Death Comes Silently by Carolyn Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

head. “Not names. Numbers. We end up with a tally of people coming on a given day and the most popular hours. Nothing fancy. Just the usual four lines then a cross bar to make five. Say we averaged nine people on a Wednesday afternoon, thirty-twoon a Friday afternoon. It helped me know how many volunteers to schedule. Monday is always slow, so each shift is taken by a single person.”
     
    “We still have a crew gathering evidence there.” Billy picked up his cell, tapped. “Mavis, look for a notebook on the front desk in the reception area.” He raised an eyebrow at Henny.
     
    “A bound spiral notebook on the right back corner of the desk. It should be open to Monday, January sixteen.”
     
    Billy described the notebook and the tally system. “What have you got?” He listened, nodded. “Thanks. Take the notebook into evidence.” He flicked off the call, looked soberly at Henny. “According to the log, no visitors after one o’clock. She died between two fifteen and three nineteen.”
     
    Henny spoke quickly. “It’s possible there were visitors and she intended to make the notations before she left.” Careless, unmethodical, dramatic Gretchen.
     
    “Possibly.” His tone was noncommittal. “We know Jeremiah was there.”
     
    Henny understood Billy’s focus. Yet she couldn’t believe the hangdog young man whose eyes had teared when she offered him the job would commit murder. And why? She didn’t believe he’d taken Gretchen’s purse. He’d learned his lesson about stealing when he went to prison. Why else commit murder? Gretchen might have treated him unkindly, but murder—violent and ugly—surely required much more reason.
     
    Billy slid his papers together. “I’d like to have a copy of his personnel file.”
     
    Henny doubted the file held much that Billy didn’t already know, but she nodded. “Tell Mavis she’ll find the personnel folders in the middle drawer of the metal file cabinet.”
     
    “Thanks.” He reached for his cell. “We plan to keep the house closed for a couple of days as a crime scene. You can arrange for a cleanup of the murder room on Thursday. If you think of any other information that might be helpful, give us a call.”
     
    H enny was accustomed to the utter darkness that enveloped her home on the marsh, especially on a cloudy winter night. She had no near neighbors. Her one-room weathered gray house on stilts was utterly private. She took great pleasure in her quiet home. She often started and ended her days on the porch that overlooked the ever changing marsh, the cordgrass chartreuse in summer, golden in spring and fall, drab brown in winter. Ducks and cormorants bobbed in the swells of the Sound. Migrating terns often stopped over for weeks. Yesterday she’d spotted a flock of fork-tailed Forster’s Terns with their distinctive black eye bars, dusky bills, and yellow feet. Owls hooted deep into the night. She waged a continuing war with an especially wily raccoon who defied her every effort to make the garbage pail lids resistant to his agile fingers.
    The house loomed straight ahead. She’d left on the living room light because the front porch light was out. As she turned her old but reliable Dodge into a sandy patch of ground by two palmettos, the headlights swept the fenced area to the right of the steps that contained the garbage pails.
     
    Drat. The gate was ajar. Foiled again, though why Wiley, as she thought of the raccoon, hadn’t simply swarmed over the fence was only another puzzle in their relationship. She turned off the car and slammed the door. Sometimes a sharp sound was enough to prompt Wiley’s departure. Not tonight.
     
    Shrugging into her winter jacket, she walked toward the enclosure.Clever creature. The wooden bar that latched the gate was upright and the panel ajar. She pushed it wide, stepped into the enclosure, clapping her hands. One foot struck a plastic garbage can lid.
     
    She scarcely had time to realize there was no