'The Elliot woman was in the hospital for weeks, before transferring to the rest home. Somebody's coming around to take care of things.'
Catherine shook her head, half-smiled. 'A little eerie, don't you think? Air conditioning on, everything so normal-like Vivian's going to walk in the door, any second.'
'If she does,' Warrick said,
The hallway was inlaid Mexican tile and Catherine could almost feel its coolness through the soles of her shoes. She turned to the right and found herself in a small but immaculate living room, a flowered sofa against one wall, two chairs framing the picture window onto the front yard. An entertainment center occupied the opposite wall, complete with Book-of-the-Month-Club-filled bookshelves on either side of the 27' TV. The wall to the left had a potted plant in either corner and was home to an array of photos at various heights in assorted frames-family photos, most taken before the death of Vivian's seventeen-year-old daughter.
The girl looked similar to Lindsey-same big blue eyes and wide, easy grin. Her hair was darker than Lindsey's, but that was the only real difference. Catherine felt as if she were looking into the future. Then, recalling the fate of this child, she felt a chill…that chill of dread that only a parent, contemplating the death of a child, can understand.
Off the living room was a small study, pine-paneling with nature prints beautifully framed, built-in bookcases with volumes on hunting, fishing, baseball, and football, and a desk with a computer, circa 1995.
'Husband's home office,' Catherine said.
'Clean as a whistle,' Warrick noted. 'But not in use for some time, I'd say.'
Back in the living room, the trio compared notes.
'Nice enough digs,' Warrick said.
'Clean,' Vega said.
'Think somebody went over it?' Warrick asked.
'It's not a crime scene, Warrick,' Catherine said. 'A cleaning lady cleaned it.'
'Or her friend?'
'Or her friend…. Let's get the lay of the land before we get too carried away.'
'You're the boss,' Warrick said.
She looked at him.
'What?' he said.
With a wrinkled grin, she said, 'It's just…every time you say that to me, I look for sarcasm and can't quite find it.'
He grinned. 'Maybe you're not good enough a detective to.'
The house was only one story, and their tour didn't take long. When Catherine went back into the hallway, she followed it to the entrance of the combination kitchen/dining room, where another hall peeled off to the left. Catherine went that way, the other two right behind.
The first door on the right was a bedroom-a small tidy room with a sewing machine, bed, and dresser. A '70s vintage portable stereo was on a stand under a bulletin board adorned with David Cassidy pictures cut from teen fan magazines. On the pink bedspread were stuffed animals with big eyes that stared accusingly at the investigators.
'Daughter's room,' Catherine said.
'Doesn't look like it's been changed much,' Warrick said, 'since the kid's death.'
'Sewing machine is probably Mom's.'
'I don't know, Cath. Kids sew, too.'
'Mine doesn't.'
Warrick lifted his eyebrows. 'Neither does this one, anymore.'
There were more green plants in here-three sitting on a ledge attached to the windowsill. Healthy looking.
Across the hall was the bathroom and, beyond that, another bedroom-this one rather anonymous with a desk with a computer and a plastic organizer filled with files; on a small table next to the desk, an AM/FM radio. Across the room the glass face of a small TV on a stand winked at them. Green plants dotted this room, too.
Next was a bedroom, obviously Vivian's. Two pictures sat on the far nightstand-her husband, her daughter. Yet another TV perched on a table on the wall opposite the bed. A giant armoire filled the wall next to the door and a long dresser consumed the far wall, leaving barely room to walk around the bed. Catherine managed, though, and beyond the armoire was a door to another, smaller, bathroom. Judging by the toothbrush, hair spray, toothpaste, and other products Catherine had seen no sign of in the other, bigger bathroom, this was the one Vivian had used most of the time.
'Big house like this,' Warrick said, 'nice, too-and she relegates herself to, essentially, a small apartment. Rest of the place is like a shrine to her lost family. Sad.'
'A lot of older people make their lives simpler,' Catherine said, 'and keep to a room or two in the house.'
'Maybe. That's not what this feels like.'
Catherine didn't express her agreement with Warrick, but she felt it. Being alone wasn't always a good thing….
More plants in the bedroom, everything freshly dusted.
'Someone was definitely taking care of this house while Vivian was laid up,' Catherine said in the hallway.
'Who?' Warrick asked.
'This doesn't feel like the Merry Maids. I'll bet it's a friend.'
The trio of investigators headed down to the living room to share their thoughts. Vega began by catching them up on what he'd found out already.
Referring to his notes, Vega said, 'Husband's name was Ted, retired electrician, passed away last year at seventy-five. Daughter was Amelia, died in a car accident when she got hit by a driver who fell asleep from too much weed. That was 1970-they never had any more kids.'
Shaking her head, Catherine said, 'They went over thirty years without their child…a loss they obviously never got over…then Ted dies, and Vivian is left alone. Who would want to harm
Vega shrugged.
'Hate to borrow trouble,' Warrick said, a humorless half-smirk digging a hole in one cheek, 'but how sure are we that Vivian's recent car crash was an accident, and not just the first attempt to kill her?'
'Pretty sure,' the detective said. 'She got hit by a drunk who ran a red light on Tropicana.'
'You're positive,' Warrick said.
'If it was a murder attempt, it was a lousy one.'
'Why do you say that?'
Vega shrugged again. 'Drunk ended up dead.'
Warrick's eyebrows lifted. 'Guess that qualifies as 'lousy.' '
'Also qualifies as freaky,' Catherine said.
Vega frowned. 'Why's that?'
'Two deaths in one family? Both getting hit by impaired drivers?'
'I've seen weirder,' Vega said.
They all had-and they let it go. For now, at least.
Warrick said, 'So-Vivian wasn't a target, in the car crash…but could she have been trying to kill herself, in the manner her daughter died?'
'That's sick,' Vega said.
'I've seen sicker,' Warrick said.
They all had.
'What are you saying, Warrick,' Catherine said, shaking her head, smiling in a glazed fashion, 'that Vivian waited, engine idling, till a drunk came by, to pull out in front of?'
And they let that go, too.
'Maybe it was just bad luck,' Vega said. 'In this town, I've seen worse.'
