And if there might be, on some unseen day ahead, something ahead to derail it all.
CHAPTER TWO
Kate pulled into the driveway of 1247 Riverside Drive and immediately understood why Director Duran had been intrigued enough to call her.Margaret Carlisle's house was the kind of place where literary murders belonged: a well-maintained colonial with mature landscaping and the sort of understated elegance that suggested the owner valued books more than flashy possessions.Crime scene tape stretched across the front porch, and Kate could see Agent DeMarco's dark sedan parked at the curb.
DeMarco met Kate at the front door, looking as professionally composed as always despite having been on scene for over an hour.At thirty-one, DeMarco had developed into one of the Bureau's most reliable agents, no longer the eager rookie who had once looked to Kate for constant guidance.Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she wore her standard field outfit of black slacks and a navy blazer.
"Kate, thanks for coming," DeMarco said, stepping aside to let Kate enter the foyer."I have to warn you, this one is definitely unusual."
"Duran mentioned something about Agatha Christie staging," Kate replied, pulling on latex gloves.
“Yeah, it seems that way.Did you ever read much by her?”
“Yes, actually.Lots, when I was in my twenties.Where's the local detective who made the connection?"
"Detective Patterson left about twenty minutes ago.He had to respond to a domestic disturbance call, but he'll be back later.He was the one who recognized the literary elements."DeMarco led Kate through the front hallway toward the back of the house."I've never read 'Murder on the Orient Express,' so I spent some time Googling plot summaries while I waited for you."
The house had the lived-in comfort of a long marriage.Family photos lined the hallway walls, showing Margaret and a tall, balding man Kate assumed was her husband at various stages of their life together.Vacation shots from beach trips and mountain cabins, formal portraits from anniversary celebrations, candid moments that captured genuine happiness.The hardwood floors showed wear patterns from decades of daily use, and the paint had the slightly faded quality that came from years of sunlight streaming through windows.
"The victim is Margaret Carlisle, sixty-two years old," DeMarco continued, repeating what Duran had already told her as they walked."She’s a retired high school librarian.She was married, but no kids.”
“Where’s the husband?”
“The poor guy fainted when he was on the phone with 9-1-1.He made the call around eleven last night and has been in the hospital ever since.”
“Jesus.Poor guy.”
“Margaret was active in a local book club.According to the neighbors I spoke with, she was well-liked and kept to herself mostly since her husband died."
They passed through a dining room with a polished cherry table and matching chairs, the kind of formal set that gets used for holidays and special occasions.A china cabinet displayed what looked like wedding gifts from decades past: crystal stemware, silver serving pieces, and delicate porcelain figurines.The kitchen beyond was dated but clean, with white appliances and blue countertops that probably seemed modern in the 1990s.
"Any signs of forced entry?"Kate asked.
"None.Front door was unlocked when the medics arrived, but that makes sense because the husband had just come in.But I had a look myself, and there’s no damage to any of the entry points.Back door was still locked from the inside, all windows secure."DeMarco paused at the entrance to what was clearly the home's library."The victim apparently answered the door for someone she knew, or at least someone she trusted enough to let inside."
Kate stepped into the library and immediately understood why Detective Patterson had made the Christie connection.Margaret Carlisle sat in a burgundy recliner, her body positioned with the sort of careful arrangement that indicated deliberate staging.It looked as if she might have been posing for a portrait.She wore a pale blue cardigan over dark slacks, and her gray hair had been brushed back from her face in a style that looked too neat for someone who had died violently.Most striking was the heavy brass candlestick that lay on the floor beside her chair, positioned parallel to her body with mathematical precision.
"The candlestick was the murder weapon?"Kate asked.
"The ME’s preliminary examination suggests blunt force trauma to the head, consistent with being struck by something like that candlestick.But here's where it gets interesting."DeMarco pointed to the mahogany side table next to Margaret's chair."Look at what's on the table."
Kate moved closer and saw a well-worn copy ofMurder on the Orient Expresslying open, a yellow legal pad beside it covered with handwritten notes.A wine glass sat nearby, still containing about an inch of red wine.But what caught Kate's attention immediately was the bookmark protruding from the closed sections of the book.
"She had the book bookmarked at page 127," DeMarco said."When I looked up the plot summary online, that's right around the part where Hercule Poirot is examining the crime scene where Ratchett was murdered.And according to what I read, Ratchett was found stabbed in his compartment, but there was also a bloodied candlestick in the room that was initially thought to be the murder weapon."
Kate felt a familiar tingle of professional interest.She'd read Christie's masterpiece at least six times over the years, and DeMarco was correct about the details.In the novel, the candlestick had been a red herring, placed deliberately to confuse the investigation.The real murder weapon had been a knife, but the candlestick's presence had been part of the killer's elaborate misdirection.
"Someone who knows the book well enough to recreate specific details," Kate murmured, studying the scene more carefully."But they've adapted it for a different murder method."
"That's what I was thinking.The positioning is too deliberate to be coincidental."
Kate examined the candlestick without touching it.The brass was tarnished with age and showed what appeared to be blood near the base.If she had to venture a guess, it probably belonged to a matching pair.The other one was likely displayed somewhere else in the house as decoration rather than practical use.
"Have you found where this candlestick normally belongs?"Kate asked.
"There's an empty spot on the mantelpiece in the living room where its partner is still sitting.So the killer took it from another room, used it here, and then positioned it very specifically as part of the staging."
Kate walked around the library, taking in the details.The bookshelves were organized with the precision of someone who had worked as a librarian.Mysteries were separated from biographies, fiction was arranged alphabetically by author.She noted several other Agatha Christie novels, along with works by Louise Penny, Tana French, and other contemporary mystery writers.A section of the bottom shelf was devoted to gardening books, and another area contained what looked like engineering textbooks and fiction of the military variety, like Tom Clancy and Scott Turow.
