Chapter Two

“What’s the matter?” Aunt Peg hissed.

I ignored her. She leaned down and poked my shoulder. Hard. I quickly angled away so she couldn’t grab the phone out of my hands.

“It’s Claire,” I said. “Something’s happened. Give me a minute.”

“Oh God.” Claire moaned. “Is that Peg? Don’t tell her it’s me. I can’t deal with her right now. Melanie, you have to come and help me. I don’t know what to do.”

There was no use in pointing out that Aunt Peg already knew whom I was talking to. Claire clearly wasn’t thinking straight. I hoped that meant she was wrong about the dead body too.

“Claire,” I said slowly. Calmly. “Breathe.” I waited a moment while she did so. “Now tell me what happened.”

“I just did!” she wailed, her voice still edging toward panic. “Lila is dead!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aunt Peg flinch. She’d heard that.

“Are you sure?” I asked Claire.

“Of course I’m sure. She’s lying right here in front of me.”

That wasn’t what I’d wanted to know. Not at all.

“Where are you now?” I asked.

“I’m standing in her living room.”

“You’re alone?” I confirmed. “You’re sure you’re not in any danger?”

“No,” she replied firmly. Then her voice quavered. “At least I don’t think so. Oh God, what made you ask that? Do you think the person who did this to her is still here?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know anything yet. Listen to me, Claire. I want you to turn around and walk outside. When you get there, lock yourself in your car. As soon as you’ve done that, hang up with me and dial nine-one-one. Okay? Can you do that?”

“I’m leaving,” Claire told me. “I’m getting out right now. And I’ve already called nine-one-one. I did that right away. The moment I saw her. In case I was wrong and somebody could still help her. But they can’t. It’s just that I was just hoping . . .”

There was a moment of silence. I was afraid I’d lost her. Then her voice returned, and I exhaled sharply.

“Okay, I’m outside now. I’m walking toward my car.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Wait in your car until help arrives. The dispatcher said they’re sending someone, right?”

“Yes . . . yes, she did,” Claire stuttered. “She said help would be here in less than ten minutes. But you have to come too. Melanie, you can’t leave me here to face this by myself. I need you!”

“I’m on my way,” I said. I was already pushing myself to my feet. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Where are you?”

“Oh. Right. I forgot that part.” Claire giggled. I hoped she wasn’t becoming hysterical. “I’m in New Canaan. On Forest Glen Lane. It’s off Weed Street. I’m at the gatehouse for the Mannerly estate. Do you know where that is?”

“No, but I can find it. I’ll be there soon. Are you in your car yet?”

“Yes,” she said, and I heard a door thunk shut. “I’m locked in.”

“Good. Just stay there,” I told her. “Don’t move.”

“Hurry, okay?” Claire’s voice was shaking again. “Please?”

I shoved my phone in my pocket and grabbed my coat off the back of the chair. Aunt Peg cleared the Poodles out of our way as we hurried toward the front door, then down the outside steps to the driveway. She fired questions at me as we ran.

“Who’s dead?” she immediately wanted to know.

“A woman named Lila Moran.”

Aunt Peg frowned. “Who’s she?”

“Claire said she was a client.”

“Claire’s arranging an event for her?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”

Claire had her own event planning business. Her specialty was over-the-top children’s birthday parties, but she also worked with a number of corporate clients. Earlier in the fall, Claire had come up with a brilliant idea to expand the services her company offered. She’d announced her availability to act as a personal Christmas shopper for busy Fairfield County residents. She’d quickly found herself with as many customers as she could handle. Perhaps she’d met Lila Moran that way.

“How did the woman die?” Aunt Peg demanded.

“I don’t know that either. Claire didn’t say.”

“Who killed her?”

I stopped and stared. “How would I know that?”

“You were the one on the phone with her,” Aunt Peg snapped in frustration. “I thought surely Claire must have told you something.”

“She told me she needed help,” I said simply. “So I’m going to help her.”

“I’m coming with you,” Aunt Peg decided suddenly as I reached my car.

We’d dashed out of the house together. Aunt Peg hadn’t even stopped to grab a jacket. We hadn’t had any snow yet this winter, but the morning temperature was barely above freezing. Aunt Peg was dressed in a cotton turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers. We’d been outside for only thirty seconds, and already she looked cold.

“No, you’re not,” I told her. I was holding the car key, but my hand stilled above the door handle. This was non-negotiable.

“I can help too,” Aunt Peg said firmly.

“You’ll freeze,” I pointed out.

“No, I won’t. Your car has a heater.”

So much for the easy excuse.

“Claire doesn’t want you there,” I said.

Aunt Peg had started to climb into the Volvo. Now she paused. “Did she say that?”

“Yes.”

Aunt Peg’s eyes narrowed. I knew she was getting ready to argue again.

