I returned to the family room with two glasses of Coke and handed one to Susan.
“Gee, thanks. I really need that.”
I waited till we had drunk some. I was getting hungry and I needed another glass of milk, but I was nervous enough about Susan’s presence that I didn’t want to drink milk and tip her off that I had a baby in the house. “Do you have D.D’s letter with you?” I asked finally.
“No.”
“Where did she address it to?”
“At work. She knew where I worked. I’m not sure she knew where I was living.”
That, at least, made sense. If you steer someone to a job, you know her work address. “What did the letter say?”
“She said she wanted to meet me. That she knew about me and thought I’d be interested in meeting her.”
“Did she say when she wanted to see you?”
“New Year’s Eve. Not at night. She said it was too dark at night. I didn’t understand what she meant till I got there. She said to come during the day.”
“Did she say anyone else would be there?”
She gave me a quizzical look. “No, she didn’t. Why do you ask?”
“Because if you didn’t kill D.D., someone else did. I wondered if this was some kind of reunion.”
She looked troubled, or perhaps just thoughtful. “Someone else was obviously there before me, but I don’t know if he was invited. For all I know it may have been a drifter who knocked on the door.”
“I don’t believe that, Susan. I’ve been to that farmhouse. It’s not near anything. You’d need a car to get there.”
“D.D. didn’t have a car.”
“How do you know?”
“I didn’t see one.”
“D.D. had a friend,” I said. “He picked her up and took her into town so she could shop.”
“Then maybe he’s the one.”
“It’s possible.”
“You aren’t telling me much, Chris. I really need your help. I left my fingerprints all over that house, and nobody else did. I’m the only person they can link to the house, and I’m the only living person who knows I was there after the murder. Except for the murderer.”
“You’re keeping so much from me,” I said. I looked down at my notes. “You’ve told me almost nothing I didn’t know before. Except that D.D. may have gotten you your job interview and that she sent you a letter a couple of weeks ago. What was her interest in you? What was your interest in her? How did all this get started? If I’m going to help you, I have to know these things.”
“Other people’s lives are involved. I want you to take what I tell you on faith. Arnold said you—”
“Arnold didn’t tell you I take facts on faith. I need to know your connection to D.D. Butler. Am I to believe that she met you at a party and decided to run your life?”
“It wasn’t exactly like that.”
“Maybe she knew before the party that you would be there.”
“It’s possible,” she said hesitantly.
“And that’s why she was there.”
She let her breath out. “It probably wasn’t a coincidence that we were both there at the same time,” she admitted.
“I’m struggling to make sense of this. Tell me about your visit to the farmhouse.”
“I got there before eleven.”
“Where did you spend the night before?”
“At my parents’ in Brooklyn.” She said it so casually, it was hard to believe it had been such a big issue.
“Did you see your parents before you left?”
She looked at me suspiciously. “I’m not sure.”
“Go on about the visit.”
“I got there. I left the car in the driveway and went to the front door. There was a doorbell but it didn’t work. I realized afterward that there wasn’t any electricity. So I called. There was no answer. I knocked and then I opened the door.”
“It wasn’t locked?”
“It couldn’t have been or I wouldn’t have gotten in. I went inside and called her name. I called it a lot of times.”
“Was it warm inside, Susan?” I asked.
She thought about it. “Maybe not when I first went in, but it was warmer when I got near the kitchen.”
Then she must have been killed that morning, I thought, or late the night before. The fire in the kitchen stove couldn’t have lasted many hours without additional fuel. “What rooms did you walk through?”
“The dining room, I think. There wasn’t much furniture so it was hard to tell, but I went through it and I got to the kitchen.”
“What did you see?”
She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t see her at first. The light coming in was very bright and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Then I saw the stove and the old cabinets with glass fronts and the dishes on the shelves. I saw all the windows at the back, looking out on the fields and a couple of trees. It was like a quick slide show, if you know what I mean, a glimpse of this and a glimpse of that. And then I saw her. She looked sort of—” She stopped, a look of pain on her face.
“Tell me exactly what you saw. Try to recall every detail, Susan. Each one might be part of the solution.”
“A person lying face-down. Blue jeans. Maybe a sweatshirt, I’m not sure. Hair, kind of messy.” She was looking away, seeing it as she spoke. “Blood. Blood on the hair, blood on the floor.”
“Did you touch her?”
“No.” It was the loudest syllable she had uttered since her arrival.
“Did you touch anything else? Did you look around?”
