her suddenly lurching heart. Tidwell’s words hadn’t just sent shock waves through her, they were the harsh, final truth she truly wasn’t mentally prepared for.
Tidwell leaned forward and spoke rapidly to her. “Do you want to hear this? Because it’s nasty and it’s rough. And if you’re going to go allbleary-eyed and slip into a crying jag, I’m not uttering another word.”
Theodosia squared her shoulders and pulled herself together. “I want to hear this, I really do.” She folded her hands in her lap and clenched them tightly, preparing for the worst. For the raw, unadulterated truth.
“All right, then,” said Tidwell. He plucked a cream scone from the basket and set it on his plate. “You were quite correct last evening,” he told her. “Mr. Scully’s death does appear to be a homicide after all.”
Theodosia dug her nails into the palms of her hands sohard, they madecrescent-shaped indentations. “I knew it,” she choked out.
“This morning,” said Tidwell, “one of the marine biologists discovered an aquascaping tool lying at the bottom of the Ocean Wall exhibit.”
“An aquascaping tool,” Theodosia repeated. “What’s… ?”
“An implement not nearly as pleasant as it sounds,” said Tidwell. He took his butter knife and split his scone lengthwise. “Basicallythirty-two-inch-long surgical steel scissors with a serrated blade. Of the type medical professionals refer to as a Metzenbaum. Only much larger. Obviously.”
“Dear Lord,” said Theodosia. This was even worse than she’d feared.
“The aquarium people fished it out and one of my men carted it over to the ME’s office.” Tidwell reached over and swooped up an enormous dollop of raspberry jam, then slathered it heavily onto his scone.
“And there was a match,” Theodosia said, in a dull voice. “The blades being consistent with the injuries on Parker’s hands.”
“Yes,” said Tidwell. “As you so eloquently put it, there was a match.”
Theodosia grimaced. “I knew it.”
Tidwell took a large bite and did an exaggerated eye roll. “There’s more,” he said as he chewed.
“What?”
“A note was found in Mr. Scully’s pocket. A partially decomposed note.” He fluttered sticky fingers. “I say
decomposed
only because it was written on paper and subsequently submerged in water.”
“What did the note say?” Theodosia pounced on his words. “Was anything readable?”
Tidwell set down what was left of his scone and reached for a file folder that lay at his elbow. He dug in, pulled out asheet of paper, then slid it across the table. “This is a copy of what was recovered.”
Theodosia stared at the sheet of paper. It was ablack-and-white laser print. Outputted, no doubt, from a digital photo taken at the police lab. What she saw was a ragged, partially decomposed typed note. Most of the words were missing; the ones still readable were badly smudged. But she could just make out the faint message.
Please meet me
easily explain my
“Meet me where?” asked Theodosia.
“I have to assume it was somewhere near the top of that enormous fish tank,” said Tidwell. He picked up his scone and resumed nibbling.
“They were giving tours last night,” said Theodosia, half closing her eyes, thinking back. “For thebig-buck donors. The…what would you call it…behind-the-scenes tour.”
“Unfortunate,” said Tidwell.
“Easily explain what?” Theodosia asked, focusing again on the printout of the tattered note.
“No idea,” said Tidwell.
“It sounds as if Parker had questioned something,” said Theodosia. “And the murderer…we have to assume this note was written by the murderer…wanted to explain himself.”
“Or herself,” said Tidwell.
“So there’s a distinct possibility that Parker was lured to his death,” said Theodosia.
“A small possibility,” Tidwell allowed.
“Have you spoken with Chef Toby?” she asked.
“Only for a couple of minutes last night.”
“Did
Tidwell leaned forward and spoke rapidly to her. “Do you want to hear this? Because it’s nasty and it’s rough. And if you’re going to go allbleary-eyed and slip into a crying jag, I’m not uttering another word.”
Theodosia squared her shoulders and pulled herself together. “I want to hear this, I really do.” She folded her hands in her lap and clenched them tightly, preparing for the worst. For the raw, unadulterated truth.
“All right, then,” said Tidwell. He plucked a cream scone from the basket and set it on his plate. “You were quite correct last evening,” he told her. “Mr. Scully’s death does appear to be a homicide after all.”
Theodosia dug her nails into the palms of her hands sohard, they madecrescent-shaped indentations. “I knew it,” she choked out.
“This morning,” said Tidwell, “one of the marine biologists discovered an aquascaping tool lying at the bottom of the Ocean Wall exhibit.”
“An aquascaping tool,” Theodosia repeated. “What’s… ?”
“An implement not nearly as pleasant as it sounds,” said Tidwell. He took his butter knife and split his scone lengthwise. “Basicallythirty-two-inch-long surgical steel scissors with a serrated blade. Of the type medical professionals refer to as a Metzenbaum. Only much larger. Obviously.”
“Dear Lord,” said Theodosia. This was even worse than she’d feared.
“The aquarium people fished it out and one of my men carted it over to the ME’s office.” Tidwell reached over and swooped up an enormous dollop of raspberry jam, then slathered it heavily onto his scone.
“And there was a match,” Theodosia said, in a dull voice. “The blades being consistent with the injuries on Parker’s hands.”
“Yes,” said Tidwell. “As you so eloquently put it, there was a match.”
Theodosia grimaced. “I knew it.”
Tidwell took a large bite and did an exaggerated eye roll. “There’s more,” he said as he chewed.
“What?”
“A note was found in Mr. Scully’s pocket. A partially decomposed note.” He fluttered sticky fingers. “I say
decomposed
only because it was written on paper and subsequently submerged in water.”
“What did the note say?” Theodosia pounced on his words. “Was anything readable?”
Tidwell set down what was left of his scone and reached for a file folder that lay at his elbow. He dug in, pulled out asheet of paper, then slid it across the table. “This is a copy of what was recovered.”
Theodosia stared at the sheet of paper. It was ablack-and-white laser print. Outputted, no doubt, from a digital photo taken at the police lab. What she saw was a ragged, partially decomposed typed note. Most of the words were missing; the ones still readable were badly smudged. But she could just make out the faint message.
Please meet me
easily explain my
“Meet me where?” asked Theodosia.
“I have to assume it was somewhere near the top of that enormous fish tank,” said Tidwell. He picked up his scone and resumed nibbling.
“They were giving tours last night,” said Theodosia, half closing her eyes, thinking back. “For thebig-buck donors. The…what would you call it…behind-the-scenes tour.”
“Unfortunate,” said Tidwell.
“Easily explain what?” Theodosia asked, focusing again on the printout of the tattered note.
“No idea,” said Tidwell.
“It sounds as if Parker had questioned something,” said Theodosia. “And the murderer…we have to assume this note was written by the murderer…wanted to explain himself.”
“Or herself,” said Tidwell.
“So there’s a distinct possibility that Parker was lured to his death,” said Theodosia.
“A small possibility,” Tidwell allowed.
“Have you spoken with Chef Toby?” she asked.
“Only for a couple of minutes last night.”
“Did
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