Presumed Guilty

Annie laughed. “Men always are when they see my pistol’s bigger than theirs.” She glanced over her shoulder as the bathroom door opened. “Hi. Feeling better?”

“Just cleaner,” said Miranda, walking barefoot into the living room. She was wearing one of Annie’s huge Tshirts. It hung like a dress over her slim hips.

Annie held out a glass of whiskey. “Join us in a toast.”

“To what?”

“Just drink it. We’ll think of something.”

Miranda came toward them and took the glass. She brought with her those fresh shower smells, the scent of flowers and soap and feminine warmth. Her hair, still damp, was a mass of unruly waves. The sight of her sent Chase’s head swimming. Or was it the whiskey?

“So what happens now?” asked Annie.

Chase turned away and set his glass on the nearest table. “The police are handling it.”

“Look, I’ve been covering that beat for five years. I wouldn’t be too optimistic.”

“Lorne’s a bright guy. He can figure it out.”

“But whose side is he on? I’m not saying Lorne’s corrupt, or anything. But you did find that page about him and Valerie Everhard.”

“A fling with the local librarian?” Chase shrugged. “I’d consider that only a minor scandal.”

“Did you ask Lorne about it?”

“Yes. He didn’t deny it. And he didn’t seem bothered by it.”

“Annie, did you know Richard had those files?” Miranda asked.

Annie shrugged. “We had a number of files on local personalities. Jill did the interviews, wrote the pieces. Every summer we’d run a few profiles. But nothing that’d make tongues twitter.” She set her glass down. “Well, whatever was in those files, it’s all up in smoke now. A pity you didn’t have copies. You’ve lost your only clues.”

“I don’t think so,” said Chase. “Those were the papers the burglar left behind. Whatever he’s really after is still at Rose Hill.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he went back there tonight.”

“What he didn’t count on,” said Miranda, “was tangling with Miss Lila St. John. Again.”

Annie shook her head and laughed. “That is one poor, unfortunate burglar.”

Miss Lila St. John was, at that moment, holding a bag of ice to a nasty-looking goose egg on the back of her head. “What do you mean, did I get a good look at him?” she snapped. “Does it seem likely I got a look at him? Considering where he whacked me?”

“It was just a routine question, ma’am,” whimpered Ellis.

“That is the problem with you police people. You are so tied up with your routine questions you never bother to think.”

“Miss St. John,” Lorne politely interjected, “allow me to rephrase Ellis’s question. What, exactly, did you see?”

“Precious little.”

“A figure? A face?”

“Just a light. I told you, I was sitting here reading. Death Becomes You.

“Excuse me?”

“The name of the book. It features a police detective with a genius IQ.” She paused. “Obviously, a novel with no basis in reality.”

Lorne let that one slide by. Miss St. John deserved a little leeway tonight. After all, a blow on the head — even a head as hard as hers — would make anyone cranky. “Go on,” he said.

“Well, I put the book aside to make tea. And as I did, I happened to look out that window. It faces south, toward Rose Hill Cottage. That’s when I saw the light.”

“A car headlight?”

“No, much dimmer. A flashlight, I think. Moving through the woods. I knew it was headed for Rose Hill. That’s all that lies in that direction. So I decided to check on it.”

“Why didn’t you call us?”

“Because it might simply have been one of the Tremains. Now, how would it look if I dragged you men all the way out here, just to confront the rightful owner?”

“The rightful owner seems to be in doubt.”

“Let’s not confuse ourselves with that issue. Anyway, I went out—”

“Alone?”

“If only! I would have been just fine if Ozzie hadn’t followed me.”

“Ozzie?” inquired Ellis.

As if on cue, an enormous black dog sauntered across the room and eyed Ellis.

“Yes, you certainly made a racket,” said Miss St. John to the dog. “All that yowling and thrashing in the bushes. No wonder you never catch anything.” She looked at Lorne. “It’s his fault. He followed me up the road. Somewhere along the way I lost track of the light. I was trying to see through the dark and shoo off Ozzie at the same time. He was making such unattractive noises. I turned around and gave him a slap. And that’s when he whacked me.”

“Ozzie?” asked Ellis.

“No! The man. Or woman. It was dark, so I couldn’t tell you which.”

“Did you black out?”

“I’m not sure. Things got a little confused at that point. I remember being on my knees in the bushes. Hearing footsteps run away. And feeling mad as hell.” She glared at Ozzie. “Yes, and I do mean at you.”

The dog, unperturbed, began to lick Lorne’s brand-new boot. Gingerly, Lorne gave the dog a little shove. Ozzie, looking insulted, redirected his affectionate overtures toward a more agreeable target — Ellis’s leg.

“Then you never saw your attacker?” Lorne asked.

“No, I can’t say I did.”

“What happened then?”

“I came back here. Oh, I got a little turned around in the dark, but I found my way back, eventually. And I called you.”

“So the attack happened — when?”

“It would be about two hours ago.”

About the same time the flames were consuming the last of Miranda Wood’s house, thought Lorne. It seemed unlikely that the same culprit could have set fire to the house, then raced out here in time to knock Miss St. John on the head. Two crimes, two criminals. Too bad.

Lorne preferred simple solutions.

“Are you certain your attacker was headed for Rose Hill?” he asked.

“I know he was. And he’ll be back.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t get what he wanted.”

“You’re referring to the scandal sheets?”

Miss St. John gave him a look of pure innocence. “Oh. You know about that?”

“Yes. And for your information, Miss St. John, I didn’t come on to Valerie Everhard. She came on to me.”

Ellis looked up from the dog now nuzzling his knee. “What was that about Valerie Everhard?”

“Never mind,” snapped Lorne and Miss St. John simultaneously.

“There was a report on me, too,” said Miss St. John with a faint note of pride. “As well as almost everyone on this road. I had no idea Richard Tremain was such a busybody.”

“Any idea why?”

“I’ll give the man the benefit of the doubt and attribute it to mere curiosity. As opposed to less benign