“You’re right,” Melba said. “I know that. It’s just that I’m sure he’ll know I’m the one who told Kanesha.”
I understood how she felt, but she hadn’t known this man very long at all. I thought she was being overly scrupulous. I told her that.
Melba heaved a large sigh. “I’ll tell Kanesha what I heard. I can’t believe Jared killed her, but you’re right, I don’t know him well enough yet.”
“Are you going to see him again while the investigation is going on?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Melba replied. “I’ll have to think about that.” She stood. “I’d better get downstairs. I have a few things to take care of before I go over to the sheriff’s department. I’ll text you when I leave.”
“Okay, good luck.” I watched her go. She was walking slowly and not with her usual energy. I hated that this was weighing so heavily on her, and I was concerned that the man she was so evidently interested in could be somehow involved in Gerry’s death.
Melba’s recounting of what she had heard prompted memories of the night of the party. Jared had seemed particularly unhappy about remaining in the house after the arrival of the sheriff’s department. At the time I hadn’t thought too much about the source of his unease. Simply figured that he was antsy staying in the same house with a dead woman, still deeply affected by the death of his own wife.
Now, however, I considered his behavior in the light of this fresh knowledge. Could he have killed Gerry and thus was uneasy about having to deal with the police and sheriff’s deputies? I found it hard to reconcile this, however, with the cold calculation it took for someone to slip poison in Gerry’s brandy and later steal the snifter to get rid of it.
That snifter was the sticking point. If Jared had taken it, what had he done with it? Unless he had slipped out of the house to stow it and then came back, I didn’t see how he could have hidden the thing. He couldn’t put it under his jacket. There would be no way to disguise the bulge the snifter would make. Ditto with his pants pockets. I should have thought to ask Melba whether he was gone from her side for any length of time after the murder occurred. Now was not the time to ask her that, I thought, when she was obviously so worried. I would wait.
I went back to my work and also back to doing my best to suppress any thoughts of the murder. I had Alex and Sean to worry about instead. As the minutes and hours passed, I wondered why I hadn’t heard from Sean. At two o’clock I picked up my phone to call but, after a moment, put it down again. No, I didn’t want to take the chance of waking him up. During his teenage years he could sleep twelve hours, sometimes more. He probably needed that much rest now.
I worked a little later than usual today, and thus it was a quarter after four when I locked my office and headed down the stairs. My phone rang as I was unlocking the car. I checked the caller ID. Sean. Hurriedly I slid into the car and shut the door against the chill wind.
“Hello, Dad.” Sean sounded more himself. “Sorry I’m so late in calling, but I slept until about thirty minutes ago. I came home to have a shower and change clothes before heading back to the hospital. Caroline’s gone home for now.”
“I don’t know what we would have done without her,” I said. “You’re feeling better?”
“Everyone is doing better. Cherelle is doing great with Rosie. She’s agreed to move into the guest bedroom until Alex is back on her feet. We’re hoping Alex will be home from the hospital sometime early this evening. In the meantime, Cherelle can be here for Rosie around the clock.”
“That’s great,” I said. “A huge worry off my mind. Now, how is Alex?”
“I’m heading to the hospital in a minute. They’ve had her sedated, but she’s supposed to be awake by the time I get there. She was obviously even more sleep-deprived than I’ve been. Resting and sleeping will help, plus getting the proper nutrition. I’ll call you after I’ve seen her and give you an update.”
“Give her my love and tell her I’ll come see her soon, if they’re allowing visitors.”
“Will do,” Sean said. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” I said. “Go see Alex.”
I ended the call, reflecting on the change in my relationship with my son. Since he’d suddenly appeared in Athena a couple of years ago, announcing that he had quit his job as a corporate lawyer in Houston and wanted to stay with me for a while, we had regained the closeness we’d had before his mother died. My son had shed the last vestiges of adolescence, and I had shaken off the isolation in which I had cocooned myself after my wife’s death.
My phone pinged—a sound I didn’t recall having heard it make before. Then I remembered Frank mentioned that he had set the video app to alert me whenever there was fresh footage to view.
I tapped the icon to open the app and stared at the screen, trying to remember what to do next. I tapped another icon, and a video opened. I saw a hand move in to rest on the sill. Then slowly a second hand joined it. In a jerky movement a head popped up quickly, but the head was covered by a black hood. All I could see was the hood. Evidently the child had it pulled close around her face, almost as if she knew she was being filmed.
The head remained in view for about twenty seconds before it withdrew. I waited to see if there was more, but the video stopped after another thirty seconds or so. I replayed the video, trying to discern any potential clues to the child’s identity. All I discovered was that the child was a fingernail-biter. Every nail that I could see had been chewed on to various degrees.
I put down my phone in frustration. Either the child had seen Frank installing the cameras and took pains to hide her face, or she was extremely bright and had suspected all along that there might be a video camera installed for security purposes. Either way, it looked like I might not get any satisfaction from Frank’s efforts.
Unless, I thought suddenly, I set a trap for her. I would give that some thought. I needed to find out where the kittens came from. They were old enough to be adopted out, if necessary, but if the child was able to take them home again, I wanted her to have that option.
The simplest trap I could set, I realized, was to leave another note on the door. I needed to place it so that the child might look into the camera on the door without realizing it. I closed my eyes and visualized the scene in my mind. I saw the child reaching for the note and snatching it from a crouching position.
No, that wouldn’t work. I had to get the child to stand taller in order to get her face as close as possible to the camera. I would have to place the note higher up. I also needed to estimate the child’s height. When I got home I could measure the height of the living room windows, watch the video again to get a reference point from the child’s actions, and go from there.
As I was about to pull out of my parking space, my cell phone announced a new text message. I glanced at it and saw that it was from the pharmacy. My high blood pressure medicine had been refilled and was ready for pickup. I sighed. I hated having to take this medicine, even though it was a low dose. If I could only follow my doctor’s advice and lose a bit of weight—and cut out some of the food I loved best—I probably wouldn’t have to take it. I hadn’t been on the medicine long, only for two months. I was due back in the doctor’s office in another month for a check on my blood pressure to determine whether the dose was effective.
I debated picking the prescription up tomorrow or the next day. I had at least two more pills, as I recalled, for the once-daily dose. I might as well pick it up today, I decided, in case I forgot and woke up on Christmas morning to find myself without any.