“Your relationship to Ted Severson, and the fact that you went up to Kennewick on Sunday and Monday night of this week. You didn’t think you should have mentioned that to me last time I was here?”
“I can explain,” she said. “And I apologize for lying. I’ve been stressed-out by this situation with my father. When you showed up the first time I was terrified of getting mixed up in a murder investigation. It would’ve been too much for him. That’s the reason I pretended not to know Ted. I hope you know I wouldn’t have lied if I thought our relationship had anything to do with the murder.”
“What exactly was your relationship?”
“We met in London at the airport. I didn’t even recognize him at first, but we got to talking, and we eventually figured out that we had met before, through Miranda. We were both in business class, and we wound up sitting next to each other, and he told me that he thought his wife was cheating on him with his house builder.”
“That’s kind of important information,” I said. “We would have appreciated knowing that a week ago.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s not like he knew for sure. He just thought it was probably the case. I knew Miranda in college, and I thought he was probably right. Anyway, we hit it off. He opened up to me, the way it sometimes happens on airplanes.”
“So you became involved.”
“No, not really. Not romantically. We met again once, at a bar in Concord for a drink, but we didn’t pursue anything. He was married.”
“But you liked him?”
She slowly blinked again. “I did. He was a nice man.”
“When did you hear that he’d been killed?”
“I read about it in the Globe on Sunday. The article made it sound as though he’d been killed by a burglar, but I wondered . . .”
“Wondered whether he’d been killed by Brad Daggett?”
“That’s the name of the contractor, right? And you think he killed both Ted and then Miranda.”
“Just tell me why you decided to go up to Maine.”
“I don’t know exactly. Lots of reasons. Ted had told me how much he loved it up there, so I decided to drive up. I guess to mourn him. We’d only met twice but both meetings were pretty intense. And I suppose I also went up there to see if I could find anything out. I guess I was pretending I was Nancy Drew. It’s stupid, I know.”
“What did you do while you were up there?”
“Took walks. Ate dinner at the bar at the hotel. Everyone was talking about the murder and I listened in, but I didn’t hear anything about Miranda having an affair. I thought I would; I thought everyone would talk about it. According to Ted, Miranda practically lived at the Kennewick Inn. If she was sleeping with someone local, you’d figure that everyone would know about it. That’s what I thought, anyway. But no one said a thing. I even went to Cooley’s—it’s the bar down the street, the more local one—and had a drink there, thinking I might hear something, or even see Brad. But I didn’t.”
“What exactly were you going to do if you found out Brad and Miranda were having an affair?”
“Trap him, obviously,” she said. “Get a confession out of him. Make a citizen’s arrest.” Her face hadn’t changed, and it took me a moment to realize she was joking. I smirked, and she smiled back. There was a crease between her upper lip and her nose when she smiled. “Honestly,” she continued, “I don’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t have a plan. And just because Brad and Miranda were having an affair doesn’t mean that had anything to do with his death.”
“We’re pretty sure that Brad Daggett killed both of the Seversons.”
“And he’s missing?”
“Yes.”
We were quiet a moment. I watched Lily touch the fingers of her left hand in succession against the armrest of the chair. It was the first outward sign of nervousness I’d seen from her. Finally, she said, “I screwed up. I should have told you everything the first time you came here. I should have told you that Ted thought his wife was having an affair with Brad. I’m sorry. Honestly, when you came, I assumed that Ted had been killed by a burglar. I was almost embarrassed that I went up to Maine to try and do my own investigation. It sounded stupid.”
“Like Nancy Drew,” I said.
“Um, are you calling my childhood hero stupid?”
“No, of course not. I loved Nancy Drew, too. Why do you think I became a detective?”
A ragged-looking cat came up onto the deck, mewling at Lily. “You have a cat,” I said.
“Not really,” she answered, standing up. “His name is Mog, but he mostly lives outside. He comes here when he’s hungry. I’m going to get him some food. Can I get you anything from inside?”
“No, thanks,” I said. While she was gone I clucked at Mog, but he stayed where he was. His eyes were different colors, or else one of his eyes was damaged somehow. Lily returned with cat food in a bowl, and set it down on the edge of the deck. Mog squatted and began to eat.