Fielder asked.
“Very,” I answered.
“Composite of what?” Roxanne asked.
“I’ll fill you in later, Miss Beadford,” Fielder said. “But for now, I’d like some time with your aunt. Can you tell her I’m here?” Fielder sounded about as pleasant as I’d ever heard her. Guess she saved up her best stuff for the victim’s family—and I couldn’t argue with that approach.
“Certainly,” Roxanne said. Then she lowered her voice. “Aunt Sylvia’s upstairs preparing for her trip to Galveston. The medical examiner will be performing a postmortem examination on Uncle James’s remains, and she must complete the paperwork for the eventual release of his body.”
I swear she almost smiled before she walked through the foyer and made a slow ascent up the right staircase. Hmmm. Maybe someone forgot her medication today.
I caught Fielder rolling her eyes. Then she said, “I appreciate you coming down here, Ms. Rose.” She wore black trousers and a herringbone blazer, but even her expertly applied makeup couldn’t hide her fatigue. Definitely puffy around the eyes.
“I’m much more comfortable with Abby,” I said.
“Certainly.” She forced a smile.
The awkward silence that followed was broken by Sylvia and Megan’s appearance. Megan had on the same clothes she’d worn yesterday, but Sylvia was dressed in a throat-high black knit dress that made her look like she was already headed for the funeral.
We exchanged greetings, and before Fielder escorted Sylvia into the formal living room off the foyer, she told Megan to wait, that they’d only be a minute or two.
Keeping her voice low, Megan said, “Sorry I had to hang up on you last night. Why do we need to go to the Bureau of Vital Statistics? I thought the Adoption Registry was a dead end.”
“I’ve been digging deeper, and you may not have been born at St. Mary’s,” I whispered. “Maybe a new copy of your birth certificate will confirm this.”
“Not born at St. Mary’s? But—”
“I don’t think this is the best place to talk,” I said.
“You have a real lead?” she asked, eyes bright.
“Could be the break we’re looking for,” I replied.
“Okay. We go today.”
“But Fielder wants to show you the composite. And you said you had to take Sylvia to Galveston.”
“Travis will fill in for me with Mother.”
“She won’t mind if you bail?”
“Oh, she’ll mind,” Megan said. “But Travis is good with her. He’ll think up a decent excuse—like I need some time away from everything, which happens to be true.”
“Okay, we’re on,” I said.
The living room door opened and Sylvia came out. “Chief Fielder would like to see you now, sweetheart.”
Megan brushed past her mother, and Sylvia’s sad gaze followed her daughter as she entered the room and pulled the door shut after her. The weekend events seemed to be taking their toll on everyone.
“How are you, Mrs. Beadford?” I asked.
She glanced at the closed door. “I’m upset.”
“I think Megan’s handling this situation as well as anyone could under the circumstances.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Is it something the chief said?” I asked, curious now.
“The chief’s doing a fine job. Seems to be working hard on this horrible murder. But she showed me that drawing, and I never saw that woman before. Why would a stranger invade our home, destroy our beautiful wedding, and kill my husband?”
“Did the chief tell you that the woman in the composite is the killer?” I asked.
“She wouldn’t say. But it seems the only logical explanation.”
Not the only explanation if that stranger came here to see her child get married. But I certainly couldn’t offer this insight. “Maybe there are other possibilities,” I said. “The chief may find some other clue to Mr. Beadford’s death once she’s sorted through all the evidence—and there seems to be plenty of that to go around.”
Sylvia’s eyes flashed. “Do you
“Very,” I answered.
“Composite of what?” Roxanne asked.
“I’ll fill you in later, Miss Beadford,” Fielder said. “But for now, I’d like some time with your aunt. Can you tell her I’m here?” Fielder sounded about as pleasant as I’d ever heard her. Guess she saved up her best stuff for the victim’s family—and I couldn’t argue with that approach.
“Certainly,” Roxanne said. Then she lowered her voice. “Aunt Sylvia’s upstairs preparing for her trip to Galveston. The medical examiner will be performing a postmortem examination on Uncle James’s remains, and she must complete the paperwork for the eventual release of his body.”
I swear she almost smiled before she walked through the foyer and made a slow ascent up the right staircase. Hmmm. Maybe someone forgot her medication today.
I caught Fielder rolling her eyes. Then she said, “I appreciate you coming down here, Ms. Rose.” She wore black trousers and a herringbone blazer, but even her expertly applied makeup couldn’t hide her fatigue. Definitely puffy around the eyes.
“I’m much more comfortable with Abby,” I said.
“Certainly.” She forced a smile.
The awkward silence that followed was broken by Sylvia and Megan’s appearance. Megan had on the same clothes she’d worn yesterday, but Sylvia was dressed in a throat-high black knit dress that made her look like she was already headed for the funeral.
We exchanged greetings, and before Fielder escorted Sylvia into the formal living room off the foyer, she told Megan to wait, that they’d only be a minute or two.
Keeping her voice low, Megan said, “Sorry I had to hang up on you last night. Why do we need to go to the Bureau of Vital Statistics? I thought the Adoption Registry was a dead end.”
“I’ve been digging deeper, and you may not have been born at St. Mary’s,” I whispered. “Maybe a new copy of your birth certificate will confirm this.”
“Not born at St. Mary’s? But—”
“I don’t think this is the best place to talk,” I said.
“You have a real lead?” she asked, eyes bright.
“Could be the break we’re looking for,” I replied.
“Okay. We go today.”
“But Fielder wants to show you the composite. And you said you had to take Sylvia to Galveston.”
“Travis will fill in for me with Mother.”
“She won’t mind if you bail?”
“Oh, she’ll mind,” Megan said. “But Travis is good with her. He’ll think up a decent excuse—like I need some time away from everything, which happens to be true.”
“Okay, we’re on,” I said.
The living room door opened and Sylvia came out. “Chief Fielder would like to see you now, sweetheart.”
Megan brushed past her mother, and Sylvia’s sad gaze followed her daughter as she entered the room and pulled the door shut after her. The weekend events seemed to be taking their toll on everyone.
“How are you, Mrs. Beadford?” I asked.
She glanced at the closed door. “I’m upset.”
“I think Megan’s handling this situation as well as anyone could under the circumstances.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Is it something the chief said?” I asked, curious now.
“The chief’s doing a fine job. Seems to be working hard on this horrible murder. But she showed me that drawing, and I never saw that woman before. Why would a stranger invade our home, destroy our beautiful wedding, and kill my husband?”
“Did the chief tell you that the woman in the composite is the killer?” I asked.
“She wouldn’t say. But it seems the only logical explanation.”
Not the only explanation if that stranger came here to see her child get married. But I certainly couldn’t offer this insight. “Maybe there are other possibilities,” I said. “The chief may find some other clue to Mr. Beadford’s death once she’s sorted through all the evidence—and there seems to be plenty of that to go around.”
Sylvia’s eyes flashed. “Do you
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