good friend, my partner in planning, the woman who might, not once but twice, have become my sister-in-law, was dead.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
O utside, the sky had darkened. Leafless branches stood stark against the gray. The evergreensâfir, pine, blue spruceâleaned away from the cold front moving in.
We had not been inside long. But it doesnât take long for everything to change.
I tugged at my collar and hunched my shoulders against the biting wind, hard grains of snow pelting my face as we crossed Cutoff Road to the fire hall. Inside, our uniformed escort pointed to hard chairs set at long plastic tables. The concrete floor and white walls, plastered with huge section maps of the fire district, made the place seem colder.
A fireman strode in from the garage, shiny red engines visible behind him. He fiddled with a thermostat andstarted coffee. A deputy stood by each door, and while they did not bar the way or block us in, leaving did not feel like an option.
Nick and I huddled at one table, Zayda and her parents at the next. I tried to conjure warm thoughts, but that reminded me of Christine, her warm skin cooling, her warm heart stopping.
At least Nick was dressed for the weather. The Georges must have come straight from the Inn. Mimi had draped a coat over the black pants and blue blouse she wore to hostess, and Tony wore a faded baseball jacket over his grease-spattered chefâs whites.
âKim,â Nick said, when she finally appeared. âItâs freezing in here. Canât we talk somewhere else? Her cottage?â
âStill being searched,â she said, and I felt a shock wave ripple through him. Nick had not been around last summer, when tragedy struck twice. Nick had not been around a lot these last few years, his field trips for work the reason Christine had given for breaking their engagement. It was finally hitting him that we were talking murder.
Kim extended her hand toward me. âRecognize this?â
In her palm lay a small plastic bag, a tiny silver horseshoe shape inside. I squinted. âNo.â
Zaydaâs fingers flew to her left eyebrow. The silver ring she always wore was gone.
âIs it yours?â Mimi asked her daughter.
âWhere did you find it?â Tony asked Kim.
âYouâre over sixteen,â Kim told Zayda. âYou can choose whether you want to have a parent present during your interview. Or whether you want to call a lawyer.â
âI donât want to be interviewed,â Zayda said, her voice high and thin.
âThatâs your right,â Detective Kim Caldwell replied, âbut you might want to think it over.â
âSheâll tell you anything she knows,â Mimi said as Tony repeated, âWhere did you find it?â
âUnder the body.â
Had it not been for the noisy wall heater, for the drip drip drip of the faucet onto the stainless steel sink, for the sighs and moans of the coffeemaker, you could have heard a pin drop. Or an eyebrow stud.
âI went in, but I didnât see her,â Zayda said, âso I decided to wait outside.â She wiped the back of her hand across her nose.
âDid you argue? Did you shoot her?â
At Nickâs demands, Tony rose and took a step forward, chin high, nostrils flaring. âMy daughter wouldnât hurt a flea. She doesnât even know how to shoot,â Tony said. Mimi tugged at his sleeve, but she was clearly as upset as he.
Nickâs brow furrowed and he glanced from father to daughter. I put a hand on his arm.
âHow did you get in?â I asked the girl. âThe back doors were locked. And thereâs a security system.â
Her ponytail flapped. âNo, it was off. And they were open. One of them, anyway. It must have locked automatically behind me.â
âThey donât lock automatically,â Nick said. âYou need to turn the bolt.â
âWe were supposed to meet Christine.
Hundreds of Years to Reform a Rake