picked up the purse, a nylon summer tote bag with a design of blue sailboats against a cream background. She opened the bag and, using pincers from the case, carefully lifted out the contents: lip gloss, compact, hand sanitizer, aspirin bottle, box of mints, hairbrush, comb, case with sunglasses, BlackBerry, small notebook, three ballpoint pens, crumpled bingo card, small packet of Kleenex, billfold, checkbook, change purse, car keys, package of red licorice. She shook her head and returned the items as carefully as she had removed them.
Annie moved slowly around the perimeter of the living room. Pat had been a tidy housekeeper. There were no papers or magazines tucked in the bookcase. She edged open the TV console. The remote lay atop the previous Sunday’s TV guide.
Hyla jerked a thumb. “Let’s try the kitchen. Maybe she wanted to study them while she ate dinner.”
Once in the kitchen, Annie was struck by the supper dishes now bone-dry, the dog’s empty water bowl. She looked at the kitchen table, empty except for one place mat and a pottery sugar bowl and salt and pepper shakers.
Hyla stepped to the white plastic wastebasket, used the foot press to lift the lid.
Annie moved near. “Billy said they found an empty pill bottle right on top of the trash.”
Hyla spread a black plastic bag on the kitchen floor and painstakingly removed the contents of the wastebasket: an empty egg carton, used tea bags, rinsed-out cans, cellophane wrappers, assorted boxes and bags.
No travel brochures.
Annie was emphatic. “They should be here. She’d have no reason to hide them.”
“We’ll continue to look.” Hyla sounded patient.
At the end of a half hour, they stood again in the small living room. Hyla shook her head.
Annie pointed at the coffee table. “Like I told Billy, I think someone else was here Friday night. Pat used her crystal for a guest, made her favorite specialty coffee drink. Pat handed the brochures to her visitor. Later, when Pat was dying, the murderer took the brochures away because the brochures held fingerprints.”
Hyla Harrison looked at the empty chairs and the coffee table. “I don’t know about that. I know there aren’t any brochures in this house.” Her glance at Annie was commiserating. “I get where you’re coming from. But it’s awfully hard to prove anything with nothing.” She peeled off the gloves and started to turn toward the door then stopped. “I wonder . . .” She pulled the gloves back on and walked to the purse. Again she used the pincer, this time to retrieve the phone. She glanced at it in mild surprise. “I’d have thought the chief would have already retrieved it. Pirelli probably checked it out, didn’t see any unusual calls or messages.” Hyla held it carefully at the edges, opened it, tapped her finger. “No recent text messages.” She moved her finger again. “Got some pix.” She looked at the images. “Nice one of the raven. Guess she wanted to show somebody that the place where she worked had this molty-looking bird on a shelf.”
Annie was touched that Pat had taken a photo at the store.
Abruptly, Hyla frowned. “Odd one here.”
Annie moved to look over her thin shoulder. In a small circle of light bounded by darkness, a lumpy towel lay on wood. “A wooden bench?”
“Maybe.” Hyla looked intent. “Taken at night obviously.” She moved her thumb; the photo was followed by six more in quick succession. Several featured the dachshund. All were straightforward photographs of people or places. “There’s only the one of the towel.” Hyla returned to the photograph. She tapped Properties. “Taken at twelve-oh-nine A.M. June thirteenth. I’d guess Pirelli didn’t know the time might matter.”
Annie was excited. “Pat took the picture late at night in the dark. It was late at night when she walked through the woods to the Jamison house.” Quickly Annie described her conclusions about Pat’s late-night excursions.
“I get you. Of
Annie moved slowly around the perimeter of the living room. Pat had been a tidy housekeeper. There were no papers or magazines tucked in the bookcase. She edged open the TV console. The remote lay atop the previous Sunday’s TV guide.
Hyla jerked a thumb. “Let’s try the kitchen. Maybe she wanted to study them while she ate dinner.”
Once in the kitchen, Annie was struck by the supper dishes now bone-dry, the dog’s empty water bowl. She looked at the kitchen table, empty except for one place mat and a pottery sugar bowl and salt and pepper shakers.
Hyla stepped to the white plastic wastebasket, used the foot press to lift the lid.
Annie moved near. “Billy said they found an empty pill bottle right on top of the trash.”
Hyla spread a black plastic bag on the kitchen floor and painstakingly removed the contents of the wastebasket: an empty egg carton, used tea bags, rinsed-out cans, cellophane wrappers, assorted boxes and bags.
No travel brochures.
Annie was emphatic. “They should be here. She’d have no reason to hide them.”
“We’ll continue to look.” Hyla sounded patient.
At the end of a half hour, they stood again in the small living room. Hyla shook her head.
Annie pointed at the coffee table. “Like I told Billy, I think someone else was here Friday night. Pat used her crystal for a guest, made her favorite specialty coffee drink. Pat handed the brochures to her visitor. Later, when Pat was dying, the murderer took the brochures away because the brochures held fingerprints.”
Hyla Harrison looked at the empty chairs and the coffee table. “I don’t know about that. I know there aren’t any brochures in this house.” Her glance at Annie was commiserating. “I get where you’re coming from. But it’s awfully hard to prove anything with nothing.” She peeled off the gloves and started to turn toward the door then stopped. “I wonder . . .” She pulled the gloves back on and walked to the purse. Again she used the pincer, this time to retrieve the phone. She glanced at it in mild surprise. “I’d have thought the chief would have already retrieved it. Pirelli probably checked it out, didn’t see any unusual calls or messages.” Hyla held it carefully at the edges, opened it, tapped her finger. “No recent text messages.” She moved her finger again. “Got some pix.” She looked at the images. “Nice one of the raven. Guess she wanted to show somebody that the place where she worked had this molty-looking bird on a shelf.”
Annie was touched that Pat had taken a photo at the store.
Abruptly, Hyla frowned. “Odd one here.”
Annie moved to look over her thin shoulder. In a small circle of light bounded by darkness, a lumpy towel lay on wood. “A wooden bench?”
“Maybe.” Hyla looked intent. “Taken at night obviously.” She moved her thumb; the photo was followed by six more in quick succession. Several featured the dachshund. All were straightforward photographs of people or places. “There’s only the one of the towel.” Hyla returned to the photograph. She tapped Properties. “Taken at twelve-oh-nine A.M. June thirteenth. I’d guess Pirelli didn’t know the time might matter.”
Annie was excited. “Pat took the picture late at night in the dark. It was late at night when she walked through the woods to the Jamison house.” Quickly Annie described her conclusions about Pat’s late-night excursions.
“I get you. Of
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