Evie’s quaint, two-bedroom house was located at the end of an unpaved road that backed against a steep, tree-filled mountainside. The square, red-brick house with white wooden shutters wasn’t new, and it wasn’t big, but it was what Evie had always referred to as her own private slice of heaven. While most saw her as outspoken, Evie had always preferred simple, country living to a fast-paced life on a street chock full of cookie-cutter residences, backyard barbeques, and hordes of “your business is my business” kind of people.
Evie didn’t like people. Not most of them, anyway. She didn’t like what happened when she was around them. She didn’t like feeling forced to sit and listen to their endless rambling, idle gossip, rumors spread by bored housewives whose only fulfillment in their own lives consisted of entrenching themselves in the lives of others.
Given her need for solitude, it didn’t surprise Quinn when Evie bought the place on Duggar Road from a retired couple who’d called it home for over forty-five years. Evie’s closest neighbor, Norma Healy, lived several acres away. Norma’s elaborate, two-story house with floor-to-ceiling windows was visible from Evie’s front yard, but still far enough of a distance to give Evie the privacy she desired. Given this fact, it made sense when Norma told police she hadn’t heard any gunshots ring out the night Evie was murdered. And considering Norma was in her upper eighties and wore a hearing aid in one ear, Quinn surmised a train could have coasted by and she wouldn’t have heard that either.
Quinn exited the car, taking in the surroundings. Evie’s place fit the bill of an active murder scene to a tee. The yellow crime tape was still affixed to the front door, and the yard looked different than what she was used to seeing. Disheveled. Flowers withering from too many days of inconsistent watering. Evie was meticulous about her flowerbeds, and at this moment, it looked as though a herd of deer had barreled through them. Except the herd was a different breed, the human kind—cops combing the surroundings for possible clues.
Had they found any?
In the far corner of the yard, Evie’s Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail rested beneath a carport next to a restored Mustang. It was the best protection against the elements she could afford, given her home hadn’t come with a garage. Quinn entered the house, noticing Evie’s computer had been removed from the desk. Only shapes remained on its surface, areas where Evie had not dusted. Quinn pressed her hands into the soft, fine-grain leather of Evie’s couch, thought back to the last time she’d sat where she was standing now.
Two months before, Quinn flew in to surprise Evie on her birthday. The house was filled with laughter then, and Evie seemed happier than usual. She was dating someone new. Roy Ferguson. A transplant from Texas who’d recently moved to Cody to accept a job as a hatchery manager, a person in charge of incubating trout eggs and then transferring them to local lakes and streams in the area.
Quinn hadn’t met Roy.
Yet.
Quinn’s eye shifted to something else, a kid’s puzzle laid out on the coffee table. A cardboard lid depicting a playful group of safari animals rested next to it. The puzzle was finished with the exception of three pieces. Quinn peeked inside the box, saw the remaining pieces, how close Jacob had come to putting it all together. It made her wonder about Jacob’s exact location when Evie died. Had he been standing here, working on the puzzle?
A few feet away a large stain on a rug inside the hall bathroom caught her eye. Upon first glance, her eyes darted in another direction, unable to look, unable to accept. She’d driven there that morning certain she was prepared. Now she knew she wasn’t. She crossed in front of the coffee table and entered the bathroom anyway, dropping to her knees in front of the stain, now a dark, purplish-black color, the result of the blood blending with the colors in the rug. She pressed both hands into the center of the stain as if clinging to the last moments of Evie’s life.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.”
A cold shiver surged through Quinn’s body. She stood, turned. The woman behind her stepped forward, half-smiled, then stared down at the dried blood like it was an ordinary stain one might see on any given day.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here either, Mrs. Healy.”
Mrs. Healy pressed a finger to her lips. “You know, Quinn, you’re probably right. At my age, I hardly care anymore. Truth is, this isn’t the first time I’ve been here since Evie died. I’ve driven over a few times. I tried to water the garden, but the darn spigot was screwed on too tight. Couldn’t get it to budge.”
“It was nice of you to try.”
