Free Murder Actually by Stephanie McCarthy

from the Hudson.
    Sergeant Jack was waiting and had already ordered me a glass of white wine (points, by the way, for calling Julia and finding out what I liked to drink; don’t think she didn’t tell me about that), and presented me with a single rose. I was touched by the gesture and realized I hadn’t been on a date for a long time.
    The conversation didn’t sparkle at first, but after a few glasses of something that hadn’t come from a box, I started to warm to the occasion. Since I had no real interest in Jack, I was able to choose my food without consideration for either my breath or my waistline and ordered the Caesar salad and duck confit. I fully intended to get the crème Brule for dessert and eat every mouthful. I figured if I kept my calorie intake to around three hundred a day for the next week I’d break even by Saturday. As I pictured the delights of food and drink ahead I decided that pseudo-dates were the way to go.
    â€œWhat can you tell me about Jasper Ware?” I leaned towards the candle in the middle of the table as Sergeant Jack reached over to refill my glass.
    â€œLet’s not talk about work,” he said huskily.
    Yikes. This could be tricky.
    â€œOh,” I’m ashamed to say I stuck my lower lip out in a little pout, “I’m so disappointed. The case sounds just fascinating.” I leaned towards him and batted my lashes. “You know, Jack,” I cooed. “I’m thinking about making my next hero a cop like you.”
    That did it.
    He sat back in his chair and picked up his glass. “Oh, well, if you have your heart set on hearing about it.”
    Sergeant Jack was a very thorough officer. I learned that Jasper Ware spent the morning of his death in his studio from seven in the morning until nearly ten. He left around eleven and returned at four. He went back to the studio and dictated a few letters to Violet Ambler and then called his publisher around four-thirty. He had a meal prepared by his housekeeper, Mrs. Jennings, at five-fifteen and left for Inkwell Books at five forty-five.
    I sat back in my chair and took another sip of wine. “What was he doing from eleven to four?”
    Sergeant Jack shook his head. “No one knows for sure.”
“Have you been able to trace the dagger?”
    Jack’s eyes gleamed. “Did I mention that Alex Ware collects antique weaponry?”
    â€œDoes he? That’s interesting.”
    Jack nodded. “We thought so, but we’re also questioning the owner of Thrubwell Antiques. Violet worked there part-time..”
    â€œWere there any fingerprints on the dagger?”
    â€œNo. It was wiped clean.”
    â€œHow about the scarf?”
    â€œWe’re still working on it. So far we have Violet’s prints…and Nora Ware’s.”
    I took another sip of wine. “Do you know when Violet was killed?”
    â€œDoctor Lewis puts the time of death somewhere between nine and twelve. We think she was strangled in the studio and her body dragged into the bushes, presumably to delay discovery.”
    Sergeant Jack’s cell phone rang from his jacket pocket. He took it out and looked annoyed. “Damn. Sorry, it’s work, I gotta take this.”
    I nodded and unashamedly listened to his conversation.
    â€œThey did? When? Okay, I’ll be right there,” he hung up and smiled at me ruefully. “Can I have a rain check for the second half of our date, Elspeth?”
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œSomeone tried to break into Jasper Ware’s studio. I have to go over and take a look.”
    I thought fast.“How about I go with you?”
    He was about to protest and I held up my hand. “After you’re done we can go back to my place for a nightcap.”
    I watched the inner struggle between professionalism and the possibility of sex. Sex won! It always does. That’s why my books sell.
    â€œLet’s go,” he