Millicent was such a fixture in the library that no one would ever remark on her presence. She could have locked the archives, stayed inside, and nipped up the stairs. Again, this would have required a pre-arranged meeting, but that was possible. But did she have the strength? Millicent was pretty spry for a woman her age, but she did have arthritis. I knew her shoulder was bothering her earlier in the week. And she’d been very awkward when closing the windows with her left hand. I would express concern about the state of her joints the next time I saw her, but for now I was labeling her unlikely as well.
Felicity was at the same meeting as Joanna, and almost immediately after was with Julia Wainwright at the Java Joint. The timing was tricky, but if both she and Joanna left the meeting at the same time, she could head for the restroom or the office and double back, do the deed, and shoot off to meet Julia. I made a note to see if anyone had noticed when Joanna and Felicity had walked out of the meeting room, and where each had gone.
Matthew Prentiss had been home all night. He’d been working in his office after checking homework and putting on a movie for the kids. He had emerged only to put them to bed, and had gone back to practicing a presentation. Felicity had heard him when she got home, but since he didn’t like to be interrupted when he worked, she went directly to bed. That was the story both of them told, and from what Jennie said, there was no reason to doubt it. Had anyone questioned the Prentiss children? That kind of thing was tricky with minors, probably requiring parental consent or presence. I’d ask Jennie.
There. Motive, means, opportunity—all charted out. I ran a critical eye over it. Any one of them could have done it, a couple of them much more easily than others. The question was who would have done it? I have always believed that given the right set of circumstances, everyone is a killer. Who on this list felt sufficiently threatened, and either plotted murder or took advantage of circumstances to get rid of a threat?
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw a text from Jennie. “James Family Trust all went to Felicity. Millicent Ames trustee. Land bequest fuzzy. Will call. Be careful.”
Well, well, well. Following the money was looking like the best bet after all. It all seemed to come back to Felicity, and to a lesser extent, Millicent. I penciled a little star next to both names on my chart.
I was wild to find out the exact nature of that trust. There’s nothing more titillating, or revealing, than other people’s finances. The next best thing is their real estate records, also enlightening and usually more accessible. Jennie described the land bequest as “fuzzy.” Maybe I could clarify it. I pulled out the article on Marjorie Douglas’s bequest. No location for the gifted property, only the statement that it was adjacent to the manor grounds. On the theory that it was part of a larger parcel that was broken up, I checked the address given in her obituary in the local paper and typed it into Google maps.
Nothing.
That was odd. I checked the address again. I had typed it correctly. I checked Felicity’s address on the Friends’ membership list. If they had renovated the Prentiss house after Marjorie’s death, it should be the same.
It was not. Close, but Marjorie Douglas had lived at 1 Barn Hill Road, and Felicity’s address was 11 Barn House Road. I popped that into the search box and got an immediate hit. I was studying the overhead view when a harassed sounding Jilly called my name.
“Sorry! Coming!” I yelled, frantically folding my chart and stuffing everything under my keyboard. I threw a few random magazines and files on top, then closed the office door as I raced through. Taking the back stairs, I entered the community room to find Anne Marie wielding a small bottle of solvent in an attempt to remove a paper daffodil from the hair of a crying toddler. The mother was hovering, bleating “Is that organic?” and generally getting in the way.
You couldn’t pay me enough. I ducked out and busied myself folding the easel in the hall and gathering scattered bookmarks. Estimating that Anne Marie needed a few more minutes to contain the meltdown, I went to the window. Mary Alice had said that you could see the Prentiss place from the manor when the trees weren’t in full leaf. I looked at the hillside across the Ravens Kill. Leaves were budding, but the foliage wasn’t too thick yet. There was nothing that looked like a building in sight.
I leaned in closer and looked left. Here the manor grounds quickly turned to a thickly wooded slope topped by a plateau known as Ravensloft. The play on the family name had come about when hikers had discovered the area long ago, and it had stuck. If you braved the trek through the forest primeval you were rewarded with a spectacular view of the village and surrounding area. I spotted nothing that looked like a house. A faint line marked a deer trail going up the hill, but beyond there was nothing but trees. I remembered Sadie’s secret paths, and let my eyes drift over the hillside. Nothing revealed itself to me. The woods were keeping their secrets.
Anne Marie gave me the all-clear and I headed into the community room.
