"Might also explain why you got passed over for that promotion," I said.
Gabriel's look of mild reproach said I didn't need to bring that into it.
"Do you drive a red Maserati, Ms. Jones?" Fahy asked. "One of my dad's old cars, yes."
"Do you know what was seen parked on the street out front earlier this evening? After Ms. Walsh checked in?"
"Let me guess...a red Maserati? What time was that?"
She checked her notes. "Seven p.m."
"At which time I was an hour outside the city, picking up dinner with Gabriel. I'll give you the details. The guy at the restaurant will remember us--he recognized me from newspaper photos and said he never thought my parents were guilty."
"A Maserati is not terribly rare in a city the size of Chicago," Gabriel said. "And red must be the most common color. You have a license number, I'm sure?"
Her silence said she didn't.
"If that's all..." Gabriel said.
"This stinks, Walsh. It really stinks."
"I would agree, and I believe Olivia is correct that I am about to be the victim of extortion. I'll expect to have the full support of the CPD in countering this attack."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The manager, understandably eager not to let guests know they had a potential murder scene, didn't object when Gabriel said we wanted to speak to him. He scooted us into an office and answered everything we asked. Then he produced the employee who'd checked Seanna in, and she gave enough detail to confirm our suspicion on who'd been responsible for that. Next the manager brought the man Seanna picked up in the bar, w
ho'd been told by the police not to leave and was anxiously awaiting the go-ahead to escape. If he spoke to us because he mistakenly thought we could grant his reprieve, that was hardly our fault.
As we left the hotel, Lloergan appeared and fell in at my side. Our first stop was the presumed point of egress: the fourth-floor window.
Despite what I'd said to Detective Fahy, we weren't absolutely convinced this was a setup. It seemed likely. The scheme was classic Seanna--clever enough, but overly complicated. Yet we couldn't rule out the possibility she had been murdered. There was certainly no shortage of suspects. I was only glad Gabriel and I had been an hour's drive up the lake.
We found blood below the window. It was a small pool, as if the person climbed down to the second floor and then hung off the balcony before dropping to the ground. A partial shoe print marred the edge. I took a photo of the imprint, but there wasn't enough to identify the shoe size.
The blood dripped for a few yards south, headed into an alley, and then stopped, as if the person had paused to bind the wound. We were examining the blood trail when Lloergan gave a jowl-shuddering sigh.
"Getting bored, girl?" I said. "You can go wander if you like."
Her look oozed reproach, and she glanced to the side just as two figures rounded the corner. It was the dryads from the abandoned amusement park.
"Blood!" the boy said.
"A clue!" the girl said, jogging over to us.
"Wrong crime," I said.
"You have more than one?" she said. "That's hardly fair. You ought to share."
"They are," he said. "They're sharing with us. Even if they don't want to."
"Can we switch mysteries?" she asked. "Please?"
Lloergan sighed again and lowered herself to the ground, as if to wait out what was sure to be a long conversation.
"How did you find us?" I asked.
The girl lifted a brow in what was probably meant to be a crafty look, but she managed it as well as a three-year-old trying to be mysterious. "We have our ways."