“I know how much Evie’s flower garden meant to her.”
Quinn crossed her arms in front of her. “I didn’t see you at the funeral.”
“I’m not much for those kind of things. Besides, she wouldn’t have known I was there. Sad as it is, she’s gone now. Best to accept it and move on. Some people believe the spirit of a person lingers, even after death. Not me. Ashes to ashes, as they say.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Quinn replied. “My parents brought me up to believe there was another life after this one.”
“I don’t mean to dissuade you from what you’ve been taught. I just think differently. I believe the moment death takes us, life starts again, gives us a new beginning, a second or a third chance to be someone else, do things we missed this time around.”
“Reincarnation?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
Reincarnation. Quinn didn’t believe in it. She wasn’t fond of the idea of evolution either. But at least she believed in something. Evie hadn’t believed in anything. The way Evie saw things, when a person died, they died. End of story. No heaven, no hell. No second chance at existence period.
“Mrs. Healy, were you at home the night Evie died?”
“I’m home every evening.”
“I know your house is a short distance from here, but is there any chance you remember seeing anything?”
“Police asked me the same question. Asked me a lot of other things too.”
“So did you ... see anything?”
“You’re well aware Evie’s visitors had to cross in front of my house in order to get back here, and though it’s hard for me to get my days straight sometimes, I did recall seeing two pickup trucks pass in front of my house that night.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know, dear. Once it gets dark, I don’t pay much mind. When it’s light, it’s light. When it’s dark, it’s dark.”
“If it was dark outside, how do you know it was two trucks and not the same one coming and going twice?”
For that matter, Quinn wondered how Mrs. Healy could have differentiated a truck from a car or a van.
“The trucks were different from each other.”
“In what way?”
Mrs. Healy sighed, closing her eyes like she now regretted leaving home. “The first truck was Roman’s. He stopped by often to see Jacob. I always knew when it was him because his lights are round, and he always has the brights turned on.”
“And the second one?”
“The second truck was the new guy she’d been seeing. Think she said his name was Troy.”
Close.
“Roy.”
“That’s right. The headlight on his passenger side is busted. I kept needling Evie to get after him to get it fixed. He never did though.”
“Was Roy the first or second visitor that night?”
“Not sure.”
“Were you watching television at the time?” Quinn asked. “Maybe if you recall what show was on, it would help establish a time.”
“I just said I didn’t know, and I don’t. Asking two or three times won’t make my answer any different.”
Quinn was losing her. She switched gears. “There’s a rumor going around that Roman was a suspect.”
Mrs. Healy shrugged. “Imagine he was. He didn’t like the fact Evie was seeing someone new. Ask me, Roman had a bit of a jealous streak.”
“What about the new guy—what do you think of him?”
“Seems nice enough. Quiet. Never said much when I saw him.”
“And you told all of this to the police?”
“I told them a few things. Not much. I don’t like the way they came around here, poking and prodding me for answers, asking me the same questions over and over, like I’ll come up with something new to say on their fourth or fifth try. I’m old, not stupid.”
“I’m sure they’re just doing their best to find out what happened.”
“I get the feeling they think I’m lying, like I’m a suspect, not a witness. I cared for the girl. Looked after her. Took food over on occasion. Even if I wouldn’t have taken to her like I did, I’m no murderer.”
Quinn knew why the police suspected Mrs. Healy. Several years earlier, a rumor had gone around town that Mrs. Healy’s husband had died under mysterious circumstances after a deadly fall from a tractor, one he’d operated so many times he could have done it blindfolded. His brother suspected foul play. Whether true or untrue, Mrs. Healy had her husband’s body cremated before his brother’s allegations could be proven.
Standing before her now, Quinn couldn’t imagine the wrinkly-faced, curly-haired Mrs. Healy capable of such a thing. Except for one small infraction. There was something about the way her eyes continually scampered around when she talked, never settling on any one thing. It was as if she was only indulging in a conversation with Quinn in order to achieve a higher purpose, to mask a hidden agenda.
But she wasn’t masking anything.