Forty-Two

“I’m coming with you,” Meghan said.

Heart beating a shallow rhythm, Charley clipped the leash to Cocoa’s collar. “Kayla won’t talk if you’re there and you know it.”

“That’s true. Damn.” She paced the narrow entranceway. A sharp wind gusted through the screen door, catching at the sleeves of the jackets hanging from the cast iron hooks.

“Give me an hour before you tell Alex about this —” Meghan’s guilty expression had her pausing. “You already did, didn’t you?” There went her advantage.

“He didn’t answer the phone.”

Relief washed over her. “Good. I want to hear Kayla’s side of things before we go around telling people David’s version.”

“He had me convinced,” Meghan muttered. She caught Charley’s eye and sighed. “What if she did kill Andrew? I don’t think you should go over there on your own.”

Kindred spirits, through thick and thin. I need someone on my side.

Charley said, “I have Cocoa with me.” Warm brown eyes blinked up at her. “Besides, it’s not like Kayla’s going to poison me. Look, if she did kill Andrew — and I’m not saying she did — it means she felt like she was backed into a corner with no other way out.” Like the girl in the drawing, standing in an Arctic tundra, watching her hands turn to stone. She pushed the thought aside. “But this time, she’s got people who can help her figure out what to do next. I want her to know that.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Worry was raw on her face. “She’s either going to confess to murder or keep lying.”

“Or prove her innocence.” Annoyance simmered inside her.

“Always the optimist.”

“She’d do the same for me.” She pushed past Meghan, stepped outside. The setting sun blazed over the road, sparking off gravel.

“Are you sure about that?”

The question caught her mid-step, stopped her short on the fieldstone walkway.

“What happens if she does confess?” Meghan asked. “Do you really think she’s just going to come to the police station with you?”

Charley turned back to face her, a chill sliding down her spine, despite the heat, the humidity. “If it turns out she did it, I’ll convince her to talk to Alex.”

“Who will arrest her.”

The wind buffeted the trees, fierce now. And dangerous.

“Worst case scenario.” On impulse, she hugged Meghan, squeezed tight. “Stop worrying so much. It’s Kayla.” She started down the path. “I’ll be back soon.” With a battle plan.

This time, she’d convince Kayla to fight. And make her believe they could win.

---

Music, the sweeping tones of an aria, spilled through the open windows. Charley rang the doorbell again.

Still no answer.

It was instinct more than anything that had her reaching for the handle. The door swung open. The soaring voice of a weeping soprano poured out. She shot an uneasy glance at Cocoa.

An unlocked door. Not unusual in cottage country, but a house like this tempted fate.

She hesitated on the threshold. Cocoa strained forward and she kept a firm hold on the leash. The note rose an octave higher, trembled there, on the brink.

“Kayla?” The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She stepped into the dark entrance. A breeze wafted over her arms from deeper within the house, raising goosebumps.

Where was she?

In the living room, one of the lamps by the sofa cast a yellow glow. The sliding doors were wide open, the curtains billowing, like they had on the night Andrew was murdered. The dying sun stained the sky and water red.

The conflict between soprano and baritone rose to a crescendo.

Charley stepped out onto the patio and caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Cocoa turned, tail wagging with a full body quiver.

Kayla sat with her back to the wall, a large sketchbook propped on her raised knees. Cocoa scrambled forward to greet her. “Hi.” She scratched behind the dog’s ears, then glanced up at Charley. “I’m surprised to see you. You must be exhausted after dealing with the incident at the gallery. I know I am.”

Had that really only happened this morning? “Actually, I’m still wound up.”

Sharpened coloured pencils rested on a Blue Willow porcelain plate, to stop them from disappearing into the cracks in the stones. A second sketchpad lay open beside her, covered with a few fleeting penciled impressions. Practice, although they used to call that second sheet of paper the sabotage page.

“This is the first time I’ve been back out here since —” Kayla inhaled, long and slow. “This is as far as I got,” she admitted.

Charley sat beside her. The patio paver had stored up the afternoon heat and felt sun-warmed beneath her jeans. Cocoa settled down nearby. “David came to visit us tonight.”

A dark bank of clouds rolled in over the lake. In the distance, a white sail flashed. The boat speeding toward shore in a race against the storm.

