Part 6 (1/2)
Even so, there was more to what she saw on the table, what had crashed through her, leaving her staggered and breathless and sprawled on the floor, but she would hold that close. Now was not the time. All of it related in some fas.h.i.+on to the man standing beside her, and she needed to sort through what she had seen. Part of what she had witnessed burst out, however, almost of its own accord. ”If the High Priestess card were lying here, I'd say the entire spread had to do with secrets and the choices we make.” She closed her eyes. Maris, just shut up.
”The Priestess card?” Dan cleared his throat. ”What is the significance of that card?”
She fisted her hands in her pockets. ”In what I see before me, I would say a prediction of an event that could disrupt everything in your world.”
A floorboard creaked as Dan moved closer. ”My world? What the h.e.l.l do you mean?”
Maris turned her face from him. ”I didn't mean your world in particular. I meant in a general sense. And it's not in the spread, anyway. It just came to me for a moment, an image of the card in my mind's eye. And now, if you're through with me, I'd really like to go lie down. My head is hurting.”
He touched her arm. At the charge that radiated along her skin, she wanted to shake him off, to yell, but she managed to remain still.
”Maybe you should get checked out,” he said, for her ears alone.
”No.”
”Maris.”
She frowned. He needed to stop that tone of tenderness in his voice. It popped up in ways it shouldn't, indicating an emotion that did not-could not-exist. There was no caring here. There was suspicion and mistrust and a vague, undefined attraction they both felt and she knew made no sense to him. She could put a stop to the latter with a single word, but somehow, she didn't want to.
She turned without speaking and headed out the door. He accompanied her as far as the sidewalk, d.o.g.g.i.ng her steps. ”Are you sure you're all right to drive?”
”Yes, I'm fine. An aspirin, and I'll be perfect.” She spoke with deliberate detachment. ”You'll keep me posted about my aunt?”
He took a step back, sensing the s.p.a.ce she was putting between them. The crease between his brows indicated his inability to discern why, the stern set of his jaw his willingness to accept it nevertheless. ”We won't be able to release the body for burial just yet, of course. And there will be questions for you later.”
”Understood.”
”And like I said, don't leave town.”
”I didn't plan on it.”
He nodded and turned away. At the top of the porch steps he looked back at her. A shadow aligned itself with him, almost like an aura of smoke. His shoulders jerked as if trying to shake off his sense of the shadow enfolding him. Then he raised his hand in a quick wave and went back inside.
Maris hurried into her car. Clutching the wheel, tears of dread and deep, chilling sorrow ran down her cheeks.
Chapter 7.
Dan let the curtain hooked by his finger fall back into place against the gla.s.s in Alva Mabry's front door. His skin s.h.i.+fted between his shoulder blades in a brief s.h.i.+ver, the kind that made people pa.s.s comments about a soul walking over one's grave. He blew a breath from his lips with a small noise.
”A strange bird, that one.”
Dan turned to see who had uttered the remark. He couldn't distinguish which of the officers gathered in the house had spoken. Better to let the quiet statement pa.s.s without comment rather than call attention to his displeasure at hearing it. He couldn't even be sure why the sentiment bothered him. Maris was a strange woman, but the observation had seemed particularly disparaging.
”All right. Let's dust the place for prints. Upstairs and down since we don't have any idea where the perp might have been. You'll find mine on the door, the k.n.o.b, the light switch plates, possibly elsewhere. Green's and Whitley's, too. Rankin. His a.s.sistant. We'll need to get comparison prints off the deceased.”
And Maris. s.h.i.+t, and Maris. He'd have to bring her in for elimination purposes. She hadn't touched anything but the plate and switch for the light over the table in the parlor, if he remembered right. Yes, she'd been walking with her hands behind her back, and today they'd been in her pockets.
