I gulped. “I didn’t do it.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it quickly. He drew me close and I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Of course you didn’t do it. For heaven’s sake. I didn’t for one minute think you were responsible.”

“But I found her,” I whispered. “And somebody’s going to connect her death to Abraham’s and, you know, what happened in Scotland. They’ll just assume I had something to do with it.”

He rubbed my back in a soothing, circular motion. “They’ll answer to me if they do.”

“Stone?”

Derek whipped around. “What is it?”

Gunther’s face was pale. “Did you hear? Layla. My God, she’s dead.”

“Yes, I’ve just been told.”

Gunther’s Austrian accent seemed to grow thicker as he became more agitated. “Is this some kind of joke?”

I took a small step away from Derek. “No, it’s not a joke.”

Gunther’s gaze homed in on me. “Who are you? What happened? A heart attack? Did she choke?”

I looked at Derek, then back at Gunther. “She was murdered.”

“Commander Stone?” Inspector Jaglom approached. “I thought that was you. Welcome back to the States.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Derek said, shaking the man’s hand. They had worked together during Abraham’s murder investigation. The first time I’d heard Jaglom greet Derek by the title of Commander, I realized the guy was actually a former commander in the Royal Navy. Before that, I was pretty sure he was a killer. Of course, he was convinced I was, too. Ah, the memories.

Derek continued, “Inspector, let me introduce you to Gunther Schnaubel.”

There were somber murmurs of greeting; then Gunther said, “Inspector, I demand to know what happened here.”

“That’s what we intend to find out, Mr. Schnaubel.”

Gunther rubbed tight knuckles across his jawline. “This is unacceptable. I spoke to Layla a mere hour ago. She sounded fine. We were to meet here and discuss certain arrangements.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Schnaubel,” Jaglom said, studying the Austrian carefully as he pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket. “What sort of arrangements were you planning to talk about with the deceased?”

Gunther licked his lips. He had the grace to look flustered, as if he was just now realizing how big a bull’s-eye he’d painted on himself.

I cleared my throat. “Inspector, Mr. Schnaubel is one of the honored guests Ms. Fontaine invited to the book festival running these next two weeks. He’s a world-renowned artist and he’s teaching several classes as well as donating some important pieces to the silent auction.”

Gunther looked pleased by my words.

“I see,” Jaglom said, as he wrote in his notepad. “What sort of artist are you, Mr. Schnaubel?”

“What does that matter?” Gunther said, angry now and posing with his fist on his hip and his nose in the air, as though he expected some underling to clean up the mess that was causing havoc in his well-ordered life.

“Let’s talk some more in here, Mr. Schnaubel,” Jaglom said, pointing down the hall to one of the rooms the police were using.

“I have nothing else to say,” he said, his lips in a tight pout. Could he be more of a diva?

Derek leaned closer to Jaglom. “Inspector, could I have a word, please?”

“Certainly.”

The two men walked slowly as they talked, down the ramp to the gallery, then up another ramp and into the east hall. What were they discussing? I wondered. What did Derek know that I didn’t and how soon could I find out? And meanwhile, what was I supposed to do?

Gunther eyed me with suspicion but said nothing.

“I love your work,” I said lamely.

He raised one imperious eyebrow. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Okay, enough small talk. I should’ve been nicer to him since he was a world-renowned artist and a guest here at BABA, but all the niceness had been drained out of me. I excused myself and walked away, wondering when this nightmare would be over.

Chapter 9

“You still haven’t slept with the man?”

“Shh,” I said in a frantic whisper. “I’d rather not broadcast it to the world.”

“I don’t blame you,” Robin said in a loud whisper, as she arranged three kinds of cheese and crackers on a tray. “I’d be embarrassed, too.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” I hissed, then had to take a breath to calm down. I wasn’t embarrassed, really. Just horribly disappointed that last night had been such a bust.

I’m not saying we would’ve ended up in bed together, but we didn’t even go out. No dinner, no drinks, no nothing. It was a sad waste of a perfectly great dress and sexy shoes.

The whole evening had been consumed by Layla and the murder investigation. Even dead, the woman was ruining my life. By the time I got home, alone, I was exhausted. And once again, Layla had taken center stage. I winced at the unkind thought and waved it away. It was spiteful and stupid, and probably counted as another black mark on my karma scorecard. I just hoped the time I spent protecting the crime scene from the likes of the peculiar Tom Hardesty and the shrieking Naomi would weigh in my favor.

The police had questioned everyone. Gunther had been so flipped out after his interview with Inspector Jaglom, or his “grilling with the KGB,” as Gunther so dramatically put it, that Derek and all of his men had to babysit him the rest of the night. Who knew a big guy like that could be such a little girl?

“So what happened?” Robin persisted.

“Nothing,” I snapped, then took a calming breath and gave her the highlights: Derek’s demanding client, a few screwy students and staff, murders, attacks, police all over the place.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess it’ll happen when it’s meant to.”

“Now you sound like my mother,” I said, smiling reluctantly.

“No, your mom would channel Romlar X, who would advise that the precise optimal moment for mating must be analyzed vis-à-vis your cosmic destiny.” She smirked as she unscrewed the top off a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.

“Oh, dear God, you’re right.”

Robin and I were closer than two sisters, so she knew when I was upset or in trouble. I first met her when we were eight years old. My parents had moved my two brothers and three sisters and me up to the wilds of Sonoma County, to live on land they’d purchased with the other members of the Fellowship for Spiritual Enlightenment and Higher Artistic Consciousness. The first person I noticed when I stepped out of my parents’ Volkswagen bus was Robin Tully, a short, fierce, dark-haired girl who clutched a baldheaded Barbie in her tight little fist. We clicked from day one.

Robin’s mother was always traveling, searching for the miraculous all over the world. So Robin lived with us most of the time. That was fine with me.

Robin looked up from opening the second bottle of wine, a hearty Malbec my father had discovered and given to me to try. “So is Derek still as hot as ever?”

I laughed. “Does the sun still set in the west?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she said, fanning herself.

“Brooklyn, pizza is here,” Vinnie trilled from the other room.

“Let the party begin,” Robin said, and carried out the tray of goodies. I followed close behind with wineglasses and two bottles of wine.

As I set everything on the coffee table, I was happy to hear Suzie and Vinnie regaling Alice with horror stories of their chain-saw competitions. My friends and I had all agreed ahead of time not to bring up the subject of Layla. It would just upset Alice.

“It sounds so dangerous,” Alice said, reaching for the white wine. “Chain saws are scary.”

“It’s nothing,” Suzie said.

Vinnie beamed. “My Suzie is macho to the core.”

Suzie rolled up one sleeve and popped her biceps.

“Whoa,” Alice said, wide-eyed, and we all laughed.

Robin grabbed a cracker. “You guys should show Alice your work later on. It’s impressive.”