Night had fallen, bleak and sodden. By the time Natalie had settled Bunny into a shelter and driven across town to the Buckner residence, the media vans had departed and yellow police tape cordoned off the property. She preferred to be alone at a crime scene, where she could think without disruption. She wiped her shoes on the welcome mat and went inside.
Brandon, who was staying with his parents across town, had given the BLPD permission to search the entire property on the night of the murder, but since Luke didn’t want there to be any gray areas, Natalie had filed affidavits and secured an extensive warrant for the Buckner residence. Now they could come and go as they pleased.
The living room was modern and understated. Nothing too garish or bold. No stripes, plaids, or primary colors. The stairs creaked under her light steps. The banister felt sturdy in her hand. At the top of the landing, she slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and headed for the master bedroom at the end of the hall.
Cherry modern bedroom set. King-size bed. Egyptian cotton linens. Neat as a pin. On the nightstand was a pair of women’s designer glasses and a stack of books.
Natalie picked up a volume of nineteenth-century poetry. The pages were faded and worn from repeated readings. She examined the other titles. Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol, Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D. H. Lawrence, Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, Tolstoy’s War and Peace. The baby books were at the bottom of the stack.
No wonder Brandon thought Daisy was bored by him.
Next, Natalie activated Daisy’s Kindle Fire. The two breakup ebooks she’d purchased were there at the top of the list on the home page. Unread.
Natalie walked over to Daisy’s brass-handled bureau and sifted through her underthings—plain cotton panties, sports bras, socks, hose. Very practical. The second drawer contained the more sensual stuff—silky camisoles, mesh-back panties, lacy thongs, push-up bras, delicate teddies. Everything was lightweight and airy, made of the softest fabric imaginable. Next came the pajama drawer, then a sweater drawer.
Natalie crossed the room and entered the walk-in closet. She flicked on the overhead light. There were two distinct sides—one for Brandon, the other for Daisy. She inhaled the acerbic scent of cedar and rifled through Daisy’s outfits on their wooden hangers. Skirts and dresses, all colors of the rainbow. Silk and cashmere, cocktail attire and dressy casual. A camel-hair winter coat and a goose-down parka. Silky kimonos and chiffon robes. Little black dresses and formal wear. Daisy had built herself a serious wardrobe, one to match all occasions and moods.
Downstairs, she took a seat behind Daisy’s desk and powered up her laptop. She combed through Daisy’s emails and found an exchange between Principal Truitt and Daisy regarding Riley’s status. No new information surfaced. There were faculty emails discussing the prom committee and other school events. Also, Daisy had contacted her minister, the Reverend Thomas Grimsby, trying to set up an appointment for next week. She wanted to meet with him—urgently, it seemed—on a private matter. Natalie made a mental note to follow this up.
Daisy’s text messages to Brandon were brief and mostly revolved around domestic issues—the car needs oil, call the roofing contractor for an estimate.
Natalie rummaged through the desk drawers and found Daisy’s daily planner. She rifled through the pages until she’d reached the calendar section. There were plenty of obstetrician appointments, dental appointments, and beauty appointments. Also, oddly, scrawled throughout the calendar on random dates, going back seven or eight months, were the initials, “T&I.” Natalie puzzled over what this could possibly mean. Teaching and instruction?
She did an online search for “T&I” and came up with a list of acronyms that didn’t seem to fit. Transportation and Infrastructure. Trade and Industry. Technology and Innovation. Team and Individual. Testing and Inspection. Teachers and Interpreters. Toledo and Indiana Railroad.
She sighed and set the issue aside.
There were other appointments jotted on Daisy’s calendar, various committee meetings, faculty meetings, student activities, and other school events—along with her many beauty treatments. Haircuts at the Cutting Edge, mani-pedi’s at Zoey’s Salon, bikini waxes at the Palace Spa—scheduled at regular intervals, six to eight weeks apart, beginning approximately nine months ago.
Natalie put down the planner and checked her watch. Luke was waiting for her back at the station—he’d requested a debrief about today’s findings. As she shifted in her seat, ready to give up, she felt the bump with her right foot. She pushed Daisy’s roller chair back and peered underneath the desk. Shoved into a corner, behind the woven wastebasket, was a brown leather briefcase.
Natalie retrieved it, then propped the heavy briefcase on her lap and unzipped it. She scooped out a heavy handful of paperwork—student essays, test papers, lesson plans, faculty meeting schedules, curriculum notes. There was more paperwork inside, straining the briefcase. She took it all out and sorted through the mess, but nothing stood out.
She dug around in the inner hidden compartments, unzipping and probing them all. Finally, she found a sealed manila envelope and slit it open with a letter opener.
Inside was a paperback book titled Tristan und Isolde, by Richard Wagner.
Natalie recalled the classic tragedy from her college days, a medieval love story about star-crossed lovers, retold in countless manuscripts. Isolde, the daughter of the King of Ireland, was betrothed to British King Mark, who sent his nephew, Tristan, to escort her back to England. The couple fell in love en route.
Tristan and Isolde. T&I.
But there was more. Pressed between the pages of the book, folded in half, were several lined sheets of paper. She took them out and spread them across the desk. The love sonnets had been copied by hand, and all were signed, “Love, Tristan.”