Dead By Midnight by Carolyn Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

have.
    Annie knew Billy had years of experience and a thorough investigation to back up his conclusion. All she had was the memory of Pat’s conclusion about the would-be suicide: He should have sucked up his guts, gotten on with his life.
    Suicide or murder.
    “Billy, will you do me a favor?”
    He straightened the papers in the folder, flipped the cover shut. “Such as?”
    “I’d like to see Pat’s house. Please.” Maybe there would be something there that would bolster her argument.
    Billy’s mouth turned down in a wry half smile. “I swear to God, when a woman gets an idea in her head . . .” But his voice was genial. His big shoulders rose and fell. “Henny’s handling everything for the sister. I was going to turn the keys over to her. I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to meet her at the house. There may be some things she wants to take care of.”
    A nnie easily pictured Pat Merridew in the small, cheerful living room. White flowers with yellow centers formed bouquets in light blue wallpaper. Pale yellow drapes were drawn at two side windows and the wide front window. A braided oval rug lay smooth in the center of the wooden floor. Not a trace of dust marred the room.
    Henny pointed at the chintz-covered chair on one side of the coffee table. “Pat was there.” A faint frown. “The chair is out of line. She kept the chairs turned the same way next to the coffee table.”
    Billy took a step forward. “Probably the techs moved the chair when they came for the body.”
    “Everything seems to be in order.” Henny sounded weary. Then her head came up and she gave Billy a combative look. “Pat did not commit suicide.”
    Annie looked at the coffee table. “The drug was in her coffee.”
    Billy was brisk. “Found in the dregs in a ten-ounce crystal coffee mug. The coffee in a carafe was free of drugs.”
    “Only in the mug.” Henny’s dark eyes narrowed in thought. “Let me check.” She whirled and hurried to the kitchen.
    Annie and Billy followed.
    The kitchen was narrow and small. A wooden chair sat at each end of a Formica-topped table. A newspaper, carefully folded, lay to the left of a single, woven red cloth place mat. An old-fashioned six-cup metal percolator sat on the tiled counter next to an avocado-green fifties-era stove. A bottle of Irish whiskey sat on the counter next to a sugar canister.
    Henny didn’t pick up the coffeemaker. Instead, she bent near. “It hasn’t been washed.” She turned and faced Annie and Billy. “Pat ate dinner. She washed her dishes.” Henny nodded toward the drainer, which held a plate, glass, cutlery, saucepan, and skillet. “She made the coffee. So why six cups if she didn’t expect company? Look next to the row of canisters on the counter.” She pointed. “A single-cup French press. That’s what she would use to make a cup for herself. Irish coffee was one of her specialties, with a hefty slug of whiskey and lots of brown sugar.” Now she faced Billy. “How much coffee was left in the carafe?”
    “I can find out, but the amount left in the carafe proves nothing.” His voice was patient. “You’re trying to make the case that she served coffee to someone else, that she wouldn’t have made six cups for herself. We can’t know that for a fact. Maybe she drank one mug of the coffee, then tossed the OxyContin in her second serving.”
    Annie twisted to look back into the living room. What if Henny was right? What if Pat had a guest? Then there would be two crystal mugs.
    Annie felt a rush of excitement. “Billy, you said the mugs were crystal.”
    He nodded. “Pretty pricey stuff. I got four of them for Mavis for her birthday.”
    A Southern woman of Pat’s age would put out her best for company.
    “Let’s find where she kept her crystal ware.”
    Henny gestured toward the hallway. “In a breakfront in the dining room.” She led the way.
    Billy looked through the glass pane. “Yeah. The stuff was in one of those mugs.” He reached