You assumed incorrectly, Detective Bray. My duties are numerous on this Sunday morning. Keeping Otis Estate running is much like operating an unconventional business. Jasper has a new personal chef who I need to check in on. The gardening staff is in an uproar over the trampling of several rose bushes last night. We are trying to resolve a mold issue in one residential wing of West House. And someone appears to have released one of the goats from the petting zoo and dressed another in a tube top. So Ill have to take my leave of you. But rest assured, I will collect you when its time to chat with Jasper. Be well.

She was gone before anyone could reply. Matilda stepped forward.

Would you like to speak to the guests now? she asked.

Jessie, Karen, and Purcell shared an exasperated look.

Sure, Karen finally relented.

Ernie, Jessie said as they followed Matilda. I know what Salter said, but have whoevers collecting the video footage from last night check the residence just in case.

He nodded and pulled out his phone to text someone. She was tempted to see if hed really made the request but decided she had to give the guy some autonomy, even if she was inclined to believe Karens assertion that hed be more of a hindrance than a help.

As they made their way to the pool, where the assembled guests waited, Jessie could have sworn she saw a goat trotting behind a distant bush.

CHAPTER SIX

The guests were mostly useless.

Few had much recollection of where they were at any point during the night.

Can you tell me where it is? one still-drunk girl wondered when Jessie asked if shed ever been in Jaspers personal wing. Id love to check it out.

Jaspers awesome, a swarthy guy smoking a clove cigarette told them. Coolest dude ever.

Thats not what I asked, Karen reminded him. I want to know if youve been to his personal wing?

He has a personal wing? Thats so cool!

They gave up on him and tried to question a group of ultra-fit twenty-something girls in yoga pants who were sipping mimosas at a patio table. None of them knew about the personal wing but several happily name-dropped when asked if they could list any attendees.

I got Rance Jensen to sign my boob, one offered.

Me too, another squealed.

The lead singer of that Hubert Humphrey band or whatever its called dedicated a song to me when they were playing that acoustic set by the fire pit, said a third.

Jessie suddenly felt old. Shed never even heard of the band. She was also exhausted. After two hours of interviewing mostly still-drunk partiers, she was actually glad when Nancy Salter reappeared at precisely 10:20 to collect them.