Page 104 of Jane Deyre
“Mmm. Do you have the recipe for these? I want to give it to the missus. She’s always looking for new things to bake.”
I stifle a laugh. “You’ll have to ask Grace Poole. She’s the cook around here. I can barely toast a piece of bread.”
“Good ole Grace. Such a darn shame she lost her voice.” He looks again at Mancuso. “Mancuso, remind me to get the recipe before we leave.”
Blowing a bubble, Mancuso dutifully makes a note in his notepad. He’s as mute as Grace.
Detective Billings licks his lips once more. “So, where were we?”
For the first time, Mancuso speaks. He looks down at his notes, his voice boyish. “Boss, you were asking Miss Deyre here about the strange noises she heard. She said she told Ms. Fairfax about them.”
“Right.” The detective takes a sip of his Coke and sets the can down. “So, Jane, how did Ms. Fairfax react?”
“Honestly, she was put off. Said I was hearing things. But she agreed—reluctantly—to show me inside the locked room.”
“And did you find anything of interest?”
I shake my head. “Just some dust bunnies and dead spiders. It’s mostly used for storage. Ms. Fairfax was really annoyed I wasted her ‘precious’ time.” I put air quotes around precious. “And accused me of being delusional.”
His next question catches me off guard. “Miss Deyre, I mean Jane, do you believe in ghosts?”
“N-no.” My voice is unsteady. Unconvincing. “But I have a confession to make.”
The burly detective’s brows lift.
“I suffer from night terrors, sir.”
He cocks his head, his expression perplexed.
“Ever since I was a child, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve had horrible recurring nightmares that have awoken me.”
“About what?”
“Mostly about babies. Being thrown from a car. Getting chopped up. The latest about a baby in flames... burning to death. It’s possible the terrifying sounds and voices I heard were just nightmares. Sometimes I have difficulty discerning what’s imagined or real.”
“Are you saying that there’s a possibility that John Reed wasn’t in your house those times you thought?”
I shrug. Feeling a little deflated. A little glum. “Detective, it’s a possibility.”
A pensive look crosses his face. Then, “Mancuso, no more questions.” And he pauses the recorder.
At that very moment, a familiar, repetitive click-clack enters the room. My eyes flit in their direction as do both Detective Billings’s and Lieutenant Mancuso’s.
Ms. Fairfax. Tall and erect in her gray power suit. I’m beginning to think she sleeps in it.
“Well, Mr. Billings, are we done here?” She steeples her bony fingers in front of her as though she’s praying this night will be over. “It’s going on midnight.”
He narrows his eyes at her. “It’s Detective Billings, and yes, I’m done with Miss Deyre’s interrogation. And Mr. Rochester’s.”
The imperious woman cracks a rare half smile. “Good. I’ll show you and your partner to the door and ask Grace Poole to clean up the mess you’ve made.” A scowl erases the smile as she eyes the coffee table with its scattered crumbs, gum wrappers, and soda cans.
Billings holds her in his gaze. “Actually, I’ve only just begun. I will need to question you, Mrs. Rochester, and Grace. Take a seat,Alice.”The condescending way he says her name matches hers. Tit for tat.
Ms. Fairfax looks taken aback. “There’s nothing to talk about. I hope you’ll be arresting one or both of them for manslaughter.”
“Actually, as far as I can tell, these two youngsters are innocent. Miss Deyre was almost brutally murdered and Mr. Rochester came to her rescue and stabbed Mr. Reed in self-defense. I’d like to talk to you. Perhaps you can shed more light on Mr. Reed.”
“I have nothing to add. I’ve honestly never met him”—she shrugs—“and guess I never will have the pleasure—as Grace handled letting him onto the grounds and making sure he was paid.”