“Not that I know of.”
The detective looked at his spiral-bound notebook and was quiet for a moment. I had relaxed. As far as I could figure, I had covered myself as best as I could. I couldn’t deny having met Ted on the plane. There were witnesses. But there was no reason for me to admit anything else. If the police figured out that I had stayed for two nights in Kennewick immediately after the murder, I would just have to claim it was coincidence. It might look strange, but what could happen to me? It’s not as though I had actually been involved in the Friday night murder.
“Sorry, Lily, but I need to ask this. Can you tell me where you were on Friday evening?”
“I was here. I was alone. I cooked dinner for myself, then watched a movie.”
“Anyone stop by? Anyone call?”
“Sorry, no. I don’t think so.”
“That’s okay.” He finished his coffee and stood. “Is it possible to look at a picture of Ted Severson online so you can give a proper identification?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said, and got my laptop. Together, we found a picture that accompanied a news article on Ted’s slaying, and I said, that, yes, I was pretty sure that it was the same man I’d talked with on the plane.
“It’s so strange,” I said. “I read the article and realized that I kind of knew this man, or at least I definitely knew his wife, and it turns out I’d met him recently, spoken with him.”
At the door, Detective Kimball reached into his jacket pocket, then said, “Oh, one more thing. I nearly forgot.” He pulled out a single key, still shiny. “Do you mind if I check and see if this key opens your door.”
I laughed. “So dramatic. You think this man had a key to my house?”
“No, I don’t, but we found it hidden among his things, and I need to check every possibility. I’m just eliminating your house is all.”
“No, please check. I understand.” It must have been the key that Ted had stolen from Brad’s house, probably a master for all the rental cottages. If Brad became a suspect, it would only be a matter of time until they discovered that the key belonged to him.
I watched the detective insert the key into my front door lock. It slid in easily and for one confused and terrifying moment I thought the key might turn my lock, that maybe Ted really did have a key to my house for some reason. But it didn’t. The detective jiggled it a couple of times, then pulled it out. “Nope,” he said. “I had to check, though. You’ve been very helpful. If you think of anything else . . .” He held out a card and I took it. Glancing down, I saw that his first name was Henry. I stood in the door and watched him drive away. It was almost dark, the sky crisscrossed with orange clouds. Behind me the phone rang twice and then stopped. I walked toward it, but I knew what the handset would tell me. I picked it up, the words MISSED CALL and the number on the digital readout. The area code was 207. I would double-check the number against the number of Cooley’s pay phone that I’d jotted down on the back of the napkin, but I was pretty sure they would be the same. The phone call meant that Brad had set up the meeting with Miranda for later that night. It was all going as planned. The visit from the detective had made me a little nervous, but as he’d said, he was simply eliminating me from the investigation.
I opened the fridge and peered inside, deciding what to make for dinner.
CHAPTER 23
MIRANDA
Back when Brad and I had been planning Ted’s murder, I had briefly considered getting a pair of untraceable temporary cell phones. Just in case. I had stupidly discarded that idea, not wanting any physical evidence that pointed to our guilt. Right now, I desperately wished we had them. I was pacing the house in the South End, going out of my fucking mind, wondering if I should just call Brad, warn him that he was going to be questioned. I didn’t even know if it would help. Maybe he would panic more if he knew they were coming. And part of me wondered if I should tell Brad that he was recognized by a witness, and that he should pack his truck and leave town, go on the run.
Scenarios unfolded in my mind.
According to your cell phone records, Mrs. Severson, after you identified Brad Daggett as the man who had been spotted entering your house, you called the same Mr. Daggett that evening. And now we can’t find him. What exactly did you talk about during that ten-minute conversation?
I’d tell them that I’d called Brad to let him know that the police might question him, that I’d identified a suspect as possibly looking like him. I told him not to worry, that no one really thought he was involved. I had no idea, Detective. I mean, why would I?