"We're certainly going to try our very best," Kate said, standing up from her chair."In the meantime, is there somewhere you can stay once you get out of here?Family or friends who can help you through the next few days?"
Harold nodded weakly."My brother lives in Norfolk.He's driving up this evening."He looked up at Kate with haunted eyes."Margaret was just starting to fight again.She was reading, going to book club, making plans for how she wanted to spend whatever time she had left.Someone took that away from her.Please… please figure out who did this."
Kate could only nod as she and DeMarco left.She wondered if she felt sharper heartbreak than usual because it was an older couple at the core of the murder, for a killer to go after someone of an advanced age felt cheap and especially vindictive.
As Kate and DeMarco left the hospital, Kate found herself thinking about Margaret's journey from despair back to engagement with life.The book club had clearly been crucial to that recovery, which made it even more likely that her killer had come from within that circle.And while that did seem to promise a small pool of potential suspects, she knew it also meant a tight-knit group of women, capable of sitting on even the darkest of secrets without so much as blinking.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eleanor Whitman's house sat at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac, a modest ranch-style home with a meticulously maintained garden that spoke of decades of careful attention.Kate and DeMarco walked up the brick pathway, noting the small plaques scattered among the flower beds that identified various plants in elegant script.Even in late October, the garden showed the kind of planning that ensured something would be blooming in every season.
Eleanor answered the door before they could knock, as if she'd been watching for their arrival from behind the lace curtains that covered her front window.She was a woman in her early seventies with silver hair swept back in a neat chignon and intelligent green eyes behind thick eyeglasses.She wore a cardigan over a simple blouse and slacks, the kind of understated outfit that suggested someone comfortable with herself, but mindful of appearances.
“Yes, can I help you?”she asked.
“Are you Eleanor Whitman?”DeMarcco asked.
“We’re agents Wise and DeMarco, with the FBI," Kate said, showing her badge.
“This…this is about Margaret, right?”
“It is,” Kate said.“Can I ask how you knew about her death already?”
“Facebook.Someone from her neighborhood had posted about it.”
Kate sighed internally.Social media, in her opinion, was the bae of the entire world.She wished it had never been invented.
“We were hoping to speak with you about Margaret,” he said.
“Oh yes, of course.Please… come on inside.I’ve just put some tea on if you’d like to have some.”
Eleanor led them through a small foyer into a den that immediately reminded Kate of Margaret's library, though Eleanor's space was more formally arranged.Built-in bookshelves lined the walls, filled with an impressive collection that appeared to be organized by both subject and author.A section devoted to mystery novels took up most of one wall, and other classic writers prominently displayed.Contemporary mystery authors filled another section, while biographies and gardening books occupied the remaining shelves.
"Please, sit wherever you're comfortable," Eleanor said, gesturing toward a seating area that included a small sofa and two matching armchairs arranged around a coffee table."I hope Earl Grey is acceptable?”
“None for me, thanks,” DeMarco said.
“I’ll have a cup,” Kate said.She’d always found it helped to smooth things out to show an acceptance of hospitality.Plus, she did like a good cup of Early Grey.
Kate settled into one of the armchairs while DeMarco took the sofa.Eleanor bustled around a small tea service that had been prepared on a side table, her movements quick and efficient despite her obvious distress.Kate noticed that Eleanor's hands trembled slightly as she poured the tea, the only external sign of the emotion she was clearly working to contain.
"Mrs.Whitman, we appreciate you taking the time to speak with us," Kate began as Eleanor handed her a delicate china cup."We understand you're the founding member of the book club Margaret was a part of.Is that correct?"
Eleanor nodded as she settled into the remaining armchair with her own cup of tea."The Willowbrook Book Club.We've been meeting for twenty-two years now, third Thursday of every month.Margaret joined us a little less than four years ago, when Sandra Morrison invited her."Eleanor's voice caught slightly."I still can't believe she's gone."
"Can you tell us how Margaret fit into the group dynamics?"DeMarco asked."What was she like during meetings?"
Eleanor considered the question while sipping her tea."Margaret was passionate about mystery novels, probably more so than any of us.She approached books the way she'd approached her work as a librarian, with real analytical rigor.She would come to meetings with pages of notes, discussion questions, and historical context about the authors."
Kate noted the slight hesitation in Eleanor's voice."So, it sounds like she was a valuable member of the group."
"Oh, she was.Margaret brought a level of scholarship to our discussions that elevated everyone's understanding."Eleanor paused, choosing her words carefully."Though I will say that Margaret could sometimes be rather... pointed in her critique of other members' interpretations."
"Pointed how?"Kate asked.
Eleanor set down her teacup and smoothed her slacks."Margaret had very strong opinions about literary analysis.If someone offered an interpretation she felt was superficial or inaccurate, she wasn't always diplomatic about correcting them.Particularly with our newer members.She could be quite closed-minded on certain things and sometimes came off as a bit… snobbish.I hate to say such a thing right now, of course, but it’s the truth of the matter."
DeMarco leaned forward slightly."Did this create tension within the group?"
