Dark Homecoming by William Patterson

before I arrived. And he was right. David should have told me.”
    â€œMr. Huntington simply didn’t want to upset you,” Mrs. Hoffman said.
    Liz nodded. “I know. But Jamison’s statement to me wasn’t malicious.” She looked over at the police officers. “I didn’t want you to have that impression.”
    Sergeant Foley smiled at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Huntington.”
    â€œThank you both,” his partner added. “That’s all we need for now. But we may be back in touch.”
    â€œOf course,” Liz said. “You’ll be calling David?”
    â€œYes,” Foley assured her. “Mrs. Hoffman gave us his card.”
    Liz escorted them to the door. Sergeant McFarland strode out to their waiting cruiser, but Sergeant Foley looked back at her and gave her a small smile.
    â€œI regret that your arrival here should be so unpleasant,” he told her.
    Liz just smiled sadly. What a kind man Sergeant Foley seemed. His strawberry blond hair was cut short, and he sported some day-old ginger scruff on his cheeks and chin, not heavy enough to disguise a pretty deep dimple in his chin. His eyes were pale blue and very reassuring. Liz was glad he was on the case.
    She closed the door and looked back at Mrs. Hoffman.
    â€œYou’re new in your role as mistress of this house,” the housekeeper said. “I understand that. But I believe Mr. Huntington would want me to point something out.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œNever reveal more than what is necessary about what goes on here, not even the slightest, most innocuous detail. And never, ever show weakness to outsiders.”
    â€œWas I being weak when I cried? Is that what you mean?”
    â€œMrs. Huntington always smiled, no matter what the situation. She always faced outsiders with a smile and a steeled back.”
    â€œI see,” said Liz.
    â€œJust a helpful comment,” Mrs. Hoffman said. “If I were you, I’d put all this unpleasantness aside and move on. It has nothing to do with our lives in this house.”
    Liz said nothing. She just watched as the housekeeper hustled off, to do whatever it was she did to run this glittering mansion.
    A glittering, bloated, oversized monstrosity that Liz suddenly thought she could never learn to call home.

14
    S tanding off in the shadows behind the grand curving staircase was Rita. She had heard the entire conversation with the two police officers.
    Jamison—dead!
    Murdered!
    The housemaid stepped out of the shadows and resumed her task of dusting the tables. But her mind was reeling.
    She couldn’t shake the image of that sweet boy, his throat slit. The blood must have been everywhere.
    Rita felt as if she might get sick.
    She slipped out of the parlor and into the hall bathroom, the one reserved for guests. Mrs. Hoffman would have a fit if she ever caught Rita in here for anything other than cleaning. But Rita needed to steady herself, and if her breakfast of coffee and toasted blueberry muffin was going to make a reappearance, she wanted to be near a toilet.
    Jamison! Dead!
    She looked into her eyes in the mirror. He must have been killed soon after they had spoken to each other at Mickey’s Bar. Jamison had told Rita some really disturbing things as they sat there drinking their beer.
    He had admitted to tampering with evidence, helping Mrs. Hoffman move Audra’s corpse from Mrs. Huntington’s room to the grass outside. He had been planning to go to the police and reveal all he knew.
    But someone had stopped him from ever squealing.
    The door to the bathroom suddenly rattled. Someone tried to turn the knob, but found it locked. Rita tensed.
    A rapping. “Who’s in there?” a voice called through the door.
    Mrs. Hoffman’s voice.
    Rita quickly began wiping the sink with her dust rag with one hand while unlocking the door with her other. “I’m just doing some cleaning,” she