“What did he want?” An undertone sharpened the casual question. Kayla’s pencil scratched over the thick paper. Above their heads, the wind chimes crashed.

Had it always been this hard to get her to open up?

Charley glanced at the drawing. Still a bare-bones sketch, the shading a mixture of parallel straight lines and contours. Colour-blocked shapes, in the shades of the setting sun, made up the background. A woman with long, black hair stretched her arms to the sky. She had the wings of a raven and they were spread in flight. Her feet lifted off the ground. In profile, her upturned face was one expressive line. In the distance, still just a vague outline, lay the prone form of a body — a man. The tip of Kayla’s pencil worked over the figure, adding details, dimension. Life.

No, not life. Realism. In all its painstaking precision.

“Actually,” Charley said, “he wanted to talk to Alex.”

“That’s odd.”

She searched her face but saw only curiosity. “He said he came to visit you, at the house, after Andrew died.”

Kayla’s pencil pierced the paper, leaving a small round hole in the man’s chest. Like a gunshot wound. “People seem to think that dropping by will somehow help the grieving widow. It doesn’t.”

“But you weren’t having an affair with him.” Half-statement, half-question, to take the edge off her words.

“Marriage is a promise and I kept it.” Kayla’s voice was flat. Her face cold and hard and luminous as a statue. “Nothing happened between us before Andrew died.”

Before Andrew died. “David said he found something. In your kitchen.”

She put the sketchpad down with barely restrained force. “He found something here? And he told you about it?” Betrayal flashed in her eyes.

“It was nougat paste.”

She laughed, a quick, startled sound. “You’re kidding. Why would I —” The laughter faded, falling away, as Charley kept her gaze steady. “He made that up.”

Maybe. Hopefully. “Why would he do that?”

“I have no idea. But he’s lying.” Fear stripped away some of that perfection. Made her look younger, more like she had before. “Did he show it to you?”

“Apparently, he threw it out. To protect you.”

“And they say chivalry is dead.” Sarcasm there, chisel sharp.

“David was quick to cover for you.”

“Until today,” Kayla said, her composure chipping. “When he changed his mind. But why?” The clang of wind chimes filled the silence. “The gallery.” She stood. “He thinks I did that? That’s bullshit.”

Charley felt the force of her fury finally let loose. And about time. She rose, too, planted her feet, and faced it. “There’s only so much I can do. The evidence keeps adding up and all I’ve got to go on is trust.” And she was running low on that.

“I went over all this with Alex already,” Kayla said. “I was here, at home. I wish I could prove it, but it’s the truth.”

“The only alternative is that David lied.” But why? Her thoughts raced. “If he murdered Andrew, he’d want the attention on someone else.” Maybe he thought he had a chance with Kayla, if Andrew was out of the picture. But that theory had one flaw. “If he got rid of Andrew to be with you, why would he now blame you?” It didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t know. I still can’t believe he didn’t just ask me about this.” Kayla’s expression turned bitter. “David has strong opinions about what’s right and wrong. This isn’t just about the vandalism. He thinks I killed my husband. That’s it.” Her voice was flat and hard. “That’s exactly what he thinks. And so do you.”

Guilt caught between her ribs, stabbed through her like pencil through paper. Leaving a small hole behind. “If that’s what happened, I’ll help you.” A beat went by. “Kayla, it’s the lies that make it hard to trust you. And I know you’ve been lying about something.”

She pressed her lips together.

Charley took a breath. “The night Andrew died, you told me you killed him.”

Kayla looked at the drawing lying on the ground. The paper fluttered as another gust of wind tore at them. “I did. But not in the way you think.”

This was it. Dread seeped through her from the heart out. But she said, “Tell me.”

“When I found him —” Kayla stopped, started again. “Andrew always had an EpiPen on him. He knew a reaction could be fast and deadly.” She twisted her fingers together, looked out toward the lake — no, to where they found Andrew. The red chair striking as a grave marker against the water.

“But he didn’t have it on him,” Charley said. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

Kayla turned, met her eyes. “You don’t get it. If I’d gotten there earlier, looked for him sooner, called for help in time, he’d still be alive. When it counted, I did nothing. And, when I found him, I was glad. That he’d suffered.”

