Mia put her coat on, smiled. “Hey, at least I’m having a better day than some other people around here.”
“Like who?” I asked.
“When I walked over there was this couple in a car, talking to each other—okay, maybe yelling. They didn’t look very happy. At least the woman didn’t.”
“Did she have gray hair in a thick braid, a knit cap on her head?”
Mia and I were at the door. “She sure did.”
“And the man in the car with her … short white beard, tweed cap?”
Mia nodded. “That’s them. What are they, friends of yours?”
“No,” I said, opening the door for her. “Not friends.”
CHAPTER FOUR
After the generous meal supplied by Felix and the Lafayette House, I felt full and almost content as I slowly took my time going back upstairs. Each step hurt, of course, but not as much as before, which I took as a good sign. In my bedroom, the disheveled bed seemed to mock me. I was brought up to always make your bed in the morning, and there was just something creepy about crawling into a sloppy bed.
I sat on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid resting on my drainage tubes, and picked up the remote to navigate the television’s complicated on-demand menu and find the fourth episode of Band of Brothers. I managed to stay awake to the very end.
Late afternoon I was up again, but definitely not about, staring out the window at the cruel sea. But it didn’t look too cruel at this moment, just a dark gray swelling movement, with lobster pots visible and the sharp rocks of the Isles of Shoals.
A knock at the door caused me to say a few naughty words in the direction of the islands, and then a woman’s voice called out: “You decent up there?”
To which I yelled back, “Not hardly!”
I was rewarded with a laugh and there were footsteps on the stairs, and into my bedroom came Detective Sergeant Diane Woods of the Tyler Police Department. She was wearing black sneakers, black slacks, a waist-length brown leather jacket, and a red blouse. Her brown hair was cut in a bobbed style that went out of fashion years ago—which I’ve never had the heart to tell her—and she looked pretty good, with the recent scars and bruises on her face finally fading away.
“This is a treat,” I said.
“You bet it is,” she said.
“No, I mean it. I know you’re up to your ears in the Maggie Branch killing.”
“Yeah,” Diane nodded. “A real freaking mess. But I got some free time and Paula rang me up, asked if I’d come over and give you a hand with your drains.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope,” she said.
She walked over, held out two rough and strong hands. “Come along, tiger. Let’s get this job done.”
I worked with Diane, getting up on the floor, and she walked me to the bathroom. I said, “It might be bloody.”
“What, you don’t think I’ve seen blood before?”
As with Felix, Diane got the job done with little fuss or muss, and she said, “Looks like your output is decreasing. A good sign?”
“Very good sign,” I said. “Means in a couple of days I’ll get these drains removed, and I won’t feel like Dr. Frankenstein’s practice creation before he figured everything out.”
I eased back into my bed and Diane brought in the chair from my office. She kicked off her sneakers and stretched out her legs, putting her feet on my bed.
“What’s the latest?” I said.
She ran her hands through her thick brown hair. “What we got is that somebody met up with Maggie Tyler Branch sometime after five P.M. two days ago. We know the time because a half hour earlier, she had left Hannaford’s with some groceries. She was due to have a late dinner with a neighbor at eight P.M., and when she didn’t show up, the neighbor drove over and found her.”
“Where?”
“In the barn where she kept her antiques. She has a little office in the back with a rolltop desk, some wooden filing cabinets, and one of those old-fashioned swivel chairs. That’s where she was found.”
“Paula said she was killed with a shotgun.”
Diane sighed. “Very messy, very bloody, and … very unnecessary. What’s the point? She was an old woman, no threat to anyone. And if you’re going to rob the place, why not just bop her on the back of her head, or tie her up? What’s the point of blowing off her head?”
“Maybe the thief or thieves didn’t want to be recognized.”
“Maybe …”
“And no one heard anything?”
“You’ve been there before, right? I recall you did a column for Shoreline about her.”
“Two,” I said.
“Must have missed one, then,” she said. “Her place was probably the most remote piece of property left in Tyler, with brush and trees around it. One shotgun blast … we can see why nobody heard anything. Or saw anything.”
“Anything of value stolen?”
“What, you planning on writing a magazine column about this?”
“Not anytime soon,” I said. “But humor me, Diane. I’m stuck in this house, I’m tired of reading, tired of watching television.”
“Looking for stimulation, then?”
“Looking for adult conversation.”
She laughed, folded her hands in her lap. “Nice to be called an adult. Well, the place was tossed, like they were looking for something. But there were small vaults that had gold jewelry in them, and those weren’t touched. And some cash.”
“Any valuable, antique silver?” I said, remembering Felix.
“Not that I’m aware of,” she said. “You have any particular interest, Lewis? You have anything that you were having Maggie check out?”
“No,” I said, being honest. “I didn’t have anything there for her to check out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Paula thinks maybe it was a robbery,” I said, changing the subject. “Maybe something to get money for heroin, since her place was so close to the Interstate.”
“Mmm, maybe,” she said, her voice skeptical. “I can tell you