“I was frozen when I saw her. I said her name a couple of times but she didn’t move. I kind of backed away. You know, I may have reached out and held onto something to steady myself, a cabinet or a counter or something. I felt a little dizzy or light-headed, and my stomach didn’t feel too great. Then I just turned around and got out of there.”
“When you were coming in, did you notice whether there was a door between the dining room and the kitchen?”
“There could have been but I didn’t notice.”
“Then you didn’t open a door to get to the kitchen?”
“No. I’m sure of that. I just walked from one room into the other.”
“And the kitchen was warm.”
“Definitely. Not hot but I could feel the difference when I went in. You know what? I heard a sound—sounds—in the kitchen and I realized they were coming from the woodstove. Not loud, but a little crackling.”
“That’s very interesting,” I said.
“I see what you’re driving at,” she said with excitement. “D.D. couldn’t have been dead very long, could she? She must have put wood on the fire if it was still warm and crackling.”
“And the door should have been closed. If you heat one room, you keep the door closed to keep the heat inside.”
“Was it closed when you got there?” she asked.
“It was open.”
“I didn’t open it. The killer must have left it open when he walked out of the kitchen.”
Why not? I thought. He had no reason to care about the comfort of the person he left behind. If he gave the matter any thought at all, he would have known that he would be better off if the body froze quickly. There would be no smell to attract animal life.
“Did you look around the house, Susan? Before or after you found the body?”
“No. When I went in, I was looking for D.D. When I left, I really needed some fresh air. I was scared and sick to my stomach.”
“When you drove up on the property, did you see tire tracks?”
“I wasn’t looking for tire tracks. I was looking for a place to drive up, a driveway or a road. There was a place near the house where the snow was tamped down so I drove up on it.”
And we, of course, had driven over the accumulated tracks a couple of days later. “Did you see anyone around?”
“No one. I just ran like hell.”
“Why didn’t you report finding the body?” I asked.
“I know, and why didn’t I come home? I was scared. I had this crazy feeling that D.D. had arranged this.”
“Arranged her death?”
“In a way, yes. I was sure she’d been involved in getting me my job. I felt she was manipulating me, setting me up. What if that wasn’t D.D. lying on the floor in the kitchen? Maybe it was someone else. What if D.D. had killed her and was long gone, leaving me to look like a killer?”
“But why would anyone think you killed some stranger in that farmhouse?”
“I couldn’t explain why I was there. I couldn’t explain why I had gone, who D.D. was, what was going on. I just had to get away and think.”
“Where did you go?”
“I drove around. I found a motel. I had some money with me because I’d cashed a check before the weekend, so I didn’t have to use a credit card. I got food at a supermarket. I had promised Jill I’d have her car back by Monday so I drove to Brooklyn after a couple of nights and left the car.”
“Where did you stay after that?”
“I went to an old friend I could trust who I knew from college. She lives in New Jersey. I took a bus out there after I returned the car.”
“And what made you come back?”
“I was living in limbo. I have a life, a job, Kevin, my parents. I knew they would be worried sick. And I didn’t want to lose my job. I love it.”
The statement came across as honest and sincere, unlike some of the other things she had said. “Have you seen Kevin?” I asked.
“I talked to him. I haven’t seen him yet. I went to my parents’ and they called Arnold, and he said not to talk to anyone. I just told Kevin I was back and I would see him when I could.”
“Susan, did you take anything from that farmhouse?”
“Nothing, I swear it. I was so scared, so confused, I just turned and ran.”
“Because whatever was used to kill D.D. isn’t in the house. And there’s no pocketbook, no wallet, no ID of any kind.”
“Then the killer took it. I didn’t. I told you, I didn’t even know if that was D.D. lying there.”
I looked at my watch. “I’m really out of time,” I said. “I’m willing to help you, but first you have to tell me what you’re withholding. You know what it is. There’s a huge gap in your story. Fill it in and I’ll help you. And please call next time before you come.” I felt a little heartless saying it but if I were going to see Susan again in my home, maybe I would drop Eddie off first. I was inclined to believe that she was telling the truth as far as she went, that she hadn’t killed D.D. Butler, but something about her made me nervous. Maybe it was her own nervousness, her lack of complete truthfulness.
She said, “OK,” her voice and her face subdued. “There is one other thing I haven’t told you. It’s about Kevin.” She looked very troubled.
“What is it?”
“I think D.D. arranged that, too. My meeting with Kevin. I think she had me all sized up. She put us together because she knew it would work. And the crazy thing is she was right. I love him.”
I gave her her coat, and she left me to eat my lunch and ponder her last revelation.