cupboard door fixed. Why, you almost slammed into it
the other day.”
“True,” Renie allowed, her expression full of concern. “But you don’t really know what happened to
Bruno.”
“Also true,” Judith agreed.
A brief silence fell between the cousins. “I’m not
going to say it,” Renie said at last.
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it,” Judith responded, finally taking a sip from her water glass. “No
matter what, I’ve already said it about twenty times
since last night.”
Renie said it anyway. “It can’t be another homicide.
That’d be three at Hillside Manor. On the other hand,
if it is, you wouldn’t be at fault.” She paused after stirring extra sugar into her coffee. “When is a murder not
a murder? How on earth do you and Joe expect to find
out?”
“I’m not sure,” Judith replied, looking worried. “I
talk, I listen, while Joe sleuths in a professional way.”
“Can Bill and I help?” Renie offered, her deep sense
of family loyalty leaping to the surface.
While not nearly as compassionate, Renie ran a decent second to her cousin when it came to striking up
a revealing conversation. As for Bill, whatever he disliked about idle socializing was more than made up for
by his extraordinary perceptiveness. Being a trained
psychologist didn’t hurt any, either.
“Why not?” Judith said, brightening a bit.
“Well . . .” Renie grimaced. “We were planning on
inviting our future in-laws over so we could make sure
who was marrying whom, but the kids aren’t positive
that will work with their various and elaborate schedules. They insist we’ve met them already. I’ll find out
what Bill thinks. If he gives me a green light, we’ll be
over as soon as we can.”
Driving to Hillside Manor, Judith breathed a little
easier. To her relief, the cul-de-sac was empty, except
for the patrol car that had crept close to the curb. She
couldn’t see who was inside, but assumed it was someone from the day shift. Darnell Hicks and Mercedes
Berger would have gone home hours ago.
As she often did, Judith left her Subaru in the driveway. She usually entered the house from the rear, but
on this anxious Sunday she retraced her route to the
front. Pausing on the walk, she drank in the entirety of
Hillside Manor, acknowledging its age, soaking up its
memories. The house was almost a hundred years old,
built in the Edwardian era. The dark green paint and
the off-white trim on the Prairie-style Craftsman had
just begun to chip and fade. Next summer, Judith
would have to hire a painter. If there was a next summer at Hillside Manor.
