“Me, too.” I pull out a chair at the table, and it’s only when I drop into it that I realize how much my entire body aches from fatigue—not to mention stress and fear.
“Do you think she suffered?” Bonnie asks haltingly.
The horrible image surfaces in the front of my brain again. I’d assumed Jillian suffered, based on the vicious wound on the back of her head. What caused it? I ask myself. The butt of a rifle? A rock? It would have had to be something sharp, I decide.
“Maybe not,” I lie. “It’s possible she died instantly.” Of course, if someone had attempted to sexually assault her, and the jury’s still out on that, she would have been beyond terrified for a few minutes beforehand.
“I hope so. As you know, I wasn’t always a fan of Jillian’s, but I can’t stand thinking of her dying that way.”
I straighten a bit, as something in me stirs. “Why weren’t you a fan? Because she was trying to micromanage the luncheon yesterday?”
“Not only that. I hated the way she was always calling here on weekends, when Claire wanted Ash to take it easy. Like she needed to show everyone how important and involved she was with the business.”
I don’t press beyond that. It’s an additional hint of a more-than-professional relationship between Jillian and Ash, but I don’t want to plant any seeds with Bonnie. She could end up saying the wrong thing to the police, inadvertently casting more suspicion on Ash than there already is.
Bonnie scoops up the loose index cards into a pile and squares it off with a few taps on the table.
“And I know this is awful to say,” she adds. “But I’m glad for Nick’s sake it wasn’t Hannah. I was so sure it was.”
“Did I put that idea in your mind when we were down there?”
“No, that was my first reaction, too—before I even ran into you. Because of the hair. And the coat.”
“The slicker?”
“Mm-hmm. When Hannah came to get coffee this morning, she had one of the slickers on, too. I guess she assumed it might rain, just like Jillian did.”
My heart skips.
Hannah and Jillian were both wearing those tan-colored slickers. Which means that from the back, they looked even more alike this morning than I’d realized.
What if Bonnie and I weren’t the only ones to have mistaken Jillian for Hannah? And it was really Hannah someone wanted dead?
24
As my mind races, I trace a couple of circles on the buffed wooden table.
“Did you notice where Hannah went when she left the kitchen this morning?” I ask Bonnie.
She shakes her head. “She left through the back door and I saw her strolling across the lawn, but I’m not sure where she was headed. I guess for a walk.”
“Do you remember what time it was?”
“Probably between nine thirty and ten. Maybe a little closer to ten.”
I trace more circles, trying to piece a puzzle together in my mind.
“How many of those slickers are in the side corridor?” I ask. They’ve hung there for as long as I’ve been coming to the house, though I’ve borrowed one only once, to race back to the cottage in when it was pouring.
“Six, I think.”
This morning with the promise of rain, both women must have thought the slicker would serve their needs.
“Are there enough in women’s sizes for Hannah and Jillian to have worn separate ones?”
Bonnie cocks her head, thinking. “Yeah, there are a couple of small ones. Though maybe Hannah came back and hung hers up, and then Jillian ended up taking the same one.”
Probably not, though. If Jillian was preparing to visit the burial site at around ten, she headed down there not long after Hannah left the house.
I know I need to let Bonnie go home, but I can’t quite drop this. “Did you tell the police about the slickers? And how we thought it was Hannah who was dead?”
“Yup, I told them about our mistake. And I think I mentioned the slicker, too. I was so nervous talking to them that my voice shook. They probably think I did it.”
I shake my head. “Of course not. And how about the rest of the interview?” I ask casually. “Did that go okay?”
“Yeah, I guess. They seemed a little, what’s the word, impertinent? Asking about Claire and Ash and how their marriage was.”
My stomach clenches. “How did you handle that?” I ask, still trying to keep it light.
“I told them things were fine. And they wanted to know who was in the house and when, that sort of thing . . . . Does that mean they think someone here is the killer?”
“Oh, no, not necessarily.” I’m trying to reassure myself as much as her. “But they have to cover all their bases, of course. Why don’t you go home now, Bonnie, and I’ll clear the stuff in the dining room later?”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks so much, hon.”
“One last thing,” I say as she rises. Because of the murder, I never had the chance to quiz Bonnie earlier as I’d intended. “You’ve been tidying the carriage house this week, right?”
“And the cottage, too. Is there something wrong?”
“Not at all. I was just wondering—and please don’t tell anyone I asked this, because it’s so silly—if you’d noticed if anyone had been using the oven there. To dry herbs—or flowers maybe?”
She wrinkles her brow. “Drying flowers? No, I can’t imagine why they would.”
It was a long shot. Surely Hannah would have covered her tracks.
“But I assume they’ve used the oven to do a little reheating,” she adds. “It was warm to the touch one day when I was over there.”
“Sunday?”
“Gosh, I don’t remember, Summer.”
“Okay, thanks. I know, dumb question. I’ll explain another time.”
I walk her out the back door to her red Honda in the upper part of the driveway and she jumps in and rolls down the window. “See you Friday,” she calls out and slowly backs out of the driveway.
Will I see her Friday? I wouldn’t be half surprised if she calls that morning to tell us that though she’s cherished her years with the Keatons, this seems like the right moment to move on.
Bella and Ginger have been trailing behind us, and now they’re eagerly thumping their tails, looking up at me expectantly. It’s probably been hours since they’ve been let outside. I don’t love being out here on my own, and besides, there’s something I urgently need to do, but it would be mean to ignore them. I lead them back to the patio, and tell them, “Go pee—though make it quick.”
They scamper off, and for a minute they sniff around in the grass right off the patio, but soon they’re fanning outward, nosing around a row of shrubbery. Ginger takes care of business fast enough and ambles back to me; Bella, however, suddenly strays from the circle of light thrown from the house and fades into the darkness beyond the bushes.
“Bella, come back here,” I demand. Though I can’t see her, I can hear her snuffling coming from the far side of the shrubs.
“Bella.” I’m nearly screaming now, desperate to get all of us inside, and two seconds later, she bolts toward me. I lead the girls indoors and after leaving them on their beds, I move quickly through the house to the side corridor where the slickers hang. It’s dark, but I can see the outline of the remaining slickers, bulging a little so they almost give the impression that there’s a cluster of people huddled against the wall. I snap on the light, walk over to the pegs, and count five coats all together. The one Jillian was wearing makes six in total, so Bonnie’s estimate was right. Hannah obviously put back the one she’d worn this morning.