Chapter Twenty-Six
“I’d better get back to the station and call the coroner and get the court order for the exhumation.” He smiled and turned to leave. “I almost forgot.” He looked back at her, his brow creased. “Why was it so important for you to take one of Raymond’s sticky notes?”
She slapped her hand to her forehead. “I’ll be right back.” She dashed to the storefront and returned waving a postcard. “This!” she announced smugly, grinning and handing it to Marc.
Marc glanced at it and looked up at her. “What’s this besides a nice picture of a key?”
“Look at the back.”
He flipped it over. “‘Be careful’?” His eyes narrowed. “What does it mean?”
“Look at this.” She retrieved the evidence bag from behind her back. “A perfect handwriting match.”
Marc studied the sample against the note on the postcard and looked at her. “I need to get this analyzed by our handwriting expert.”
“I am
a handwriting expert.”
“Since when?”
“Since college. Part of the job as a researcher is to analyze the authenticity not only of old and rare books but also of ancient manuscripts, which are all handwritten. You have to be able to tell the clever copies from originals.”
“Well, well, Miss Greyborne.” His head bobbed as he studied her face. “You and your many talents never cease to surprise me.”
“I told you I could be useful.” She winked. “And”—she pointed to the sticky note and the postcard—“this is an exact match. Raymond knew something and was trying to warn me.”
Serena peered over Marc’s shoulder at the picture of a key in a red silk-lined box. “Wow, I wonder what the key means?”
“That’s what we have to find out now.” Addie wrote the word key
on the blackboard and drew a line to Raymond’s name. “There.” She stood back, looked at the scribbles and lines, and crossed her arms.
“What are you thinking now?” Marc leaned closer for a better look.
“I’m now thinking that whatever the killer has been looking for . . . the key is the answer.”
“Or it’s the key itself,” piped in Serena.
Addie nodded. “You know, you might be right. We just have to figure out what it opens.”
Marc’s phone rang again. “Damn, I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear anything else.” He flashed them both a look of warning and plucked the evidence bag from Addie’s fingers. “I’ll take that back now, thank you, and you two stay out of trouble.” He turned around at the doorway and called back, “Do you hear me?”
Addie saluted. He shook his head and disappeared out the door.
“Now what?” Serena scanned the board. “I don’t feel like we’re any farther ahead, except that I have all the names straight now.”
“We start by the process of elimination. That’s what I do in my research, and it seems to work well.”
“But how do we eliminate any of these people? We don’t even know how they’re connected.”
“We have a couple of obvious links so far, and they might lead us to others. I’m going to start by calling Catherine Lewis and accepting her invitation.”
“Be careful. Remember what Marc said.” Serena frowned. “And you promised no investigating on your own.”
“I’m not investigating.” Addie winked. “I’m going for tea.”
* * *
A few hours later, Addie made her way up the winding sidewalk of Catherine’s nineteenth-century, two-story, saltbox house to meet her and the friends she had mentioned on the phone that she wanted Addie to meet. Flower beds that were probably beautiful in the summer wound around the span of the house and carried down the sides of the front walkway to the street. She peered up in time to see the curtains flutter in the window and knew she was being watched. She knocked and waited, and waited and knocked again. After several minutes of silence, she tiptoed through the flower bed, crunching dead stems as she walked, and peeked through the window where she’d seen the curtain moving. The panels were parted a few inches, and she pressed her face to the glass, cupping her hands around her eyes, and squinted into the darkened room.
She gasped. Catherine lay lifeless on the floor. She fumbled for her phone and dialed 911. In moments, she heard the sirens heading in her direction, and the next thing she knew Marc was at her side and officers were surrounding the house.
“She needs an ambulance, too.” She turned to him, tears burning behind her eyes.
He held her shoulders and looked into her pinched face. “They’re here. They’ve gone in with my men,” he murmured.
She could feel the rapid pounding of her heart and took a deep breath, the aroma of his aftershave calming her. “I’m okay. It was just such a shock to see her lying there. I talked to her not two hours ago.”
The door opened, and two paramedics wheeled the stretcher out. Addie stared at Catherine’s ashen face. It was almost lost against the white sheet of the transport trolley, but the stark contrast of the bloodstained dressing around her head was too much. Addie bit the inside of her cheek to fight back her tears.
She straightened herself and looked at the paramedic. “Is she . . . is she dead?”
The paramedic shook his head. “Unconscious but alive.”
“Thank God.” Addie gripped Marc’s jacket sleeve. “Do you know what happened? I mean, it was only minutes since I saw the curtains move, and she was looking forward to my visit.”
“I don’t know yet.” Marc shook his head. “I’ll have to go in and take a look around. Will you be okay waiting out here?”
She nodded, and he moved toward the house.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can see anything that might give us a clue.” He turned and looked at her from the door. “You stay put, do you hear me?”
She nodded and sat down on the step. Her head in her hands, she tried to think back to what Catherine had said to her on the phone that might give her some clue as to what happened. Then she jumped to her feet and dashed into the house.
“Marc.” She stopped short at the living room door when his eyes flashed her a warning.
“I thought I told you to wait outside.” He finished taking a swab of the coffee table corner.
“I just thought of something.” Addie’s gaze went to the three teacups on the coffee table. “But I see you already know it.” Her eyes widened at the chaotic state of the room. She spun around and looked at the dining room behind her. The buffet drawers were tossed on the floor, their contents scattered about the room. She looked back at Marc.
“What is it?” He rose to his feet and strode toward her.
She fought to compose herself, realizing the crime team’s eyes were focused on her. She bit her lip and looked at Marc. “Nothing. I came to tell you I know she wasn’t alone.” She cringed under his glare.
“I know.”
“She told me that there were a few others here already and wanted me to stop by for tea, too, on my way home.”
He looked back at the cups of half-finished tea. “Did she tell you who was here with her?”
Addie shook her head. “No, she was really vague, and I didn’t press her. I just thought I’d wait to see who it was when I got here. Oh, she also mentioned she had something important to give me.”
“Did she say what it was?”
Addie shook her head. “Only that she was really looking forward to seeing me again, that we had a lot of catching up to do.”
Marc rubbed his hands over his face.
“I know. I never met her, as far as I know, before last week, so I don’t get it.” She bit her lip. “Is it possible she was mentally unbalanced or something?” She looked up at Marc.
“Pftt, not that I know of, but I guess unless you were close to her, you wouldn’t know.”
“Maybe she’s confusing me with someone else?”
“Chief,” an officer called from the living room doorway, “what do you make of this? I found it under the sofa.”
Addie peered around Marc. The officer was holding two pieces of a heavy crystal vase. What looked like blood appeared to be smeared across the base portion.