“What?” Casey said.
Rosemary shook her head, her lips a tight line, and Lillian looked down at her lap.
“Did something happen?”
Lillian’s head rose slowly. “No. No, honey. Not since last week.” The lines on her face stood out in exaggerated hills and valleys, shadowed by dim porch light.
Ellen, ultimately, had not been able to take care of herself.
Casey took a step forward. “Ellen said the people here in Clymer would soon have work again.”
The women exchanged a look, and Rosemary cleared her throat. “You know about that?”
“Eric told me.” One of the few things he had told her. “At least that’s what he thought Ellen meant.” She looked at the women, so fragile in their wicker chairs, holding onto each other, facing their pain as a duo. She hated to cause them more. But they knew things. They had to. And if she could get it out of them, she might be able to make some sense of things.
She pulled a chair around in front of them and sat forward, her elbows on her knees. “You don’t think Ellen killed herself.”
“No,” Lillian said, her eyes sparking. “We know she didn’t. She wouldn’t have. We told Chief Reardon—”
“I know. I talked to him.” Her face burned as she remembered the conversation, and hoped her anger wasn’t apparent in the darkness of the porch. “Ellen told Eric—and the manager of the Pizzeria—that a change was coming. People would be working and there would be no reason for Home Sweet Home to continue serving meals. Eric and I…” She hesitated, hoping the women could take what she had to say. “We went to see Karl.”
Lillian inhaled sharply, and Rosemary’s eyes flashed in the contours of her face. “And he patted you on the head and told you everything was fine?”
Casey could see that that kind of behavior was nothing new. “Pretty much. He basically said Ellen couldn’t possibly have been talking about HomeMaker, and that we should let her—and the factory—rest in peace.”
Lillian yanked her hand from Rosemary’s, made as if to stand, but sank back into her chair. “That man…”
Casey chose her words carefully. “We searched Ellen’s desk and Eric’s computer for any clue to what she’d been talking about, but there was nothing.” She looked at Rosemary. “What did she tell you?”
Rosemary shook her head, her mouth a straight, tight line. “Nothing more than what you know.”
“It’s important, Rosemary.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” The words came out harsh and sharp, and Rosemary closed her eyes, visibly getting herself under control. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. Really. I understand. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need to.” She took a breath, looking out over the porch railing, then back at Rosemary. “I need to look in Ellen’s house.”
Rosemary met her eyes. “You think she hid something there.”
“It’s possible. It’s also possible that if someone did…kill her…that they found it and took it with them. But there was no sign of anyone ransacking the place, was there?”
“If there had been,” Rosemary said, “it wouldn’t have looked like a suicide. And they needed it to.”
The horror of those words hung in the air.
“There was nothing to make anyone think otherwise,” Rosemary said. “One coffee mug on the table. Her own prescription from Wayne’s Pharmacy, just the fingerprints that would be expected…”
Casey spoke gently. “Do you have a key to her house?”
Rosemary looked at Lillian, who had checked herself out of the conversation. “We do.”
“And may I use it?”
“It will help Ellen? Her children?”
“I think so.” Casey sat up straighter. “And possibly the whole town.”
Rosemary thought for only a few moments. “Of course you may use it. Do you want it now?”
“No. A light in her house would only cause people—” like Chief Reardon “—to come see what was going on. I’ll have to wait until morning.” And hope their visit to Willems didn’t spur any other late-night visitors to Ellen’s house. But then, if they’d already cleared out what they wanted, they wouldn’t be back. On the other hand—
“Actually, maybe I will take it now.”
Rosemary studied her face briefly before rising from her seat. “I’ll go get it.”
Casey looked down at her clothes. Jeans. Dark blue shirt. About as inconspicuous as anything she had. They would have to do.
Rosemary returned, and Casey held out her hand.
“I’ll drive you,” Rosemary said.
“No. I mean, thank you, but it would be better if I walked. And went alone.”
“But—”
“Please.”
Rosemary didn’t like it, Casey could see, but eventually held out the key ring, a miniature Shamu, from when Seaworld still had a home in Cleveland. Casey took the key, but Rosemary didn’t let go of the charm. “You’ll be careful?”
“I’ll be fine. There’s no alarm, is there?”
“Who can afford one of those in this town? Besides, we don’t need them.” The irony of her statement hung in the air between them.
“Okay.” Casey looked at Lillian, who still wouldn’t join the conversation. “And Rosemary?”
“Yes, darling.”
“Don’t tell Eric. The last thing he needs is to be in Ellen’s house, doing this.”
Rosemary’s face tightened, but she nodded.
Casey shoved the key into her pocket and stood on the top step. “So. I guess it would be good if I knew where exactly Ellen lived.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ellen’s house stood dark and silent. Casey waited in the backyard, in the shadow of the garage, by the alley that ran behind the row of homes. Casey had biked past this house before being confronted by Chief Reardon that morning. She had had no idea that the house belonged to Ellen—hadn’t even taken any special notice of it—and wondered if that was why the chief had been suspicious. But even if that were the case, he must have been keeping tabs on her to even notice where she was riding.
The houses on either side of Ellen’s were mostly dark, as well. The one to the right had a light on in an upstairs room on the far side of the house, but the downstairs looked quiet. From the other, on the opposite side, came the bluish flickering of television from the side window. Casey hoped the occupants would be glued to whatever inane program was on so they wouldn’t notice her entering Ellen’s back door.
She didn’t see any dogs in either backyard, waiting for an excuse to charge from a corner, barking. Perhaps people would think the dogs were chasing a squirrel, but…
The breeze blew gently, teasing wisps of hair across her face. The air was warmer tonight, but still Casey felt chilled. The home of a dead woman, whether by her own hand or someone else’s, wouldn’t exactly be Casey’s choice for a place to hang out. But if Ellen didn’t kill herself, her children—as well as her friends, parents, and Casey herself—needed to know.
Keeping to the shadows, Casey slowly made her way to the back door. No dogs barked. No gravel crunched under her feet. She eased open the screen door—which squeaked too loudly—got out the key, and opened the door. Stepping inside, she closed the door quietly.
To her chagrin, the back door opened directly into the kitchen. The room where Ellen Schneider had lost her life. Casey breathed through her mouth, trying not to picture the woman in the chair, or the pill bottle. She flipped on the flashlight Rosemary had given her and, keeping it low, checked out the room.
Everything was clean. Sparkling. The kitchen looked scrubbed from top to bottom. No sign that anyone had died there. Or that anyone had lived there, for that matter. No dishes in the sink, no crumbs on the counter. She opened the fridge, bathing herself briefly in the light. And no food in the refrigerator.
She closed the door and stood, sensing the atmosphere. Only the usual nighttime sounds. The hum of the refrigerator beside her. The ticking of a clock. Nothing to say there were any people present.