Taking pleasure in his pain. She had changed. But she wasn’t a murderer. “Whoever made those chocolates killed him. If David really found nougat paste in the house, then the killer planted the evidence.” Meaning, they’d had access to the house. A thought hit her. “The door was unlocked when I got here. Is it normally like that?”

“When I’m at home. Though Andrew always hated it when I left the door unlocked. Said it wasn’t safe.” Kayla smiled a little. “I guess he was right about that.”

“Maybe.” Someone could have walked right in. “If you’d been distracted, while painting, you’d never know anyone was there. Although that would take guts.” The break-in at the gallery had, too.

Kayla shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as though to ward off a chill. “Someone was in the house, prowling around, while I was here?”

Charley glanced back, at all those windows. A view of the lake for the price of a sheet of glass, separating inside and out. “Did you notice any signs of forced entry? Scratches around the lock?”

“No, nothing like that. And we have an alarm system. It would have gone off if someone tried to break in.”

Even in those old stories, doorways couldn’t be walled up. Men brought monsters to life and brought them into their homes.

Anyone on their suspect list would have been welcomed into her house without a question.

“Maybe you invited them in.” All it would take was a moment alone in the kitchen to leave a container of nougat paste in a cupboard.

Kayla laughed, a brittle, broken sound. “And you’re still trying to tell me this isn’t my fault?”

“Yes. And together, we can catch the killer.” They’d always been more powerful together. There was strength in numbers. “Did you have any visitors, just before Andrew died?”

The chocolates they found had been fresh, just a few days old, at most.

Kayla stood on the patio, but she was no longer statue-still. The wind tore at her hair. The black strands flying around her head like scattered feathers. “Once chocolate was in the house, it never lasted long. Andrew always had to have his within easy reach while he worked, in the bottom drawer of his desk.”

She’d read enough crime novels to know that habits and routines made for easy targets. “If there were more chocolates in the drawer than before, would he assume you put them there?”

“Sure.” She shrugged. “If he was distracted, focused on work, he might not have even noticed the difference.”

Something scurried through the bushes. The air was denser now, thickened by the scents of earth and ozone and the brewing storm.

Adrenaline coursed through Charley. “So, the killer could have put the chocolates in the desk in his office, then left the nougat paste in the kitchen cupboard.”

“It would be hard for a visitor to do that though, without getting caught.”

“Let’s see.” They could put the theory to the test by going through the motions themselves.

Walking into the house, electric with the discovery, Charley headed straight for the kitchen. Cocoa followed, an anxious dance to her step as she fed off their nervous energy.

The top cupboard by the fridge, David had said. High up.

Charley stretched, reaching. But the handle was an inch too far above her head, out of her grasp. But that told them something, too. “Whoever did it would have to be tall enough to reach.”

Kayla nodded. “I need a stepladder to take a pot down.”

“What about Andrew’s office?” Might as well try the whole route.

“It’s down the hall.”

As Kayla led the way, Charley timed the distance, counting the seconds. How long would someone need? How well would they need to know the house?

In the office, Kayla switched on the light with a pull of the metal chain on the standing lamp. An energy-saving bulb spread a muted glow through the room. A glow that seemed weak and pale in comparison to the darkness gathering outside the window. Pressing closer.

The wood-paneled walls and built-in cupboards would have suited a cabin on a luxury cruise liner. Imposing wood and leather, meant to intimidate whoever entered through that door.

Shoes sinking into the plush carpet, Charley walked to the desk, pulled out the bottom drawer. She checked her watch. “Barely a minute, all in all.”

Inside the drawer, there was a stapler, three ballpoint pen refills, a handful of paper clips. And more than enough space for a box — or a bag — of chocolates.

“Someone tall,” Kayla said slowly. She twisted the lamp’s pull chain, winding it around her fingers. “Who came to the house. Two days before Andrew died.” She frowned. “But I really don’t think —”

“Who was it?” The drawer slid in the tracks, latched with a nearly inaudible click. She straightened.

Kayla let the chain go. Metal rattled against the lamp. “A lightbulb had burned out.”

Her chest tightened on a hard squeeze that snatched her breath. It couldn’t be. But suddenly, everything made sense.

And she wished with all her heart that it didn’t.

Cocoa turned to the door, fur bristling, ears on alert. The last note died in the soprano’s throat and the CD ended on a beat of silence.

Inside the house, a floorboard creaked.