she said, almost to herself. “I hope I didn't let him get away. I should have gone up. I should have checked.”
“No, you shouldn't—”
“I'd have killed him,” she said flatly.
CHAPTER 9
SARAH WAS TENSE, EXHAUSTED, AND EMOTIONALLY DRAINED
when she met Barbara and her family at the Birmingham airport at six the next morning. She waited downstairs in the luggage claim area, a cup of coffee in her hand. She had no idea how much coffee she'd had since finding the Judge's body, but she was absolutely certain caffeine was all that was keeping her going.
She hadn't slept; there hadn't been an opportunity to, even if she had been inclined. Cahill had kept coming back to her with questions, and she'd had so much else to do she hadn't had a spare minute. People had to be notified; the police department had taken care of the family, but she had called Leona and awakened her with the devastating news, rather than let her hear it on the early morning news. Then the calls from the family had started coming in, to such an extent that several times she had been on both the cordless phone and her cell phone.
Arrangements had to be made to house the family. Randall and his wife, Emily, had three children, all of whom were married with children of their own. Since they all lived in the Huntsville area, which was an easy drive, only Randall and Emily were coming down to stay until after the funeral, but everyone—three children and their spouses, plus four grandchildren—would be staying the night before the funeral.
Jon and his wife, Julia, lived in Mobile. They had two children, one married and one single. All of them were coming up to stay for the duration. Barbara and Dwight and their two children lived in Dallas, and they were all staying until it was over. That meant Sarah had to arrange accommodations for eleven people, including herself, in the middle of the night, available for early check-in . . .
very
early check-in. She would worry about the rest of Randall's family after the funeral arrangements were made.
She had booked them all into the Wynfrey. They would probably be eating at odd hours, so they needed somewhere with room service, plus the teenagers would be able to distract themselves in the attached Galleria. She herself had taken a room at the Mountain Brook Inn. It had come as a shock to realize she wouldn't be allowed to stay in the house, or even gather her own clothing. She had given a list of what she needed to Cahill, and he had arranged for someone to collect the items for her.
Her pistol had been taken, as well as the Judge's old service revolver that he kept locked in a display case. Cahill said they would be returned after the investigation was completed, meaning when it was determined whether or not either weapon had been used to commit the murder.
It was obvious she was a suspect, if only because of proximity. She had unlimited access to the house, she had a pistol, and Cahill himself had seen how proficient she was with it. She could account for her whereabouts, if only by receipts and tickets, but most of all she had no motive, so she didn't worry about herself; she couldn't, not with the constant memory of the Judge's body playing like a silent movie in her mind.
He had looked so frail in death, as if his spirit had kept one from realizing how heavily time had laid its hand on him. She was fiercely glad no one else had found him, that there'd been one last final moment between just the two of them, before strangers arrived and his body was taken over by them. The dead have no dignity, but she knew he would have hated having lost control of his bowels, hated his family seeing him like that. He would have hated
her
seeing him like that, too, but that was the least upsetting of all the possibilities.
The escalator began spitting out people from the newly arrived plane; Barbara and her family were among the first. Barbara was a slim, pretty woman with attractive gray streaks in her short blond
“No, you shouldn't—”
“I'd have killed him,” she said flatly.
CHAPTER 9
SARAH WAS TENSE, EXHAUSTED, AND EMOTIONALLY DRAINED
when she met Barbara and her family at the Birmingham airport at six the next morning. She waited downstairs in the luggage claim area, a cup of coffee in her hand. She had no idea how much coffee she'd had since finding the Judge's body, but she was absolutely certain caffeine was all that was keeping her going.
She hadn't slept; there hadn't been an opportunity to, even if she had been inclined. Cahill had kept coming back to her with questions, and she'd had so much else to do she hadn't had a spare minute. People had to be notified; the police department had taken care of the family, but she had called Leona and awakened her with the devastating news, rather than let her hear it on the early morning news. Then the calls from the family had started coming in, to such an extent that several times she had been on both the cordless phone and her cell phone.
Arrangements had to be made to house the family. Randall and his wife, Emily, had three children, all of whom were married with children of their own. Since they all lived in the Huntsville area, which was an easy drive, only Randall and Emily were coming down to stay until after the funeral, but everyone—three children and their spouses, plus four grandchildren—would be staying the night before the funeral.
Jon and his wife, Julia, lived in Mobile. They had two children, one married and one single. All of them were coming up to stay for the duration. Barbara and Dwight and their two children lived in Dallas, and they were all staying until it was over. That meant Sarah had to arrange accommodations for eleven people, including herself, in the middle of the night, available for early check-in . . .
very
early check-in. She would worry about the rest of Randall's family after the funeral arrangements were made.
She had booked them all into the Wynfrey. They would probably be eating at odd hours, so they needed somewhere with room service, plus the teenagers would be able to distract themselves in the attached Galleria. She herself had taken a room at the Mountain Brook Inn. It had come as a shock to realize she wouldn't be allowed to stay in the house, or even gather her own clothing. She had given a list of what she needed to Cahill, and he had arranged for someone to collect the items for her.
Her pistol had been taken, as well as the Judge's old service revolver that he kept locked in a display case. Cahill said they would be returned after the investigation was completed, meaning when it was determined whether or not either weapon had been used to commit the murder.
It was obvious she was a suspect, if only because of proximity. She had unlimited access to the house, she had a pistol, and Cahill himself had seen how proficient she was with it. She could account for her whereabouts, if only by receipts and tickets, but most of all she had no motive, so she didn't worry about herself; she couldn't, not with the constant memory of the Judge's body playing like a silent movie in her mind.
He had looked so frail in death, as if his spirit had kept one from realizing how heavily time had laid its hand on him. She was fiercely glad no one else had found him, that there'd been one last final moment between just the two of them, before strangers arrived and his body was taken over by them. The dead have no dignity, but she knew he would have hated having lost control of his bowels, hated his family seeing him like that. He would have hated
her
seeing him like that, too, but that was the least upsetting of all the possibilities.
The escalator began spitting out people from the newly arrived plane; Barbara and her family were among the first. Barbara was a slim, pretty woman with attractive gray streaks in her short blond
Similar Books
