered me.”
“I see,” Lyra said.
She had her answer. It was the one she had hoped would give her some peace of mind, but for some reason it failed to do that. The opposite, in fact. She was more unnerved than ever. The frissons that had whispered through her on so many occasions during the past few days had not diminished.
She remembered the first time she had experienced the disturbing sensation. It was the day she had walked into the Adlingtons’ garden and discovered Charles Adlington attempting to drown Marcella.
She wondered if she had been permanently traumatized by the act of violence she had engaged in that day. It had been followed by several more days filled with danger and violence. Odd to think that the brush with death she had experienced here on the Adlington property had been followed immediately by Raina’s disappearance and more death.
Simon’s words rang in her head: There are no coincidences in a murder investigation.
Damn.
She needed to leave. Now. She had to talk to Simon and Raina about the theory that had just struck her with such force she could hardly breathe. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her imagination had gone wild. Maybe all the stress of the past few days had rattled her nerves so badly she could no longer think clearly.
“Your tea is getting cold,” Marcella said.
“Yes, of course.” Lyra picked up her cup and saucer.
“I am sorry you have been so upset by what happened the day you came to see me,” Marcella said. “But I also hope you know that I am very grateful to you. If you had not arrived for our appointment on time, Charles would have killed me. He was a large, strong man, and he was quite insane. He could easily have held me underwater until I drowned. My death would have appeared accidental.”
No, Lyra thought, you knew what you were doing. You set me up so that you would have an excuse to murder your husband. You didn’t care if Charles killed me in the process. Maybe you expected him to do that, because it would have justified your use of the gun.
It had all worked out well for Marcella Adlington, but it hadn’t gone entirely according