The reds—"
"Are with the reds," Eve said. "Except . . ." She saw what I saw and pushed apart a cranberry-red silk kimono-style jacket and wool Christmas-red blazer. Between them hung a green linen suit jacket.
"Well, that's odd," I mumbled.
"It sure is. Red and green together is all well and good when it comes to kitschy Christmas decorations, but let's face it, it's against every rule of fashion there is."
"Not what I mean." I pointed. "Blues with blues. Grays with grays. And the greens . . ." I looked toward the far end of the closet. "The greens are all down there. What's this jacket doing out of place?"
Eve shook her head. "It just proves how upset Sarah must have been, poor darling. She wasn't thinking straight."
Maybe, but I wasn't so sure.
I tucked the thought away. While Eve took out outfit after outfit, held them at arm's length, and made a pile of possibilities on the bed, I looked around the room. There was a shopping bag from a pricey Georgetown boutique sitting on the floor near the dresser, and I peeked inside. "Cocktail dress," I told Eve, who was so busy trying to decide between navy linen and black silk, she wasn't paying a whole lot of attention.
"Now that would be tacky," she said. "A cocktail dress for a burial. I don't think so, Annie."
"Not for Sarah to wear. Here. This cocktail dress." I pulled it out of the bag. The dress was fire-engine red, a gorgeous combination of chiffon and sequins. Even before the receipt fluttered out of the bag, I knew it must have cost a fortune.
I checked the price and whistled low under my breath, before I carefully refolded the dress and got ready to set the receipt on top of it.
That's when the date of the transaction caught my eye.
"Eve! Take a look at this."
Holding the black silk dress, Eve came to my side.
I pointed. "Sarah bought this dress last Tuesday."
"Don't be silly." Eve rolled her eyes. "Nobody buys a dress that gorgeous and then comes home and kills herself. That's just crazy."
It was. That was exactly my point.
I didn't need to explain. After a minute of thinking about it, Eve's eyes got wide, and her mouth fell open.
"Annie!" She clutched my arm so tight, I expected I'd have a bruise by morning. "Annie, are you saying—"
"I'm not saying anything." I hadn't even realized how much the thought scared me until Eve was so ready to buy into it. Better minds than ours had already concluded that there was nothing sinister about Sarah's death. Who was I to contradict them? Besides, I'd had my fill of murder. Death was death, and suicide was bad enough. The thought that someone had taken Sarah's life . . .
My brain froze, and panic bubbled inside me like lava in a Hawaiian volcano. Cocktail dress or no cocktail dress, I refused to believe Sarah could have been murdered. To prove it, I dropped the receipt back in the bag and hightailed it out of Sarah's bedroom.
"But, Annie . . ." Eve was right behind me, black silk sheath clutched to her heart. "Annie Capshaw, you listen to me. Do you think this means that Sarah—"
"Kitchen," I said, though Eve could see exactly where I was going. "Let's get the dog food and get out of here."
Sarah's kitchen looked exactly as it had the last time I was in it except that the red message light on the phone wasn't blinking. I guessed that was because Tyler had picked up the message Eve left, the one reminding Sarah that we were coming over. The two washed wineglasses were still in the dish drainer. The countertops still gleamed in the glow of the lights we turned on. It was familiar and nonthreatening, and I stopped just inside the door, drew in a calming breath, and gave myself a good talking to.
I was letting my imagination run away with me, I told myself. Like Eve had been doing all summer. Just because I couldn't fathom what would make a woman as beautiful and as
"Are with the reds," Eve said. "Except . . ." She saw what I saw and pushed apart a cranberry-red silk kimono-style jacket and wool Christmas-red blazer. Between them hung a green linen suit jacket.
"Well, that's odd," I mumbled.
"It sure is. Red and green together is all well and good when it comes to kitschy Christmas decorations, but let's face it, it's against every rule of fashion there is."
"Not what I mean." I pointed. "Blues with blues. Grays with grays. And the greens . . ." I looked toward the far end of the closet. "The greens are all down there. What's this jacket doing out of place?"
Eve shook her head. "It just proves how upset Sarah must have been, poor darling. She wasn't thinking straight."
Maybe, but I wasn't so sure.
I tucked the thought away. While Eve took out outfit after outfit, held them at arm's length, and made a pile of possibilities on the bed, I looked around the room. There was a shopping bag from a pricey Georgetown boutique sitting on the floor near the dresser, and I peeked inside. "Cocktail dress," I told Eve, who was so busy trying to decide between navy linen and black silk, she wasn't paying a whole lot of attention.
"Now that would be tacky," she said. "A cocktail dress for a burial. I don't think so, Annie."
"Not for Sarah to wear. Here. This cocktail dress." I pulled it out of the bag. The dress was fire-engine red, a gorgeous combination of chiffon and sequins. Even before the receipt fluttered out of the bag, I knew it must have cost a fortune.
I checked the price and whistled low under my breath, before I carefully refolded the dress and got ready to set the receipt on top of it.
That's when the date of the transaction caught my eye.
"Eve! Take a look at this."
Holding the black silk dress, Eve came to my side.
I pointed. "Sarah bought this dress last Tuesday."
"Don't be silly." Eve rolled her eyes. "Nobody buys a dress that gorgeous and then comes home and kills herself. That's just crazy."
It was. That was exactly my point.
I didn't need to explain. After a minute of thinking about it, Eve's eyes got wide, and her mouth fell open.
"Annie!" She clutched my arm so tight, I expected I'd have a bruise by morning. "Annie, are you saying—"
"I'm not saying anything." I hadn't even realized how much the thought scared me until Eve was so ready to buy into it. Better minds than ours had already concluded that there was nothing sinister about Sarah's death. Who was I to contradict them? Besides, I'd had my fill of murder. Death was death, and suicide was bad enough. The thought that someone had taken Sarah's life . . .
My brain froze, and panic bubbled inside me like lava in a Hawaiian volcano. Cocktail dress or no cocktail dress, I refused to believe Sarah could have been murdered. To prove it, I dropped the receipt back in the bag and hightailed it out of Sarah's bedroom.
"But, Annie . . ." Eve was right behind me, black silk sheath clutched to her heart. "Annie Capshaw, you listen to me. Do you think this means that Sarah—"
"Kitchen," I said, though Eve could see exactly where I was going. "Let's get the dog food and get out of here."
Sarah's kitchen looked exactly as it had the last time I was in it except that the red message light on the phone wasn't blinking. I guessed that was because Tyler had picked up the message Eve left, the one reminding Sarah that we were coming over. The two washed wineglasses were still in the dish drainer. The countertops still gleamed in the glow of the lights we turned on. It was familiar and nonthreatening, and I stopped just inside the door, drew in a calming breath, and gave myself a good talking to.
I was letting my imagination run away with me, I told myself. Like Eve had been doing all summer. Just because I couldn't fathom what would make a woman as beautiful and as
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