Chapter 4

4

While I waited for everyone to arrive, I did a quick scan of a few sections of the library. I found nothing, and no one. Foley pulled to a screeching stop, and he and Whitlock got out. I walked over to meet them.

Amos Whitlock was a detective for the county, working under Foley. He'd worked alongside my father in his younger years. Bored in retirement, he'd jumped at the chance to return to detective work when a position opened, and given I was a private investigator, our paths often crossed when my agency was hired to investigate homicide cases.

Whitlock ran a hand through his sleek, silver hair and gave me a nod. "Evening, Georgiana. Nice to see you … well, it is nice to see you, just not under these circumstances."

"Nice to see you too."

Though the hour was late, he was still looking fashionable in a light blue shirt and fitted black slacks. He was wearing his signature dress shoes, which were buffed to a shine—I was sure I could see my reflection in them if I tried.

Foley, on the other hand, looked a little worse for wear.

He noticed me eyeing him and said, "I … ahh, I was in my pajamas, watching a movie with your sister when you called."

"I didn't say anything," I said.

"There's no need. You've never had even the slightest hint of a poker face. Your expression said it for you. Now, fill me in. Start by explaining how you and your mother stumbled upon her neighbor and what you know about what happened here tonight."

"I was at my mother's house earlier this evening, and she noticed Cordelia hadn't returned home after work. She was worried, so we decided to drive over here and see if we could find her. When we first got here, she was still alive, but she died within minutes of our arrival."

"You note the exact time of death?"

"Of course I did—8:22 p.m. on the dot."

"Was she conscious at all before she passed?"

"Yes and no. She didn't offer any information about what happened here tonight, but she whispered something about seeing her husband again. Then she passed away."

"Take me to her."

Foley and Whitlock followed me to the other side of the room. As soon as my mother spotted them, she rushed over to Whitlock, throwing her arms around him.

"It's just awful, and it's all my fault," she said. "I'm the one who pushed Cordelia to take this job. I thought it would be good for her. If it wasn't for me, she'd still be alive."

Whitlock patted her on the back and said, "Now, now … it's not your fault. You were just trying to be a good friend."

"Who would want to harm such a sweet, innocent old woman?" my mother asked. "Who would do such a thing?"

"Hard to say, but we'll get to the bottom of it."

"We will," Foley added. "You look tired, Darlene. You should go home and get some rest."

"I'd like to stay, thank you," my mother said.

"It's going to be a long night," Foley said. "There's no reason for you to stick around. I'll call you in the morning, okay?"

My mother looked at me and said, "Come on, then. Let's leave them to it."

I shook my head. "I'd like to stay, Mom. I texted Harvey, and he's on his way to pick you up."

Harvey was my stepfather, and the county's former chief of police. He'd also worked with my father back in the day and had been his closest friend. Decades earlier, after my father died, Harvey stepped in, making frequent stops at our house to ensure we had everything we needed. My mother leaned on him for support, and after a time, they developed feelings for each other.

I'd never questioned my mother's love for Harvey. But my father's death left a gaping hole in her heart, a hole that grew larger whenever she lost someone close. She'd been a lot quieter tonight, which wasn't like her usual boisterous self. Knowing she was in for a tough, emotional night, I'd texted Harvey.

He arrived a few minutes later, said a quick hello, and then ushered my mother out the door. As they made their exit, Silas walked in. He was the county medical examiner and a good friend. His long, sun-kissed blond locks had been pulled back into a manbun, and he was dressed like a Hawaiian tourist, in a wrinkled floral shirt and khaki shorts.

He spotted me and walked over.

"Hey, rough night, eh?" Silas said. "Who died?"

"An older woman," I said. "She was my mother's neighbor."

"Oh, wow. That's too bad. Does your mother know?"

"We were the ones who found her."

"How'd it happen?"

"Gunshot wound."

"You get a good look at her?"

"I did, and the first thing I want to know is whether the gunshot wound is self-inflicted or if someone shot her."

Silas nodded and looked around. "You find a shell casing?"

"Not so far. When we got here, there was a gun on the floor not far from her body. It's small, though. Looks more like a toy. Reminded me of the gun John Wilkes Booth used when he shot Lincoln. If it was self-inflicted, a suicide, which doesn't sit well with me, she would have had to know the exact spot she needed to shoot herself to make sure the deed was done."

"Huh. She was only shot once then?"

"Yeah," I said. "She was alive when I found her."

"For how long?"

"A few minutes." I glanced at my watch. "She died about an hour and forty minutes ago. I can give you the exact time."

"Good to know. I'll have a look, see if anything stands out."

He left my side and made his way over to Foley, who was standing beside Cordelia. Whitlock was walking up and down the book aisles, whistling, something he often did at a crime scene. According to him, it helped him stay calm and focused. In an abrupt manner, the whistling stopped, and Whitlock shouted, "Hey guys. I think I found something."