“Maybe that person found out she was going to tell the truth, and it would have been bad for him.”
“But how could that be bad for anyone?”
I press a hand to my head, trying to force my thoughts.
“Uh, because it might have exposed him somehow ... or because it meant that the world would know Riley was attacked before Mel, andthatthreatened him—because of what he did with the information.”
There, I’ve said it. What’s been knitting together since I spoke on the phone to Riley: Someone used the details of Riley’s attack to kill Mel.
“And then,” I say, “that person showed up here today, pretending to want to talk or offer support but really intending to silence her.”
Hilary gasps, then darts into the kitchen. Perplexed, I follow behind her. After tugging down the right sleeve of her blouse so that it covers her hand, she yanks open the dishwasher, releasing a small gust of warm air. The machine is nearly empty, except for three upside-down coffee mugs on top and a couple of spoons in the caddy on the lower shelf.
“So, what are we looking at?” I ask, still confused.
“I used one of those brown mugs for coffee before I left,” she says. “And the white one is the mug Riley’s been using each morning. I don’t know what the other brown one is doing here.”
“Could it have been used last night?”
“I emptied the dishwasher before I even had my coffee this morning. And why would she run it with so few dishes?”
Hilary swivels and stares at the bright-red Keurig coffee maker on the countertop, then opens the trash can in the corner.
“There are four capsules in here,” she says. “Riley and I each had a cup of coffee this morning, so how do you explain the other two?”
“She definitely had a visitor, then.”
Someone who’d steered clear of the Ring camera on the front door. Someone who’d been invited in for coffee. Someone who clearly put their mug in the dishwasher and ran it so there’d be no fingerprints or trace of their DNA.
Chapter 30
The EMTs arrive first, followed only minutes later by two gray-uniformed state troopers, who take brief statements from us in the hallway. Hilary wastes no time in telling them that we have reason to believe this could be a homicide. They herd us back into the living room, informing us that a detective will arrive shortly and that we’re to sit apart from each other without speaking or making any phone calls.
Per instructions, Hilary and I sit silently, forced to overhear the awful sounds from down the hall—people shuffling and murmuring, one man saying, “Yeah, yeah,” every minute or so. My stomach turns as I picture Riley’s lifeless form in there, awaiting someone from the coroner’s office.
This is what it must have been like for Mel that night. Total strangers tramping around her body, pawing at her in latex gloves, snapping photographs—in her case, with her pants around her ankles.
I retch and take several long breaths, exhaling through my nose.
“You okay?” Hilary calls over in a whisper. The flip’s gone out of her hair, and her makeup is slightly smeared from her efforts in the den. It must be taking everything she’s got to hold herself together.
“Yeah, sorry. It’s just so devastating.”
Could I be partly to blame for this? Because I wouldn’t stop asking questions? I was doing it for Mel so that the truth would come out, never guessing there might be collateral damage.
I lean forward and whisper across the room to Hilary, “I know the troopers said no calls for now, but are you okay with me texting Logan? Just to let him know where I am.”
But I’ve got an even more urgent motive than that.
“Sure. I just wish they’d let me call my poor nephew. He and my sister will never be the same.”
I slide my phone out from my purse and type quickly, keeping one eye on the corridor.
At H. Brown house in Edgerton. Found Riley dead. State police here now. pls get hold of Halligan ASAP. Apparent suicide but we think she was killed.
Seconds later the phone rings, Logan calling, of course. I quickly silence it and frantically send another text.
They won’t let me use phone now. Please call Halligan!