”Gather any hair, fibers, grab the trash. Somebody check outside for footprints, cigarette b.u.t.ts, smudges on the windows. Poison seems a personal means of killing someone, but it could have been a random act. The front door was intact, but we didn't check for signs of break-in. s.h.i.+t.” Two of the men turned his way, Henderson with a look of sympathy, Whitley smug. Yeah, they knew he'd f.u.c.ked up. Times like these would tell whether a man could be trusted to stand by him or turn him on his ear.
His cell phone rang in his pocket. ”Rankin, what have you got?”
”Small puncture wound in the side of her neck. If I hadn't been looking, might have mistaken it for a freckle. Don't know what kind of poison yet.”
Dan glanced toward the chair in the parlor where Alva had been found. ”So what are you thinking? Whoever did it was standing behind her, to the side? It didn't look like there was any struggle, so it must've been quick. Of course, she was nearly a century old. How much of a struggle could she have put up? The guy didn't even have to be big.”
”Or the woman.”
Dan's stomach did a slow roll beneath his diaphragm. ”Or the woman,” he agreed with ma.s.sive reluctance. He didn't like where his mind was going, to the one person who had claimed she'd known Alva Mabry was dead. No way it was Maris. No freaking way. She just...No. The woman had come to the station looking for answers. Was that the action of a guilty person? s.h.i.+t, sure it was, if they were trying to make themselves look innocent. d.a.m.n it, it could be Maris. He swore again, softly this time. Only Rankin heard him.
”You got an idea, Stauffer?”
”I don't know.”
Rankin breathed heavily into the phone. ”I've got prints. Figured you'd need 'em.”
”Right. Thanks.”
Dan hung up. So much for days off.
Hours later, everything bagged, tagged, and heading back to the station, Dan locked the door and descended the porch steps, looking back toward the yellow police tape crossed over the door. He considered the purpose behind the crime. Revenge for a fortune that hadn't turned out quite as predicted? Not funny. The place didn't appear to have been rummaged through, so if robbery was the motive, the murderer had something particular in mind and knew where to find it. An old woman like this could have had funds stashed around the house. He'd seen it before. And any of the neighbors could have known about the money, or anyone in town, really. Word of mouth, especially among criminals, could spread and grow at even the smallest hint of cash unprotected except by a ninety-three-year-old soothsayer.
He pulled out his phone and called Maris's number, but received no reply. After four rings, he left a vague message for her on voicemail. She'd have to come in, of course, but he didn't want to leave anything she would view as accusatory. He merely reminded her she hadn't called him with the information about where she was staying and left it at that.
And if she didn't call him back? What then?
He shoved the phone back in his pocket without answering that question. He didn't want to go there. Not yet. Yes, the crime seemed personal, but if Maris's story was true, she'd had no contact with her aunt for years. Certainly no one harbored a grudge that long, and what type of offense would burrow in like that from the time of childhood? Well, he could think of several, but he set those aside as well. In addition to canva.s.sing the neighbors for anything they'd seen or suspicious behavior, he'd check out Maris's story about the estrangement, seek proof of her whereabouts the past couple of days, and clear her from whatever list of suspects was formulated. She hadn't killed her aunt. No way could she commit a cold-blooded crime like that.
Yet, how well did he know her? Not at all, really. Gut feeling counted for something, but people could put on a convincing show, good enough to mislead. He'd seen it before. Deceptive prevaricators who kept a straight face or broke down in what he could swear were honest-to-G.o.d tears and lying all the while.
His stomach twisted anew, to the point of making him want to vomit. He fought the sensation down with a few deep breaths, realizing he hadn't eaten anything since his impromptu breakfast with Maris.
Am I a fool?
No. Only once, and he'd never let it happen again.
His phone rang. ”Maris?”
”I'm sorry, who? Is this Detective Stauffer?”
”Yes. Who's this?”
”It's Ed. We met last night-this morning. Dr. Rankin wanted to know if you're coming by for those prints tonight or if he should just store them until tomorrow.”
”Tomorrow's good enough. I need something to eat and a good night's freaking sleep.”