Part 20 (1/2)
”What's what? Oh, just some boxes we found upstairs in the attic a couple of days ago. Some of Mrs. Murphy's writing, old drawings that Patrick made, that sort of thing.”
One of the boxes was open, and a few pieces of paper were trailing out.
”Brandon must have looked through them,” Derek said, obviously reading my mind.
”Why would he do that?” I answered.
He shrugged. ”No idea, but he was in here yesterday. I guess maybe he saw the boxes and was curious.”
”You'd think he could have put the papers back where he found them, then. Instead of leaving them on the floor.”
”Maybe he was interrupted,” Derek said.
”Maybe. Did he know Patrick Murphy, I wonder? They'd be the same age. . . .”
”Brandon Thomas?” Lionel said. I nodded. He shook his head. ”He lived in the Village. Went to the elementary school in town. Patrick and I-and Holly and Denise-went to school out here. Wasn't till senior high that we all ended up together. Patrick was long gone by then.”
”So Holly and Brandon didn't know each other until high school? And Brandon didn't know Patrick at all?”
Lionel shook his head.
”He went to live with family, right? Somewhere? After the murders?”
”Aunt and uncle, I think. Somewhere west of here.”
”Like Arizona? Or Nevada?”
”More like Ohio. Or Pennsylvania. Indiana, maybe.”
”You wouldn't happen to have a picture of him, would you? I've seen pictures of Peggy and Brian, but I haven't seen one of Patrick. Someone told me he looked like his mother, but I'd like to see a picture.”
Lionel looked like he wanted to object, but he refrained. I was grateful, because I wasn't sure I could explain. ”I think so. You want it now?”
”If it isn't too much of an imposition,” I said. He shook his head.
”I'll go look for it.”
”I'll come with you,” I said. ”That way you won't have to walk back up here.”
Derek arched his brows. ”I'll come, too,” he said.
”Did you know Venetia well?” I asked on the way down the street, after having ascertained that Lionel had heard about the latest murder. He shrugged.
”She's been living here since before I was born.”
”I don't suppose you have any idea who could have killed her?”
He shook his head. ”What do the police think?”
”As far as I know,” I said, with a glance at Derek, ”they're working on the a.s.sumption that whoever killed Holly killed Venetia Rudolph. She lived right next door, and she'd kept an eye on the place, seeing who came and went. Maybe she knew something she didn't realize she knew. Or maybe she saw Holly with someone before she died, or something.”
Lionel paled. ”Someone she knew, then? Someone around here?”
I nodded sympathetically. The thought was unpleasant. Bad enough to be killed by someone just randomly pa.s.sing through; worse somehow to have someone you trust turn on you like that. ”Either someone she knew or someone she thought she could trust.” I explained my cop-or-preacher theory.
”Makes sense,” Derek admitted. Lionel agreed, still looking pale.
”Excuse me,” he added. ”I'll go look for the picture of Pat.” He ducked into the house.
”I don't want you to be alone with that guy,” Derek said as soon as Lionel was gone.
”Lionel? Don't be silly.”
”He knew Venetia. She'd probably let him in if he knocked on the door. And he knew Holly, too.”
”But look at him!” I objected. ”He wouldn't hurt a fly.”
”That's what people said about Ted Bundy,” said Derek.
”Ted Bundy was good-looking and charming and a ma.s.s murderer. Lionel is none of those things. And why would he kill Holly? They were friends.”
”I don't know why. But until this case is solved, I don't want you to be alone with him. Or any other men. Except me.”
”Does that include Wayne?” I pointed down the street to where the chief of police was making his way toward us.
”Of course not,” Derek said. ”If you can't trust Wayne, who can you trust?”
”That may have been Venetia's mistake,” I answered. ”Not Wayne, of course. I'm not saying that Wayne killed her. But somebody she trusted did. So maybe we shouldn't trust anybody.”
Derek nodded. ”Point taken. Until this is over, I don't want you to be alone with anyone. That includes Lionel, and Ricky Swanson, and Brandon, and even John Nickerson. But not Wayne.”
”What about Josh?”
He pretended to think about it. ”I think Josh is safe.”
”I'm glad to hear it,” Wayne said, from a distance. ”Safe from what?”
”Derek's being silly,” I answered. ”He's telling me not to be alone with anyone but him until you catch Venetia's murderer.”
”And Josh?” Wayne stopped beside me and straightened his belt.
”I'm allowed to be alone with Josh. Derek doesn't think there's any chance he's a murderer.”
Wayne measured Derek with a long, steady look but didn't comment. ”I'm sure Dr. Ellis is safe, too. And what makes you think it was a man who committed the murders, anyway? There was no evidence of s.e.xual trauma. Impossible to tell on Holly, of course, but none on Venetia Rudolph. And it didn't take special strength to commit either murder, so the killer might well be female.”
”Fine,” Derek said. ”Until Wayne catches the murderer, Avery, I don't want you to be alone with anyone but me, my dad, Cora, Wayne, Kate, Josh, or Shannon.”