“Yes, it is,” I agreed, keeping my eyes on traffic. It occurred to me that “scary” might be a better word.
Chapter 7
No one was home at the Cameron cottage. I parked in front and Rose and I got out. Elvis jumped up onto the back of the seat and peered through the passenger-side window. Rose stood at the bottom of the driveway and looked around.
“Tell me what you did, step by step,” I said.
“I went to the front door,” she said, gesturing with one hand.
“Did you knock or ring the bell?” We started walking slowly up the driveway.
“I rang the bell. When no one answered, I knocked.”
“And then you went to the side door?”
Rose nodded. “There is no side doorbell, so I knocked. When I didn’t get any answer there, either, I peeked through the window. That’s when I saw Jeff Cameron’s body. Then something hit me and the next thing I remember is the dog.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay, I want you to back up a little. When you got out of the taxi, did you notice any lights on in the house?”
“No.”
It would have been getting close to dusk when Rose arrived, about the time of day people turned their inside lights on, unless they were busy killing someone. “Wait a minute,” I said. “What about the candlesticks?”
“They were in a box wrapped in that pretty blue paper with a silver bow. The box was in my L.L. Bean bag, the little one with the blue bottom and handles. My purse was in there, too.” I remembered seeing Liz with the bag the night before.
I studied the front of the little house for a moment. Through the front window I could see a painting of the harbor on the living room wall. “Did you see anything through that window?” I asked.
Rose shook her head. “No, the curtains were closed.” She turned to look at me. “I’d forgotten that. Do you think it’s important?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” I stood at the end of the walkway to the front door where it joined the paved driveway. “So you went to the other door and knocked.”
“Yes.”
“Where was your bag? Which arm?”
Rose frowned a little but she patted her left forearm. “Right here.”
“Show me what you did, as close as you can,” I said. I stood on the pavement, hands jammed in my pockets as Rose made her way to the side door of the house. She climbed the steps, knocked, waited and then went up on her tiptoes for a better view through the windows.
She turned to look at me over her shoulder. “Then whatever it was hit me. That’s it.”
“Back it up again,” I said. “You’re looking through the window.” I made a turnaround motion with two fingers.
“Yes.” She nodded slowly.
“What do you see?”
“The back of a chair, chrome like that table-and-chair set we sold last month to that couple from Portland.”
“What else?”
“Shoes,” Rose said. “Bright red sneakers—well, running shoes, I guess I should say.” She turned around again. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re hoping I might remember something else if I just tell you the first thing that comes into my mind, but it isn’t working. I don’t remember anything else.” Her voice was edged with frustration.
I nodded. “Okay. It was worth a shot. But could we keep going so I can at least go over the details from beginning to end? I’ve only had them in bits and pieces up to now.”
“Of course we can,” Rose said, giving me a smile. She faced the porch again, put a hand on the railing and peered through the window.
“So you saw the running shoes,” I said. “What happened then?”
Rose exhaled slowly. “I saw whoever it was in the pink hoodie. I think that person was dragging Jeff Cameron’s body.”
I moved a few steps closer up the driveway. “So that person crossed directly in front of your line of sight?”
“No. I just saw her—or him—from the side, and only for a moment.”
“What did you do?”
“For a minute I didn’t do anything. Then I stood on my tiptoes to try to get a better look and I called out and banged on the window. I tried the porch door, but it was locked. So I looked around for something I could use to break the glass, but I couldn’t find anything. I was going to go to the front door when something hit me over the head.” Rose raised a hand but didn’t say anything. I realized she wasn’t looking at what was right in front of her. She was seeing a memory replay in her head.
“Someone caught me,” she said slowly. Her hand went to her neck. She looked at me, comprehension spreading across her face. “When I started to fall. Whoever it was stuck me with something, just as I passed out.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
Rose came down the steps. “That’s what you were trying to get me to remember.”
I shrugged and gave her a smile. “I was hoping.”
She put her hands on her hips in mock annoyance. “Very sneaky saying it was worth a shot so I’d think what you were doing hadn’t worked and I’d relax.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and laid my cheek against her head. “You taught me well,” I said.
She reached up to pat my cheek. “You’ve always been a quick study, sweet girl,” she said.
We walked back down the driveway. Elvis was still perched on the back of the seat, studying the house as if he could somehow come up with the answers we were looking for.
Rose got in the passenger side and Elvis jumped down to settle himself beside her.
“Ready to head for the shop?” I asked. Rose didn’t answer. Her mind was somewhere else. She was stroking Elvis’s fur, a faraway look on her face.
I watched her until she realized the SUV wasn’t moving and turned her attention on me.
“Sarah, who was the other person?” she said.
Elvis scrunched up his nose as though he were considering the question.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Let’s say it was Leesa Cameron dragging her husband’s body.” Rose held up a hand. “And yes, I know she has an alibi, but for now let’s say she doesn’t.”
I stuck the key in the ignition but didn’t start the car. “Okay, let’s say that.”
“Who hit me over the head, injected me with—with whatever it was that knocked me out? She had help.”
Elvis murped his agreement.
Why hadn’t I thought of that before? In all the uproar, that little detail had slipped past me. I pounded lightly on the steering wheel. “Good question. Who was it?”
“Did you ever read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?” Rose asked.
Conversations with Rose could easily veer off on a tangent, so I didn’t bother asking how the creator of Sherlock Holmes was connected to Rose being hit over the head and most likely injected with something that knocked her out. “In an English class in college,” I said.
“Then you probably know what he said about eliminating the impossible so that whatever is left, even if it seems preposterous, has to be the truth.” She patted her white hair. “I’m paraphrasing, of course.”
“I know the quote,” I said.
Elvis nudged her hand and she resumed stroking his fur. “Well, I’ve always thought Sir Arthur was making things unnecessarily complicated. Instead of wasting a lot of time eliminating the impossible, in my experience it’s better to look at the most obvious answer first.”
If Nick had been with us, he would have rolled his eyes because I knew what she meant without any more of an explanation. “You think Leesa was involved with someone.”
Rose nodded. “Exactly, and it’s impossible to keep that kind of thing a secret in a small place like this. Not for very long.”
“So if”—I put extra emphasis on the word—“if Leesa Cameron did something to her husband because she was involved with another man, and if we can find out who that man is, we can figure this whole thing out.” Because of course that wasn’t impossible or improbable at all.