She started to leave and then, gracious as always, said, “Bobby, there’s spiced tea in the teapot and homemade cookies. Can I get you a mug?”

He held up a hand. “I’m tempted, Frankie, but I’m trying not to put on my usual Christmas fifteen pounds. I already got a head start with what I ate for Thanksgiving.”

She smiled and left the room.

“Mind if I take a seat?” he asked.

“Of course not,” I said as he sat across from me. “What’s going on?”

“There’s news,” he said. “A new development. When B. J. Hunt was preparing Prescott’s body for the funeral, he noticed some bruises that didn’t look consistent with that fall Prescott took, so he asked me to come by and take a look. We’re opening a new investigation into the death of Prescott Avery. He didn’t fall and hit his head. Someone struck him and the blow killed him, although Win gets the last word on what exactly did happen.”

I felt the air leave the room. “What are you saying? That Prescott was murdered? In his own home?”

He nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Eight

Murder. I already had an idea who might have been downstairs yesterday while Prescott and I were talking together in his wine cellar. Quinn and I had discussed the subject at length.

Victoria Barkley, Clayton’s almost-fiancée.

If I said something to Bobby, she would zoom to the top spot on his list of suspects. But if she were a legitimate suspect, he needed to know. If I said nothing, it was obstructing a murder investigation.

“I can already tell by the look on your face that you’re not surprised, Lucie,” Bobby said. “What do you know?”

If any other detective except Bobby had been sitting here, he or she wouldn’t have made that statement. But Bobby and I knew each other practically as well as brother and sister and there was no conning him.

I told him about noticing the scent of a perfume I didn’t recognize in the elevator after I left Prescott. And then realizing it belonged to Victoria as Quinn and I said good-bye last night.

“She might have gone upstairs to use the bathroom or get something in her bedroom, and then sent the elevator back to the basement as a courtesy because she knew Prescott was down there.” I felt as if I were apologizing. “All I know is that when I stepped inside, there was a distinct scent of a perfume that I couldn’t identify. And when Quinn and I said good-bye to Victoria yesterday, I recognized her perfume as the one I smelled in the elevator. So I asked her about it. She said it was new and that she was wearing it for the first time. It’s called Je Ne Regrette Rien. French for ‘I regret nothing.’”