Kate felt that familiar warmth that came from walking into a house filled with the people she loved most.Allen had changed into casual clothes after work, and his hair was slightly mussed from what appeared to have been an energetic afternoon with Michael.After a day spent analyzing crime scenes and interviewing grief-stricken witnesses, there was something deeply satisfying about this domestic scene.
"How did the investigation go today?"Allen asked as he lifted Michael out of his highchair.
Kate accepted a glass of wine from Allen and settled at the kitchen table."It's complicated.And at the risk of sounding uncaring or unprofessional, it’s a very… intriguing case.”
“Intriguing,” Allen said.“Is that a professional way of sayingcool?”
“Maybe.The killer’s staged the scene to replicate details from an Agatha Christie novel, which suggests someone with literary knowledge who’s also familiar with the victim's reading habitsandher schedule."
"That narrows down the suspect pool considerably."
"In some ways, yes.In other ways, it opens up questions about motive that go beyond simple murder."Kate watched Michael toddle over to his toy box in the corner of the kitchen."I've taken on an active role in the case, by the way.I'll be working it full-time with DeMarco."
Allen paused in his dinner preparations.She thought she saw a flash of irritation for a moment, but then it disappeared."What made you decide to do that?"
"The complexity of the case, mainly.And I’ll have an opportunity tomorrow night to observe the victim's book club in action, which requires more involvement than a typical consultation."
"Tomorrow night?"Allen sat down across from Kate at the table."Didn't we plan to finalize the music selections for the reception tomorrow evening?"
Kate felt a stab of guilt.She'd completely forgotten about their appointment with the string quartet leader."I'm sorry, Allen.This observation opportunity is time-sensitive.Can we reschedule for Friday evening?"
Allen nodded, though Kate could see a flicker of disappointment in his expression."Of course.The wedding isn't going anywhere."But even as he said it, Kate could sense a change in his demeanor.
She sat down and enjoyed dinner with her family.Conversation was easy-going and not all that different from any other afternoon, but she could still feel some tension coming from Allen.And honestly, she didn’t blame him.But she had to hand it to him… he was beyond supportive.He even asked a few more questions about the case as they neared the end of the meal.
After dinner, Kate helped Allen clean up the kitchen while Michael played with his blocks in the living room.The domestic routine was soothing after the intensity of the investigation, but Kate found her mind drifting back to the case details.During Michael's bath time, she pulled out her phone and downloadedMurder on the Orient Expressto her Kindle, thinking it would be useful to refresh her memory before tomorrow night's book club meeting.
"You're reading the murder book?"Allen asked when he noticed Kate's Kindle propped against her pillow as they prepared for bed.
Kate looked up from the opening chapter."I want to be prepared.I've read this book a handful of times during the course of my life, but I could do with a refresher.The killer used specific details from this novel to stage Margaret's death, so I need to understand exactly what message they might have been trying to send."
Allen settled into bed beside her, noting the intense focus with which Kate was reading."Kate, I'm not upset about the rescheduling tomorrow, but I want to put something on your radar."
Kate set down her Kindle and turned to face him."What's that?"
"You're getting that look… the look you get when you’re about to completely lose yourself to a case.I understand why, and I'm not asking you to change anything.But I want you to be aware that when you get deeply involved in investigations, you sometimes lose track of everything else."
Kate felt that familiar tension: her profession and her personal commitments pulling in opposite directions."Am I being neglectful?Because if I am, I need to know."
"You're not being neglectful about anything yet.You're being Kate Wise, FBI agent, which is who I fell in love with."Allen reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from her face."I just want to make sure you're conscious of the balance, especially with the wedding coming up."
"I appreciate that.And I appreciate your understanding about tomorrow night."Kate leaned over and kissed him softly."This case… it’s sort of a unicorn.It’s just one of those rare mysteries that feels like something out of a movie.As grim as it may sound, it’s the kind of case that makes me remember why I love this work."
Allen smiled."Then solve it quickly so we can get back to arguing about whether we need assigned seating at the reception."
As Allen fell asleep beside her, Kate returned to Christie's masterpiece, reading it with new eyes.She was looking for clues, not just to Hercule Poirot's fictional case, but to the killer who’d used Christie's work as inspiration.
Her phone buzzed with a text from DeMarco.She almost felt guilty for checking it right away.It read: "Finished preliminary background checks on all book club members.Will run deeper social media analysis tomorrow.Also checking financial records and recent travel.
Kate typed back: "Sounds good.Let me know if you need an assist with any of it.
Kate set her phone aside and returned to her reading, already planning how she would observe the book club members tomorrow night.The killer was someone who understood both Margaret's literary preferences and her personal vulnerabilities.Tomorrow evening, there was a very good chance Kate would be sitting in the same room as that person, hearing them discuss the very novel that had inspired them to murder.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The leather-bound copy ofThe Murder of Roger Ackroydlay open on the small wooden desk, its pages yellowed with age and countless readings.He stared at the familiar words without really seeing them, his fingers absently tracing the spine of a first-editionAnd Then There Were Nonethat sat among the dozens of other novels lining the shelves of his cramped study.
The room was barely large enough for the desk, reading chair, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that dominated every wall.Stacks of paperback mysteries rose from the floor in carefully organized towers, sorted by author and publication date.Louise Penny, Tana French, Ruth Rendell, Dorothy Sayers.The masters and their modern counterparts, all represented in his personal library that had taken him thirty years to assemble.