“Look,” I said. “All I know is that something horrible has happened and that Claire stumbled on the scene. She’s understandably upset and she needs our support. What she doesn’t need is for you to show up and tell everyone what to do. The police are already on their way. The situation is being handled. Just let me go and get her through this, okay?”

“I guess so,” Aunt Peg muttered. She stepped away from the car. “If you insist.”

“I’ll call later and tell you everything,” I said as I slid into my seat.

“You’d better,” Aunt Peg replied darkly.

* * *

I probably violated a few traffic laws between Greenwich and New Canaan. But I got there quickly and that was all that mattered. Nevertheless, it looked as though half the local police force had already beaten me to the scene.

New Canaan was a quiet, affluent, mostly residential town. There were no shopping malls or fast food restaurants. The town boasted more parks than gas stations. Residents valued their privacy and sent their children to the town’s excellent public schools.

Crime was unusual in New Canaan. Violent crime was almost unheard of. So I wasn’t surprised that whatever had taken place inside the gatehouse at the Mannerly estate had resulted in a sizable police presence.

Forest Glen was a narrow, winding lane, so I’d already slowed my car to well below the speed limit before the estate came into view. A forbidding-looking wall—its stone base topped by black, wrought iron, spikes—was the first indication that I was nearing my destination. The property itself was densely wooded. I drove for another quarter mile, without seeing a single break in the trees, before I finally arrived at a wide double gate. It, too, was made of iron and stood at least eight feet tall.

Both sides of the gate were open, but a police cruiser was parked across the driveway, blocking access. As the Volvo coasted closer to the entrance, I sat up in my seat and attempted to peer down the driveway. It was deeply shadowed by a solid thicket of tree trunks and encroaching underbrush. A canopy of tangled branches arched in the air above it.

About thirty feet inside the property, and barely visible in the gloom, was a small vine-covered building. Presumably, that was the gatehouse where I would find Claire. I turned on my signal and started to pull over. Immediately, a police officer stepped out into the road to wave me past.

I stopped and rolled down my passenger side window. The officer leaned down and looked inside.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to move along,” he said.

“I’m here for Claire Travis,” I told him. “She’s the woman who called and reported what had happened. She’s waiting for me at the gatehouse.”

At least I hoped she was. I couldn’t see her car. But nor could I imagine that the authorities would have let her leave so quickly—certainly not before they’d questioned her and begun to try to figure out what was going on.

“Claire Travis,” he repeated slowly. “And you are?”

“Melanie Travis.” For once, the fact that I still used my first husband’s name actually came in handy.

“You’re a relative?” he asked.

“We’re sisters,” I lied. “Claire called me right after she dialed the emergency number. I was in Greenwich, and I came straight here. Whatever’s going on in there, Claire needs my support.”

He considered for a few seconds, then nodded. He gestured toward the other side of the road. “Park over there out of the way, and I’ll walk you in.”

I parked the Volvo and got out. The officer watched with approval as I locked it behind me.

“Stick close to me,” he said when I’d joined him in the driveway. “And don’t touch anything. Your sister’s sitting on a bench behind the gatehouse. As soon as the detectives are finished inside, they’re going to want to interview her. I’m not sure if they’ll let you stay for that part, but you can wait with her until they’re ready.”

They would let me stay, all right, I thought. Otherwise Claire and I would both be leaving. But I knew better than to voice the sentiment aloud.

The driveway in front of me was long and barely lit by the weak winter sun. By the time we reached the gatehouse, I still hadn’t been able to catch even a glimpse of the main house anywhere ahead of us. The bulk of the estate appeared to be entirely shielded from the road by the overgrown forest.

Idly, I wondered if it belonged to a Hollywood icon or some dot-com billionaire. Clearly, the owner possessed a fanatic need for seclusion. I could well imagine he or she wasn’t going to appreciate the authorities mounting an investigation on the property. Even here on the outer edge.

The closer we came to the gatehouse, the more dilapidated it appeared. The compact, one-story building had small windows and faded clapboard siding. Its roof sagged in one corner. There was no Christmas wreath on the front door, nor any holiday lights. Nothing brightened the dwelling’s drab exterior.

The officer bypassed the front entrance without pausing. He walked me around the gatehouse to the other side.

I saw Claire’s car first. Her red Civic was parked in a small cleared area beside the driveway. Then I finally saw Claire. She was seated on an ancient wooden bench placed just outside the building’s back door. Her head was lowered; her shoulders slumped. Forlorn. That was the first word that came to mind.

The low branches clustered over the spot must have provided shade in the summer. But the limbs were bare now. Slapping and rattling in the light breeze, they looked threatening, almost malevolent, as they hung down over the small clearing.

I was already hurrying toward her when Claire looked up and saw us. Quickly, she jumped to her feet. A look of relief lit up her face.

Claire was statuesque and slender, with long, dark, hair that was now mostly hidden beneath a knitted cap. Her bulky down parka was zipped all the way up to her chin, and she had fuzzy mittens on her hands. Her face was alarmingly pale. The only spot of color was her nose, which was red from the cold.

