Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [17]
“Nothing to talk about yet,” he told her.
Marian nodded her head and backed toward the door. “I’m sure you have things to do here, Amanda. I won’t take any more of your time. I’ll see you later.”
“Thank you, Marian.” Amanda walked her to the door.
“Ms. Crosby, are you certain that no one else knew about the goblet?” Mercer asked as she returned to the counter and resumed wrapping the pottery.
“No, I am not certain. I do not know who Derek might have told. I assumed that he told no one, but I can’t be sure. I hadn’t seen him since he left for Europe. I never got to ask if he’d discussed it with anyone. You might ask Clark.”
“I already did. He wasn’t aware of anyone, either.”
“If you’re thinking someone killed Derek because they wanted the goblet, that makes no sense. For one thing, he didn’t have it. I had it. Why didn’t someone come after me?”
“Would anyone know that you had it? Maybe Derek bragged about it, and someone overheard and followed him home, not realizing that he didn’t have it in his possession. Maybe someone tried to get him to give up its whereabouts, and when he refused, that someone killed him.”
She looked at him skeptically. “Do you really believe it happened that way?”
“Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t suggest it yourself. All things considered . . .”
She smiled wearily. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what things he was considering. Or who his prime suspect was.
She reached for her phone and hit number three on her speed dial.
“Calling your lawyer, Ms. Crosby?”
“Calling my brother, Chief Mercer.” She counted the rings until someone picked up. “I’d like to speak with Detective Crosby. This is his sister. Yes, I’ll hold. . . .”
CHAPTER
FOUR
Derek England’s memorial service took place on a high bank overlooking the Delaware River one week and two days after his death. There were prayers led by a nondenominational minister and gospel music provided by a choir from a nearby church to whom Clark had offered a hefty donation to sing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” while he and Derek’s family and friends scattered handfuls of his ashes on the river below. White orchids, tossed down to float upon the surface of the water, followed the ashes as the mourners then passed into the bar set up under a striped tent to toast Derek and drink to his memory.
“This is more like a cocktail party than a funeral.” Amanda’s brother, Evan, sidled up to her.
“Exactly what Derek would have wanted,” she replied. “Oh, he would have wanted all the weeping and wailing. God knows he loved a good drama. But at the end of the day, he’d have wanted a party. Good champagne and some good hors d’oeuvres served by good-looking young men in tuxes. That was Derek’s idea of a great party.”
Evan’s eyes scanned the crowd. “I see your local police chief is here. Mercer.”
Amanda leaned a little closer to Evan. “He thinks I did it, you know.”
Evan knew. He’d paid a visit to the police department on his way through town last night. He hadn’t been very happy when he left.
“Well, you know that murders are usually committed by someone known to the victim. It is true that, statistically, the closer you are to the deceased, the more likely it is that you’re involved.” He tried to remain calm, but every time he thought about the absurdity of his sister as a murder suspect his blood pressure spiked.
“Do you think I need a lawyer?” she asked.
He hesitated. He’d seen the statement she’d voluntarily given to the police. He’d heard the voice mail she’d left on Derek’s phone. He had to admit that, even to him, it had sounded pretty bad. He wished she’d spoken to him before she’d talked to Mercer, but the damage was done. Evan hadn’t been in when she called, and so she had done what she thought was right. He knew that on paper, Amanda looked like a damned good suspect. Worse, he knew that if he was on the investigating team, he’d be doing everything he could to build the case against her.
“I think it’s a good idea. I know