A moment later, Kenzo follows. Jaxon is the last one to come down, and he keeps his back pressed to the wall, putting as much distance as he can between himself and the body on the floor, as if it might spring up and grab him.
The body. How abstract. How distant. NotSienna’sbody. That would suggest possession. A house where the tenant was still home. And she’s not. She’s gone.
He braces himself against the foyer table and bows his head, trying to erase the image from his mind.
He tries to swallow, but his mouth is so dry.
He could use another drink.
Climb back behind the safety of that wall. A cool breeze rolls over him as the front door swings open and Priscilla returns, cursing under her breath. “Rufus Beaumont is gone.”
“What do you mean,gone?” demands Jaxon.
“The cottage is empty, his bags aren’t there. It looks like he took off.”
“Why would he do that?” whimpers Millie.
Priscilla scrubs her face. “I honestly have no idea.”
“What about the boat?”
“Gone.”
“Fleeing the scene...” Malcolm mutters.
“Doubtful,” Priscilla counters. “But without him, there’s no way to phone the mainland, and we won’t be able to get our own devices back for another”—she checks her watch, and the air hisses through her teeth—“thirty-six hours.”
Millie begins rocking back and forth. “What if whoever killed Sienna got to him, too?”
Priscilla’s brows shoot up. “NobodykilledSienna, Millie. She obviously fell.”
The other heads all turn toward Kenzo.
“What?” demands Priscilla. “What did I miss?”
“Kenzo here’s been keeping secrets,” says Jaxon.
Kenzo straightens and rubs the back of his neck.
“Choosing not to volunteer irrelevant information is not the same as withholding it.”
“Seems pretty relevant now,” murmurs Millie.
Priscilla sighs. “Someone please explain.”
“I have a day job,” offers Kenzo, “which, last time I checked, was not a crime.”
“Right, except your day job is in crime,” counters Jaxon.
“Crime sceneanalysis.”
Priscilla blows out a breath. “Okay. So, in your professional opinion, was it an accident?”
Kenzo waffles. “Without more evidence, it’s almost impossible to know. Hypothetically someone could have pushed her. Or she could have simply slipped.”
Malcolm shakes his head. Sienna was many things, but clumsy wasn’t one of them. She’s always had a dancer’s grace. He’d come into their kitchen and find her standing on one leg, the other folded up like a bird’s. He was the one always knocking into things. She was the one always righting them.
Righting. Writing.
