“One more observation I want to share. Alice made a pie—it’s on the counter, and when I arrived at seven, it was still warm, which means she probably didn’t take it out of the oven any earlier than five thirty or six. There are potatoes out, but she hadn’t done anything with them yet. If she’d planned to roast them for our dinner, she would have started a little after six, I’d guess. All of this suggests to me that she died somewhere between five thirty and six thirty, at the latest.”
This could have been another opportunity to tell me to back off and stop playing junior detective, but once again Killian nodded.
“I appreciate your input, Ms. Weggins,” he said. “In fact, if we’re looking at foul play here, on top of everything else that’s happened, we’re going to need to rely on every resource available. I think it would serve both our purposes for us to be collaborative going forward.”
Okay, this was good. He wanted my help and seemed to hint that he’d give me access to certain information inreturn. It was a coup for my reporting, but at this exact moment all I really cared about was Alice.
“I agree,” I said. “If someone murdered Alice, I want to do everything possible to make sure he’s caught.... Her son, Ben. Who’s going to—?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that.”
Killian dropped the pad and pen back into his pocket, signaling that his questioning was done for now. He then escorted me through the house.
“In the vein of cooperation,” Killian said as we reached the kitchen door, “is there anything else you want to share?”
“About?” Did he think I was holding back?
“Have you heard from your mystery caller again?”
“Absolutely not. I would have told you. But actually, there is something else I wanted to pass along.” I explained what the jogger had told me about the owner of the Lake Shore Motel, and also the fact that he’d been interviewed by Alice.
“Interesting. And is this woman still at the Breezy Point?”
I nodded and gave him the unit number. Oh, Miss Under the Radar was going to be tickled pink that I’d tipped off the cops to her location.
Killian walked me to my car and temporarily detached the yellow police tape by the driveway so I could escape. There were several hangers-on around the fringe, neighbors probably, but a state police person was encouraging them to return home. The ambulance, I noticed, had departed, though I hadn’t seen anyone bring up Alice’s body yet. The thought of her eventually lying on a table in the morgue made my heart hurt.
“Drive carefully, Ms. Weggins,” Killian said, opening my car door for me.
“Please call me Bailey.”
“Thank you, I will.”
I bumped along the road I’d driven down several hours earlier in such a different frame of mind, so eager then for home cooking and the chance to spend an evening in Alice’s company. Someone had probably come down here not long before I had, intent on killing Alice, making sure she couldn’t report what she found—either in thePost Staror to the police. What the hell had the clue been?
I couldn’t bear the idea of being back in my motel room alone, so I headed south on Route 9 to the village. The place was nearly dead, not unexpected for a Sunday night, but at least Jake’s was open. I parked, nearly staggered to a seat at the end of the bar, and ordered a bowl of French onion soup and a glass of red wine. The bartender smiled empathetically as she quickly assessed me. I had a feeling she thought I’d been dumped on my ass by a guy only minutes earlier.
Speaking of guys, I felt a sudden, desperate need to speak with Beau. I checked my watch. Since it was one hour earlier in Bogotá, the worst I would be doing is interrupting his dinner plans. I tapped his name in Favorites. The phone rang six times and then went to voice mail.
“Hey, babe,” I said. “Can you call me? I just need to talk to you.”
As I waited for the soup, I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, trying to force my thoughts to quiet,instead of ricocheting crazily around my brain like a flying squirrel with its tail on fire.
How had the killer been tipped off to Alice’s discovery earlier in the day? Perhaps, in seeking confirmation of her revelation, she’d begun making inquiries, and word of those inquiries had made its way back to him. She might have even reviewed information with him without realizing what she was giving away.
Had the killer surprised her in the kitchen? And had she run out to the patio, fearing for her life? There had been no sign of commotion, of Alice trying to fight someone off, but it could have happened quickly enough not to leave any evidence.
I thought suddenly of the wineglass on the ledge of the stone wall. In my frazzled state, I’d forgotten to mention this detail to Killian—though, of course the police would make note of the glass when they saw it.
Perhaps, after making the pie and setting the table, Alice had taken a short break, treating herself to some white wine and a contemplation of the lake from the patio before darkness descended. She’d been wearing that heavy sweater, after all. Someone could have come through the house and caught her unawares. And then shoved her down the stairs.
Something about that scenario didn’t fit, though. If a stranger had snuck up behind her, catching her off guard, she would have jumped up in fear and the glass would have probably dropped and shattered. Or it would have flown from her hand when she was trying to fight the person off. It seemed to me that she’d had time to look up, rise, take a few steps, and set the glass carefully on the ledge.
Perhaps she’d heard a sound emanating from the house before she’d set eyes on anyone.
Or perhaps sheknewthe person and assumed she had nothing to worry about. Or she might have known she had something to worry about but urged herself to remain calm.
Yes, I told myself with no real proof other than what my gut was telling me. Sheknewwhoever it was.
