Read an Excerpt
Tagged for MurderChapter One
The woman's screams could be heard all over the exhibit hall. Short, staccato bursts, like an annoying car alarm, silenced those still wandering the aisles of the Carmel Antiques Show.
It was Sunday, the last day of the show, near closing time. Savvy bargain hunters hoping to haggle with the weary dealers lingered in the aisles. They knew one less item to pack was worth discounting a few bucks.
Molly Doyle nearly dropped the pair of Anglo-Irish cut-glass candlesticks when she heard the screams. Molly and a woman offering a hundred dollars less for the candlesticks ran into the aisle. "Hang onto these. I'll see what happened," Molly said as she shoved the candlesticks into the woman's hands.
Running up the aisle, she saw the screaming woman standing in front of Trudy Collins's space. Her heart stopped when she saw Trudy facedown on the Louis IV repro desk she used for sales. Quickly at her side, Molly touched her shoulder and called out, "Trudy! What's wrong?" Not getting a response, she gently jostled her shoulder. "Trudy?" Her hands turned clammy, and she turned to the screaming woman, who was now hyperventilating. "Get some help! I think she's -- oh, God! I don't know -- just get some help!"
When the woman didn't move, and a small crowd began to gather, Molly searched the faces and was relieved to see the young man who was there to help her pack up after the show. "Robbie! Call 911 and find Randall! He's probably in the cafeteria with Lucero!"
Molly tried once again to rouse Trudy. Gently lifting her off the desk, she nearly fainted when she saw Trudy's face, the cheeks and mouth badly cut and seeping blood.
"Oh, my God!"
Ignoring the startled gasps from the aisle, Molly grabbed Trudy's wrist to check for a pulse. Her hands began to shake when she realized Trudy was dead.
Trying to stay calm, she gently picked up Trudy's dangling arms and was about to place them on the desk when she saw what had caused the cuts on her face. Broken shards of porcelain, as sharp as glass, lay on the desk. When Trudy's head fell forward, she'd apparently fallen on a group of Sèvres porcelain figurines. Scattered among them were what appeared to be oversized sales tags, with magazine cutouts of baroque furniture, porcelain figurines, marble statues, and exotic jewelry. A hole had been punched in the corner of each tag, with a red string attached. More bizarre, a red circle was drawn around each photo, with a red slash across the price.
Carmel's chief of police, Kenneth Randall, had little problem making his way through the crowd gathered in the aisle. Well over six feet, his presence was usually felt before it was noticed. On his heels was Dan Lucero, the district attorney for Monterey County. Returning from a fund-raising banquet for handicapped children, they'd promised to stop by the show to say hello to Molly.
Lucero took one look at Trudy Collins and shook his head. "I'll move these people out of the way."
Randall, at Trudy's side, didn't need to examine her. He'd seen enough in his long career to know she was dead. Nodding to Lucero, he said, "Step back, folks. We need room for the paramedics." Turning to Molly, he asked, "What happened?"
"I don't know. I heard screams, looked in the aisle, and saw that woman in the red leather jacket screaming her head off." Clutching his arm, Molly was near tears. "Poor Trudy! I can't believe this!"
"Okay, okay, I know. This isn't good. Did you touch anything?"
"Her face is so ... "
"Yeah, looks bad. You didn't answer me, did you touch anything?"
"No. Well, I mean, I just lifted her off the table. I tried to get a pulse."
Randall turned his back to the crowd of onlookers and gave Molly a hard look. "Why the hell did you touch her?"
Stunned by his shortness, Molly said, "I had to do something! I didn't know if she was choking, or having a heart attack, or -- or -- "
"Okay, simmer down. Just don't go touching dead people anymore. Who helped you?"
Gritting her teeth, Molly said, "No one. I didn't know she was already dead."
Gesturing to Lucero and the security guard now at his side, Randall said, "I want everyone in the cafeteria. Tell them we'll only keep them for a short time. Tell them it's standard procedure, so nobody gets antsy."
"Oh, Lord! What happened? Trudy?"
Molly and Randall turned to see a shaken elderly woman.
Randall headed her off. "Hold up, Bitsy. Don't come in here." Turning her away, he gently said, "You can't help her now. She's gone."
"Gone?" Looking at Molly, a puzzled frown filled Bitsy Morgan's face. "But we just spoke ... just a little while ago. We were going to have drinks with Oliver after she packed up."
Wrapping an arm around her, Molly said, "Oh, Bitsy, I'm so sorry."
"It was her heart, wasn't it?" Bitsy sighed. "She had a bum ticker. I told her time and time again to cut down on the booze!"
Trembling, and angry with Randall for being short with her, Molly said to Bitsy, "I know what a shock this is, but it's best if we get out of the way."
"Here, let me take her." Molly turned around to see Oliver Townsend. The dapper gentleman was dressed in tweed, his paisley ascot slightly askew. He embraced Bitsy, who was sobbing now. "There, there, my dear." Looking over her head, he said to Molly, "I'll take her down to your space. We'll wait there."
Just ahead of the paramedics, Lucero said, "Everyone is in the cafeteria and we've sealed the exits."
"That's probably not necessary," Randall replied. "Looks like a heart attack. But, okay, it's best to be cautious." Turning to the paramedics, he said, "A friend of hers said she had a bad heart. Do your thing, then tell the coroner I'll get with him tomorrow."
Tagged for Murder. Copyright © by Elaine Flinn. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
