Emily threaded her fingers into her hair and cradled her skull to try to ease the throbbing tension there. “That’s all true. Violet is a pain in the ass, but she wouldn’t murder anyone.”
Would she? Did Emily know for sure Violet wouldn’t? Emily had been to a shrink enough to know that obsession could do strange things to people. She of all people knew how a single obsession could overtake one’s life. Maybe Violet’s obsession with having Keith all to herself hadpushed her over the edge. She couldn’t account for her necklace. She had known the window would be open and that Heather would be sitting in for Emily that night.
“This has to be wrong.” Emily shot to her feet, paced the room. “Violet couldn’t have been that cold.” Careful calculation was required to commit a murder and get away with it. “And even if in some twisted heat-of-the-moment episode she had hurt Heather, Violet loved her husband. She wouldn’t kill him. She wouldn’t do that to her children. She couldn’t.”
“It’s possible the two aren’t related,” Clint suggested.
They both knew better than that.
“Or maybe she caught him cheating on her,” was his next suggestion.
Emily shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Did anyone else know Heather would be in your room that night?”
“No.” She thought about it another moment just to be sure. “No one.”
“Did Heather have any problems with anyone in or outside school that you were aware of?”
“Everybody loved Heather. She was the most popular girl in school. Even ...” Emily swallowed back the lump of emotion. “Even Violet seemed to adore her. She just wanted the things Heather had.”
“But you said Violet seemed to worship Keith,” Clint countered with a truth that couldn’t be denied.
Emily sifted through her memory banks, forced herself to replay images she had banished years ago.
“Keith never paid any real attention to Violet,” she recalled after a bit. The memory came with a price. Keith had been the cutest guy in school, next to Clint. He’d been witty, charming, the all-around good guy and beloved athlete. The boy voted president of the class by his peers. Now he was dead. Murdered. Emily shuddered, still had difficulty accepting that he was gone. So young, and with a family.
“Wait,” Clint said, drawing her attention from the painful thoughts. “We may be looking at this necklace thing with too narrow a focus. Yousaid it was something the senior cheerleaders received. What about the year before? There may be other people we should be considering.”
“It was a new tradition. The years before us the seniors had received charm bracelets. Justine said we were special.”
“Then what do we have?”
Nothing. Even the necklace seemed so insignificant in and of itself. “We have nothing.” Emily couldn’t accept that, but neither was she willing to label Violet a murderer. “Violet might have lost the necklace. It’s not impossible.” Motive, means, opportunity. God, how did she overlook that? “I want to talk to her.”
Clint stood, looked skeptical. “That could be a problem.”
He was right. Violet’s husband was dead. Violet despised Emily for faltering in her stand against Clint. Emily lifted her chin in defiance of her own misgivings. “I’ll just have to deal with it.”
2:30 p.m.
Emily wished she had called first. She’d watched cars come and go from Violet’s drive for ten minutes. Most carried casseroles or a plant. Emily stood on the porch empty-handed. What could she possibly bring that Violet hadn’t already received?
Emily asked God to forgive her for coming here like this with a hidden agenda. This couldn’t be right. But people were dead, including Violet’s husband.
Emily couldn’t allow sentiment to stop her.
She pressed the doorbell and Violet’s mother came to the door, her eyes red and puffy.
“Hello, Mrs. Manning.”
The older woman managed a smile. “Em, it’s so good of you to stop by.” She opened the door wider, glanced briefly at Emily’s empty hands. “Please come in.”
Emily felt exactly like a traitor crossing the threshold into this home of sorrow and grief.
Mrs. Manning forced a dry sound that might have been an attempt at a laugh. “Thank God you didn’t bring another casserole.”
The smile that bent Emily’s lips this time felt more natural. “I was feeling a little guilty that I hadn’t.”
