Page 88 of Murder on the Page

She nodded. “She wanted me to leave him.”

“Did she learn about the photos, or did you tell her?”

Katrina fell silent.

“You were heard saying to her, ‘If anyone finds out, I’ll know it was you who told them,’ which, I’m guessing, meant Upton would keep quiet about the photos if you paid him off. Except he reneged on your deal, didn’t he? He came around last night wanting more money.”

“No, he . . .” Katrina pulled her hair free of the decorative clasp holding her curls off her face. “Look, Marigold’s heart was in the right place. She wanted to mother me, like she did everyone else, but she was making me feel bad about what I was doing.”

If Katrina was a willing participant in the photos, it was none of Marigold’s business. Why would she butt in? Katrina wasn’t her daughter or even a relative.

Katrina went on, “I have low-enough self-esteem without someone holding up a mirror.”

After the breakup with my fiancé, my ego suffered. Therapyand a few self-help books prodded me into getting my head together. One book advised me to chant: “I am a good person. I am worthy. I don’t need a man to love me to bolster my self-esteem.” I chanted for three months until I convinced myself I was not only worthy, I was great.

Katrina refastened her hair in the clasp. “I know Wallis is the one who blabbed to you, as well as to that hunky Detective Armstrong. He came in earlier today and asked me my whereabouts on Saturday morning.”

“He did?” My parting question outside Blessed Bean must have spurred Zach to immediate action. So, why had he returned now?

“I informed him I was with a friend. We spent Friday night and into the next morning bad-mouthing our exes, but my friend is out of town and can’t be reached. She’s on a three-week unplugged camping trip. When she gets back, she’ll touch base with him.”

The friend thing sounded iffy, but there was no way to disprove it.

I wished Katrina well, said I hoped she and Upton could work things out to her satisfaction, and went inside. To my surprise, Zach and Bates were questioning the owner, Oly Olsen. He was a sixty-something bear of a man with thinning hair, rosy cheeks, and a nose that had withstood a pounding or two.

Zach caught sight of me, held up a hand for Oly to sit tight, and waved me over. “I wanted to tell you that Piper Lowry reached out to me.” His voice was monotone. His gaze official, not warm. “I am able to help her because my mother, a do-gooder by nature, knows lots of folks willing to assist, so thanks for getting me involved.”

“You bet. And did the student confirm her alibi?”

“He did.”

“That’s great.” I smiled, but he didn’t return the gesture. “I heard you spoke with Katrina Carlson, too.”

Oly’s ears perked up. “Why did you need to speak to my best bartender, Detective?”

Zach said, “She was a person of interest in the Marigold Markel murder, but she’s cleared.”

Is she?I wanted to ask, but kept mute. I certainly didn’t want to receive a chillier reception from Zach than the one I was getting. If he accepted her unsubstantiated alibi, then I would, too.

“Good to know,” Oly said. “That means my job for Marigold is done.”

“What job was that, sir?” Zach asked.

“Marigold wanted to hire me. Just this morning, I received a delayed email from her. It was weird getting it after, you know, she died, but the Internet . . .” His laugh was gravelly and gruff. “It’s amazing it works at all.”

“What did she ask you to do?” Zach pressed.

“She wanted me to dig into Katrina’s problem and sort out her pride.”

‘ ”Sort out her pride,’ ” Zach repeated, and gazed at me as if I had the answer.

I shrugged, clueless.

“That was the message,” Oly said. “ ‘Sort out her pride.’ I figured it was why she’d asked if I’d read that book, Allie.Like I told you, I did. When my girls were in high school, me and my wife read everything they did. In the story, Elizabeth Bennet is clever and can talk circles around anyone, but her hasty judgment—her pride—leads her astray. I suppose Katrina is much like Elizabeth. But if she is no longer a suspect, and I am happy to hear she is not, then my investigation is no longer necessary.”

No longer curious why Zach and Bates had come to see Oly, I bid the detectives and Oly good night, then I returned to Tegan and filled her in on the conversation about the delayed email from her aunt.

“ ‘Sort out her pride?’ ” Tegan raised an eyebrow.

---