Little Black Book of Murder by Nancy Martin Page B

Emma’s cell, but you didn’t answer.”
    Emma leaned over from behind the wheel and spoke tersely out the open door. “It’s a long story, big guy. She needs a little TLC.”
    â€œCome inside, Em,” I said.
    Michael’s arm tightened protectively around me.
    Emma shook her head. “I’m going to help the neighbor who’s taking Starr’s animals to another farm. Go relax. Take it easy for the rest of the day.”
    Michael took me inside, sat me down on the library sofa, brought me a cup of tea and a piece of toast to settle my stomach. The house was stone cold again, so he threw another log on the fire and poked it until a warm flame jumped up. Then he sat on the coffee table in front of me while I nibbled the toast and told him the whole story.
    â€œWhat do the cops think?” he asked when I’d explained the grisly afternoon.
    â€œThey didn’t share any theories with me. Swain must have been killed last night. He was—­his body was cold, and there was so much blood that I—­I—”
    Michael steadied me with hands on my knees. “You gonna be okay?”
    â€œGetting there,” I said with a smile that felt wan. “I just hope it wasn’t Marybeth who killed her ex.”
    Michael looked grim. “You think she went back and took care of unfinished business? With a pitchfork?”
    Although Marybeth had behaved in a reckless way at the party, my instinct was that she’d been prepared to make a scene yesterday, but not really hurt anyone. I said, “I can’t imagine she’d do such a thing.”
    â€œBut that’s what the cops will think, right? She was taking potshots a few hours earlier.”
    â€œTrying to frighten Swain, that’s all. That’s a long way from stabbing him over and over.” I had a sudden vision of Swain on his belly in the mud and realized he must have been crawling away, trying to escape, when he died. I shuddered again and tried to push the thought away. “The big question is where Zephyr has gotten to. What if she’s hurt? Or someone took her away?”
    â€œOr maybe she’s the one who killed her husband and ran off.”
    â€œWhy would she do that? He changed his life for her!” I shook my head. “And she’s such a nice person—­kind to animals, so attentive to her husband. No, I have to hope the whole thing was a kind of random break-­in.”
    â€œIn that case,” Michael said grimly, “we better get some serious security around here.” He took the empty plate from me and set it aside. “I don’t think anybody’d sneak onto a rich guy’s farm to steal an organic tomato and end up killing him by accident. On the same day his ex pulled a trigger? Coincidences like that don’t happen, Nora.”
    â€œI guess you’re right.” I risked taking a sip of tea and was glad not to choke on the few dribbles that made it down my throat. “And Swain—­whoever killed him left him in the pigpen—­maybe hoping the animals would destroy evidence.” My cup rattled dangerously in its saucer, and I set it down before the tea spilled. “I just can’t imagine—­I don’t understand how people can be so awful.”
    â€œI know.” Michael pulled a cashmere throw from the arm of a nearby chair. He wrapped it around me and kissed the top of my head. “It’s one of the best things about you.”
    He settled beside me, and I leaned against him. When I could speak again, I said, “There’s one more thing.”
    â€œDon’t think about it anymore.”
    But I reached into the pocket of my jeans and fumbled for the set of keys I’d taken from the mud. Instinctively, Michael put out his hand, and I dropped the dirty keys into his palm.
    He went very still.
    â€œYou recognize them?”
    One-­handed, he thumbed the skeleton key away from the