“Your sister’s here, Ms. Travis,” the officer said. “She said you called her and told her to come.”

Claire’s startled gaze found mine. “Sister?” she murmured.

Quickly I closed the gap between us. I gathered her in my arms for a strong hug. “Just go with it,” I said under my breath. “I had to talk my way in. So now we’re sisters.”

Claire stepped back out of my embrace. The smile she aimed at the policeman made his cheeks flush. “Thank you, Officer Jenkins. I feel so much better now.”

“Good.” He ducked his head. “I’m sure Detective Hronis will be out to speak with you shortly. I’d better get back to my post.” He turned and retreated down the driveway.

“Look at you. You’re freezing!” I grasped Claire’s hands in mine and rubbed briskly back and forth. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes?”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “They told me to sit down and not move. Something about messing up evidence. I didn’t really think about it. I just did what they said.”

That didn’t sound at all like the Claire I knew and loved—a woman who ran her own company and was happy to be in charge. I wondered if she was in shock.

“Your car isn’t evidence,” I said firmly. “Let’s go sit inside there. It’s got to be warmer, and at least we’ll be out of the wind.”

I waited until we were sitting in the Civic’s bucket seats and Claire had removed her mittens and scrubbed her hands over her face before saying, “Now—before the police come to ask you questions—tell me what happened.”

She sucked in a breath. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Start at the beginning. Tell me why you came here this morning.”

“Lila is . . . she was . . . a client,” Claire said slowly. “You know I started the personal shopper thing, right?”

“Of course.” I’d been half-tempted to sign up for her services myself.

“I figured that with Christmas coming, it might prove to be a popular sideline to the event planning. But let me tell you, I had no idea. I’ve been swamped.”

“That’s because you’re good at what you do,” I said. Claire was still jittery. She needed to relax. So I started with the easy stuff. “Walk me through how it works.”

“Generally, someone hears about my services, they get in touch, and we agree to meet. Mostly, it’s guys because . . .” Her lips quirked in a half-smile. “You know.”

“They’re lazy, and they hate to shop?”

She nodded. “Either that or they’re just unimaginative. And some have jobs that take up so much of their lives, they don’t have time to think about anything else.”

“So you meet up with a client,” I prompted.

“That’s right. We talk about their Christmas lists and the people they need to buy gifts for. They tell me about their preferences and the kinds of things they like to give, like maybe books or wine. I take some notes about the people I’ll be shopping for and make suggestions about things that might work. After that, we discuss how much they want to spend, and then I’m pretty much good to go.”

“So you did all those things with Lila Moran?”

“Yes. About three weeks ago. In fact, we met right here at her home.”

“So why did you come back this morning? Were the two of you supposed to meet again?”

“No.” Claire frowned. “That’s what’s so strange. Lila wasn’t supposed to be here at all. After I’ve bought a few presents for a client, I usually go ahead and gift wrap everything. Then, if they don’t want to be bothered picking stuff up, I can deliver. That was what Lila had asked me to do.”

“Tell me what you saw when you arrived.”

“Nothing.” She stopped and shook her head. “I mean, everything seemed normal. I had no reason to think it wouldn’t be.”

“Had you made a delivery for Lila previously?”

“Yes, last week. I went in the back door, piled the packages on her kitchen table, and left. I thought today would be the same. So I drove back here and parked. I unloaded her things from my trunk and let myself in.”

“How did you do that?” I asked. “Do you have a key?”

“No, but Lila keeps one under the flowerpot on the stoop.”

Both our gazes swiveled that way. The empty clay pot was now sitting on its side. “Not exactly high-tech security,” I said drily.

“Believe me, nothing about this place is high-tech,” Claire told me. “Lila grumbled about that a lot. The estate was built in the early twentieth century. It seems like the gatehouse has hardly been touched since.”

“So you walked into the kitchen . . .”

“Yes. I was juggling several parcels and trying not to drop the key while I closed the door behind me, so I didn’t notice anything right away. Except there was an odd smell . . .” Her voice trailed away.

I knew it was better not to let her dwell on that. “Go on,” I said sharply.

“I put the packages down on the table, and that’s when I saw her.” Claire closed her eyes briefly.

“Where was she?”

“Lying on the floor in the living room. At first, all I could see was Lila’s lower legs and feet. The rest of her body was curled around the other side of this big upholstered chair. I thought maybe she’d tripped and fallen. I hoped she hadn’t been seriously hurt.” Claire looked stricken. “Can you imagine?”

“I know,” I said quietly. “I know.”

She braced herself and continued. “So I went to try and help her. I thought I could do that. How stupid of me. Because then I walked around the chair, and that’s when I understood. Lila’s eyes were open. There was a bullet hole in her chest. She was beyond anyone’s help.”