Taylor was unsettled. She never enjoyed being the object of another woman’s attention. This woman wasn’t exactly hitting on her, but she’d made her interest known. Lovely. What was up with that?
“I’m Lieutenant Taylor Jackson, Metro homicide. I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
The dark-haired woman didn’t smile, but stuck out her hand.
“I’m Michelle Harris. Corinne is my sister.”
Taylor was surprised when the woman spoke; the voice was deep and husky, that sexy, cracked sound that men always flocked to. They sounded alike.
Michelle gestured to the tear-streaked woman standing with Father Ross. “This is my mother, Julianne Harris.” She went around the room in turn, naming her family.
“My father, Matthew Harris. My sister, Nicole Harris. Carla Manchini, Corinne’s neighbor. We’re waiting for my brother Derek, he’ll be here shortly. Do you know who did this to my sister?”
“Not yet, unfortunately. We’re early into this investigation, Ms. Harris.”
“It’s Miss.”
Taylor cocked her head to the side for a brief instant, then replied, “Miss Harris. Sorry. Where’s your sister’s daughter?”
The smaller of the two sisters, Nicole, spoke, her voice stronger than she looked. “She’s taking a nap in the back room. Poor thing was absolutely exhausted. Once the paramedics said she was fine, we gave her a bath, fed her and got her down. She seemed all right, physically.”
“Why, Lieutenant? Hayden didn’t have anything to do with this.” Michelle Harris was sharp-tongued, challenging. Taylor forgave her, poor girl’s sister was dead, but ignored her for a moment. She turned to the other sister.
“Nicole, right?” The girl nodded.
“You gave her clothes to the officer? We’re going to need to process them as evidence.”
She nodded. “That crime technician officer was with us when we changed her. We did everything just how he told us to.”
“That’s good. We appreciate your help. Sergeant Fitzgerald will help me gather your statements. Mrs. Manchini, I’d like to speak with you alone. Can we go into another room?”
“You don’t want to talk to me first?” Michelle asked.
Taylor met Michelle Harris’s eyes. They were as odd as Taylor’s own, a blue so clear you would almost say they were transparent. Taylor’s were gray as a cloudy sky, one slightly darker than the other.
“I want to speak with everyone who is here. I just need some information from Mrs. Manchini to start. Please, bear with me. I’m afraid it’s going to be a long day. Mrs. Manchini?”
The woman stooped when she stood, unable to straighten all the way. She gestured to the hall, and Taylor followed her out of the room. She stopped walking when she heard the deep voice of Corinne’s father speaking.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Taylor edged back to the living room entrance, careful to stay out of sight. Eavesdropping. She could see into the room perfectly; there was a mirror on the opposite wall above a small writing desk that reflected their actions. Fitz had his back to her, was talking to Father Ross.
Michelle Harris turned and grabbed onto her father, the words pouring out of her like a spigot left on during a summer drought. “Oh, Daddy. I don’t know if I am. I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of Corinne laying there on the floor all bloody, with Hayden next to her, out of my mind.”
“I know, honey. It must have been horrible.” He pulled her in close, and Michelle melted into his arms. Taylor felt a pang of jealousy. Michelle’s father was her savior, her protector.
“Haven’t you heard from Derek yet?”
“He’s in that infernal lab class until noon. I’m going to head over to Vanderbilt now, be waiting for him when he leaves. I don’t want him to hear this from an outsider. I’ll bring him back here with me. Will you be okay for a little while?”
“I’ll be fine, Daddy. Once I talk to the detective, I’ll sit with Mom. You and Derek take your time. He’s going to be a mess.”
“Yes, he is. Thank you for understanding. You always were my good girl. I love you, Shelly. Take care of Nikki too. She’s not as strong as you and your mom.” He hugged her tight to his chest, and Taylor turned away. A grieving family. Why did that make her feel so empty?
Mrs. Manchini had led Taylor into her bedroom. Her chintz bedroom. Unlike the coolly decorated perfection of the Wolffs’ house, everything here smacked of homemade kitsch.
The master was small, about half the size of the house next door. A four-poster bed with a canopy and frilly lace pillows took up much of the space. Cliche, Taylor thought, then mentally chided herself. The Manchini house did seem a caricature of itself, the woman who owned it a shadow of a real person, insubstantial. Carla Manchini could have been anywhere from forty-five to sixty-five, with outdated wire glasses, thinning blond hair in a partially grown-out perm and slightly crooked teeth. Her parents must have decided that they weren’t quite bad enough to invest the money into fixing. As a result, when she spoke, a snaggletooth incisor appeared on the right upper side, and her lips folded around it as if not sure what they were meant to do.
Taylor realized Carla had been talking and focused.
“I’m not sure what you want with me, Lieutenant. I didn’t know them next door very well, no, I didn’t. I mind my own business over here at Manchini’s casa, yes, I do. I’m not a spy, don’t go looking into my neighbors’ backyards, I truly don’t.”
Taylor looked at the woman, wondering why she was so adamant. She wouldn’t meet Taylor’s eye, just sat on her bed, her gaze flitting about as she twisted her hands together.
“Actually, ma’am, I’m just wondering if you’ve noticed anything funny over the past few days.”
The woman shook her head solemnly. “I surely didn’t.”
“Nothing?”
Mrs. Manchini paused for a moment, shut her eyes, remembering. “The lights were on. Mrs. Wolff turns them off in the mornings, but they burned all weekend.”
“And that was unusual?”
“Yes.”
Ah, another item for the timeline. Perfect.
“When was the last time you saw Mrs. Wolff?”
“Oh. Well, I can’t rightly recall. Today’s Monday, and Monday is my book club, yes, it is. I don’t remember seeing Corinne today, and I usually see her in the back, watering her begonias. Such a pretty garden she has, yes, she does. Just put it in this past weekend. It’s a little too early for those flowers, but what do I know? I did see her on Friday. Friday is my garden club, yes, it is.” Twist, twist, twist.
The repetition tic was starting to bother Taylor. The woman was going to sprain a wrist if she didn’t lay off her hands. “Friday at what time, ma’am?”
“Oh, well, I couldn’t be exact. Something around three-twenty in the afternoon, if I had to push myself to remember, but I wouldn’t want to be misleading by not being one hundred percent right, no, I wouldn’t.”
“You’re doing just fine.”
The woman bobbed her head, a shy smile crossing her face at the compliment. Taylor got the feeling the woman didn’t get many and softened her tone.
“What was Corinne doing at three-twenty, Mrs. Manchini?”
“Playing with little Hayden. Such a beautiful child, yes, she is.”
“Backyard, front yard?”
“Oh, yes, of course. They were in the side yard, actually. I believe Mrs. Wolff was putting down some wildflower mix, trying to pretty up the area where their trash cans go, yes, she was.”
Didn’t keep an eye on her neighbors. Yeah, right. “Did you see anyone with her?”
“Other than Hayden? No, I didn’t.”
“What about Mr. Wolff?”
This earned Taylor a direct, but fleeting, glance. She was rubbing her hands together now. The conversation was making her nervous. Nervous was always interesting.
