“My husband is incredibly tight-lipped, as you know, but they’re still taking a close look at the family. Grant ended up on the short-list of suspects, so he’s taken himself off the story and our senior Metro editor is handling it. That’s why I’m here in D.C.—I’m off it as well because Bobby is the lead detective on the case.”

“Quinn and I had dinner at the Inn last night. We joined Dominique and Celia Avery,” I said. “Celia and Jack—her new fiancé—were also at the Castle on Saturday. Apparently they both have motives as well.”

Kit chugged water from her bottle. “I heard. Prescott was going to kick her out of the will if she married Jack.”

“Word gets around fast.”

“Small town.”

“So who did it?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” She crumpled her sandwich paper and stuffed it in the deli bag. “They all have motives. And means and opportunity. If you ask me, I think there’s a good possibility that—”

“Kit. So sorry to interrupt what appears to be a private conversation, but there’s a staff meeting in my office in fifteen. I thought I’d drop by to tell you in person.” Alexandra Avery, dressed in a black turtleneck, black sweater, and black wool pants, stood behind me. Her shoulder-length blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and tied with a black ribbon. She looked so pale and tense that her bright red lipstick could have been a slash of blood across her face. She also didn’t look sorry to have interrupted anything.

She gave me a cool look. “Hello, Lucie. What brings you here?”

How long had she been standing there? We wouldn’t have seen her over the other side of the partition. How much had she overheard?

“Hi, Alex. A meeting on the Hill. I stopped by and brought lunch since I was in town,” I said. “My condolences again on your grandfather’s death.”

“Thank you. How very kind. I suppose Kit told you there’s an office pool, betting which one of us in the family killed Prescott?” She arched an eyebrow in a way that made me think of the White Witch who froze Narnia for a hundred years.

I threw Kit a shocked look. “No, she didn’t. Of course not.”

Alex swiveled her gaze to Kit. “Am I still the pool favorite, the guilty one? What are my odds? Maybe I should bet, too.”

“Alex, stop,” Kit said. “Don’t.”

“Then don’t underestimate me,” she said. “Nothing goes on around here that I don’t know about sooner or later.” She eyed both of us. “Nothing. And believe me, once this all shakes out, the troublemakers will find themselves out of jobs.”

She swept out of the cubicle. Kit and I looked at each other. Now she was the one who was as pale as chalk.