Murder Most Finicky by Liz Mugavero Page A

we?”
    â€œSounds lovely,” Maria said. “I’m going to go find some cannoli!”
    Everyone else chimed in with their agreement. Just as they were about to disperse, Detective Owens walked through the door. The light mood faltered again. Stan felt her stomach clench in anticipation. Now what?
    Owens smiled. “None of you look happy to see me. Sorry to interrupt,” he said to Sheldon. “I’d like one more quick session with each of you. I also have car keys to return. Thanks to all for your cooperation.”
    Stan held her breath, waiting to hear if anyone’s vehicle was being impounded and handcuffs were coming out, but Owens said nothing else.
    Sheldon’s jaw set, but he nodded curtly. “Of course, Detective. Whatever you need. Folks, please give Detective Owens your full attention. Two people just left on an errand,” he said.
    Owens scanned the group. “I’ll catch them when they return. Everyone else here? Where’s your golden boy?”
    â€œKyle? He’ll be joining us later,” Sheldon said, casual as ever.
    â€œGood. Hopefully before I leave,” Owens said. “And, Sheldon,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Do you have contact information for Pierre’s family? We aren’t having any luck tracking anyone down to notify.”
    Sheldon looked blank. “I actually don’t think I do,” he said. “I’ll have to ask my assistant, Joaquin. He’s keeper of all the records. He’s out at the moment.”
    Owens nodded, then looked over the group. “Who wants to talk first? We can meet right in your suites. I heard you have some nice accommodations.”

Chapter 13
    Maria went first, since she really wanted to get out for some cannoli time in downtown Newport. Owens came to their suite. Stan grabbed one of the investor packets off the kitchen table, headed upstairs to her room, and quietly locked the door behind her. She tucked the packet in her bag to read later and hoped Therese was fine with the couch for the rest of the weekend, because she did not want to share a room with the disagreeable young woman. She wanted a space no one else could invade. Nutty didn’t want company either. He sprawled in the center of the other bed, legs in the air, one paw covering his face. He didn’t even stir when she came in.
    She sat on the bed, taking a moment to center herself. If she were home, she’d go to the kitchen and bake if she were feeling like this—adrift, sad, anxious. Here, she’d have to share the space with virtual strangers. Any one of whom could’ve, theoretically, been involved in Pierre LaPorte’s murder. At home, she could make herself some of Izzy’s coffee or tea, put some jazz music on, and lose herself in new recipes and the feel of dough between her fingers. Instead, she had to go talk to a cop about a guy who’d gotten his throat cut. She wondered sometimes about the way her life had turned out.
    She leaned back against the pillows, intending to rest just for a minute. Next thing she knew Maria banged on the door and called her name. She’d totally fallen asleep. Jumping up, she hurried over to open the door.
    â€œI’m coming,” she said, trying to smooth her hair back into place.
    Maria stared at her. “You taking a nap?”
    â€œJust resting for a minute. He ready for me?”
    â€œYes. Be careful what you say,” she said in a stage whisper. “He’s looking to pin this on one of us.”
    Because one of “us” probably did it . Stan managed a smile and nodded. “Got it. Thanks.” She waited until Maria disappeared up to her room, then shut the door behind her and walked downstairs.
    Owens sat on a stool at the counter, notebook open. She slid onto the seat opposite him. Stan got the vibe that behind the all-business demeanor hid a good cop, one who cared. But he had to figure out who were the bad