One Foot in the Grape by Carlene O'Neil Page B

I thought at this point the police would be looking into that.”
    â€œThey are, but I have some thoughts on it and I’d really like to get your input.” For results, when I can’t think of a lie, flattery runs a close second.
    â€œUh, do you mind if we sit down over there?”
    I didn’t mind. Stephen had turned milky pale and was sweating. Better to sit down now than scoop him up after he swooned at my feet. We sat on the bench around the fireplace, which was burning low and steady, just enough to take the chill out of the cool night air. Not that Stephen was cold. He immediately removed his jacket and placed it between us on the bench.
    â€œSo, Stephen, tell me about Chantal and Todd.”
    My directness appeared to catch him off guard.
    â€œHum, I don’t think . . . Why do you . . .”
    I was out of patience. “Come on. Spit it out.”
    â€œWell, I’m not sure what to tell you. Since you’ve brought it up, I guess you’ve heard Chantal was interested in Todd.” He wiped his forehead.
    â€œYes, and I also know he rejected her. That must have been quite a shock for someone like Chantal. I’m sure she isn’t used to being rejected.”
    Stephen eyes grew wide. “You can’t possibly think Chantal had anything to do with last night. Chantal wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
    â€œIt isn’t always easy to know what people will do when they’re upset. I heard you weren’t very happy either. Didn’t like the hired help rejecting your favorite sister, did you?”
    â€œThat’s crazy.” He wiped his brow.
    Boy, was he sweating
.
“Is it? From what I saw last night, Chantal’s certainly drinking again. Was she more upset about Todd than you might know? It wouldn’t be the first time a broken heart was motive enough to kill.”
    I didn’t like using Chantal’s problems as an inducement to get to Stephen. It felt rotten, but I wasn’t here to win a popularity contest. I was no expert on looking into murders, but I was a first-class information-getter. You take a deep breath, find the soft spot in people, then press.
    Stephen took a ragged breath. “I’m telling you, Chantal wouldn’t hurt anyone. Anyone but herself, that is. She didn’t have anything to do with last night.”
    â€œHow can you be so sure? You said you saw Chantal go into the breakfast room and then you and Veronica went upstairs.”
    â€œYes. But while Veronica was taking her bath, I went back down to see how Chantal was.”
    â€œHow come you didn’t say that last night?”
    â€œVeronica thinks I protect Chantal too much.”
    â€œDo you?”
    Stephen looked away. “Sometimes.”
    â€œSo, what happened when you came back downstairs?”
    â€œI wanted to stop her from drinking any more than she already had. She was at the table, crying. I helped her up the stairs and into her room. Then I went back to the west wing. Veronica didn’t even know I was gone.”
    â€œBut Marvin said he saw Veronica in the kitchen. She said she made tea.”
    â€œShe made it before that, while I took my shower.”
    Inwardly I groaned. Chantal would have had time to go out the door of the breakfast room, meet Todd, kill him and get back before Stephen returned downstairs. Veronica would have had time before she came up, when Stephen was in the shower. Finally, if Veronica’s baths were anything like mine, Stephen had easily had as long as he needed to kill Todd and return to help Chantal up the stairs.
    Did Todd have a prearranged meeting with someone at the tanks? Why then? Did he hear something, or follow someone? This wasn’t getting me anywhere. “While you were downstairs, did anyone else see you?”
    â€œI don’t know. I was only concerned with getting Chantal to her room before Antonia saw what a mess she was.”
    â€œI take it your