“Oh,” Aunt Fran said. “That’s disappointing.”
“Fran, you needn’t worry,” Deanna assured her. “I interviewed at least eight or nine applicants for her job, and she was absolutely the most qualified. I made it clear that I intended to have cats, and she agreed that she would assist in caring for them.”
Lara slid a glance over at Blue. The cream-colored feline looked relaxed and content—a sign that she was on board with the adoption.
A sigh of relief escaped Lara. Nonetheless, she wished she could get a better comfort level with the housekeeper.
“On another note,” Deanna said, a frown pursing her lips. She set both kittens down gently on the floor, then faced the women. “Chief Whitley called me this morning. My car will be released to me this afternoon. Unfortunately, the police haven’t made much progress identifying the graffiti artist who marked up my window.”
That was no artist, Lara thought.
“Sorry to hear that,” Lara said. She’d given the police a description and a pencil sketch of the man she’d caught peeking inside the Saturn the day before. No one other than the ice cream vendor had seen him or had any idea who he was. Besides, the man might’ve had nothing to do with the vandalism. He’d seemed like a harmless soul, interested mostly in seeking out ice cream.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lara spied a sudden movement. Blue had gone on full alert, her dark tail swishing in agitation. The cat paced back and forth on the tapestry-covered seat, her gaze fixed on the window above. In the next moment, she leaped onto the sill and peered outside.
Lara’s pulse pounded. What is she looking at?
She forced a smile, her heart racing. “Deanna, I’d love to check out the view,” she said. “This room faces the rear of the property, right?”
Deanna mumbled something, but Lara barely heard her. Lara went over to the window and looked outside. Blue had already vanished.
The yard behind the mansion was lush and green. In a landscaped pattern that looked carefully crafted, wildflowers nestled in clusters along a twisty stone walkway. Beyond that was the old family graveyard. Granite markers, worn and darkened with age, marked the burial places of Blythe family members long passed.
Lara gasped. In front of one of the grave markers, someone was slumped on the ground. Even from this distance, Lara could see that one arm was outstretched. Had someone gone on a drinking binge and collapsed in the cemetery? Or—
She swallowed, recalling the body she’d stumbled upon barely a year earlier.
“Deanna, call nine-one-one,” Lara said urgently. “There’s someone lying on the ground in front of one of the tombstones. I think he, or she, needs help.”
Whoever it is, please let them be okay. Please don’t let it be like last time…
Deanna swerved toward the window but didn’t approach it. “Dear Lord,” she whispered. “I left my cell phone in my bedroom!”
“I’ll call,” Aunt Fran said, taking her phone from the pocket of her knee-length shorts. She tapped it a few times, then calmly reported the emergency. While she continued talking to the 9-1-1 operator, Lara rushed toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Deanna cried out.
“Outside,” Lara said. She tried to squelch the bile she felt rising in her throat.
The last time she’d discovered a body, there hadn’t been any hope of reviving the victim. This time…she didn’t know what she’d find.
But if there was the slightest chance she could save someone, she wasn’t going to stand idly by and wait for the ambulance.
Chapter 4
Lara was shaking by the time the police had arrived. Even from several feet away, she’d known the man was beyond help.
The heat of the July sun did nothing to warm her icy limbs. She hugged herself tightly, as if she could ward off the horror.
She’d recognized the victim. He was the man who’d approached Deanna at the welcome event the day before. The one Deanna had had words with, and who Evelyn Conley had banished from the party. A sharp object jutted from his neck, and blood pooled around his head. White flowers had been strewn haphazardly around his body. Lara thought she’d recognized the type of flower, but couldn’t think what they were called.
Chief Whitley had zoomed onto the property four minutes after Aunt Fran’s call, only a few seconds behind the ambulance. After that, everything had happened in a whirlwind of activity. State and local police cars had swarmed onto the property, parking their vehicles wherever they could squeeze them among the cemetery markers.
It wasn’t until four hours later that she and Aunt Fran had been permitted to leave. They’d each been interviewed separately, but had to promise to go to the police station within twenty-four hours to give a written statement.
Deanna’s statement had been taken by two state police detectives in the privacy of her home. The privilege of fame, Lara thought. As for the housekeeper, Lara hadn’t seen her since their arrival with the kittens. She assumed the police had caught up with her somewhere inside the mansion.
Lara had wanted to take the kittens back to the shelter, at least for the time being. Deanna, however, had begged her to leave them with her. “I promise, they’ll receive all the love and attention they deserve. This…horrible murder won’t affect their care. I give you my word.”
Aunt Fran had given her consent, and Lara had reluctantly followed suit.
“But please let us know if you need help in any way,” Lara told Deanna. “I can be here in a flash.”
“I will.” Deanna hugged each of them. “Please don’t worry. Everything is under control.”
When they were finally allowed to leave, Lara swung the Saturn out of the driveway. They passed a sea of police cars, both marked and unmarked.
Then Lara noticed a state trooper, his hand wrapped around Nancy Sherman’s arm, walking the housekeeper toward his vehicle. Lara caught a glimpse of Nancy’s face as they drove past. She looked ghostly white, and a bit unsteady on her feet. From her expression, she might have been going to the gallows.
* * * *
The chief, concerned about Aunt Fran, Lara suspected, stopped at the house late that afternoon to give them a limited update. Sitting in one of the padded chairs at the Formica kitchen table, he stretched out his long legs to the side.
“His name is Donald Waitt,” Chief Whitley said, consulting his notes. “Seventy-four years old, retired gym teacher. He lives—lived—in Ossipee. Also owned an auto dealership with his brother.”
“Did Deanna tell you he’s the same guy who crashed her party yesterday?” Lara asked him.
Whitley looked sternly at her. “You know I can’t discuss that, Lara. Ms. Daltry’s statement is confidential, as are yours and Fran’s.”
Lara sagged in frustration. How could this have happened?
“Jerry,” Aunt Fran said, “did you talk to the housekeeper, Nancy Sherman? We thought it odd that she disappeared right after we brought the kittens over.”
Lara gaped at her aunt. It wasn’t like Aunt Fran to point fingers, if that’s what she was doing. Nancy Sherman’s brusque demeanor must have really gotten under her skin.
“Again, Fran,” Jerry said, more gently this time. “I can’t reveal any details that aren’t being disclosed to the public. Unless,” he added pointedly, “I feel it’s something either of you can use to help us pinpoint any unknown facts.”
“The fact is,” Aunt Fran said, “that Ms. Sherman made herself scarce moments after we arrived. We had no idea where she disappeared to. Come to think