Sitting on the edge of the chair, I glanced at the slightly raised window next to me. The view inside the house was obscured by a set of frilly lace curtains, but voices escaped through the opening.
“Looks like the victim was struck in the back of the head while she was leaning over to get an object from the nightstand,” stated a man in a low, emotionless tone. “She fell where she was, leaving a blood smear on the side of the comforter. The assailant then moved her onto the bed.” He paused. “I can’t say for certain until I get her back to the lab, but I’d guess she was still alive at this point and her attacker finished the job by smothering her with a pillow. We’ve got it bagged, but there are shallow rips on one side as though the victim bit through the fabric.”
I swallowed hard, wishing I could block out the horrible image, but I saw Luella, crippled by the blow to her head, shocked and reeling with pain, fighting for air with the last of her strength. I lowered my head in my hands and fixed my eyes on the ghost marks in the wood grain of the porch floor, but I couldn’t block out the words that continued to seep out the window.
“This is what the vic was likely trying to retrieve from the nightstand. Don’t see one of these every day.”
A silence. “A pearl-handled lady’s pistol. Antique. Recently cleaned.” Sean’s admiration for the weapon was evident in his voice. “And loaded.”
“Yes, sir. Looks like the victim knew her assailant was a threat and so she was preparing to arm herself, but he struck her with this angel sculpture before she could get to her gun.”
I heard the rustling of a bag and imagined Sean examining the weapon that had been brought down on Luella’s head with enough force to drive her to her knees, to create the wound that resulted in the red stain on her white cotton pillowcase. I couldn’t stop seeing that red, which was even brighter and more electric than Luella’s hair, lovingly fanned out in a vain attempt to hide a terrible and irreversible deed.
“That’s not an angel.” This from the policewoman with the kind eyes. “Looks like Eros, the God of Love. See how he’s holding a bow and arrow? I think it’s a copy of the Eros fountain in Piccadilly Circus. In London,” she added for good measure. “Makes sense, considering what Ms. Ardor did for a living. Her whole library is loaded with romance novels. Many of them are dedicated to her.”
“Nice work, Officer Burke,” Sean told her, and then their voices became fainter as they moved out of the room.
I drew the blanket Sean had given me tighter about my shoulders. How I could be chilled in the middle of a Southern summer afternoon was beyond reason, but so was everything else that had happened today.
It seemed like the police would have little difficulty proving how Luella had died, but there were two significant questions remaining. Who had killed her? And why?
I still didn’t understand why she’d felt threatened by Marlette after all this time. Nothing made sense. If anyone should have been seeking revenge, that person was Marlette. And yet he had retreated from the world, only emerging to seek representation for his novel.
“That must be the key!” I whispered to potted ferns and the languid air. “Jude lied to me. He took the query letter off the bouquet before tossing it in the Dumpster. I bet he was helping Luella because he was probably her lover. Did they plan Marlette’s murder together?” I exhaled as a dreadful realization washed over me. “Could Jude also be Luella’s killer? But why?”
Suddenly, I wanted to get far away from this place. I knew Sean would need me to make an official statement, but I couldn’t relate my account again. Not right now. I had to be alone. I desperately craved quiet and wished I could simply turn around and start climbing the trail winding up Red Fox Mountain. I wanted to sit silently in Marlette’s hidden meadow until the world made sense again.
The more I pictured the sunlit woods, the more I needed to be there. It was not just a passing desire. Dunston was no place for me to recover from the shock. I had to get back to Inspiration Valley, and I told this to the honey-eyed policewoman, who had returned to the driveway and was watching the coroner’s van drive off.
“I’ve already given Officer Griffiths my statement,” I explained and passed her the blanket Sean had placed on my shoulders. “I need to bring my boss’s car back, but I promise to drop by the station before the end of the day.”
“I suppose that would be all right,” the pretty officer said. “It’s been quite an ordeal for you. We know how to contact you if we need to.”
Before driving off in Bentley’s BMW, I dialed the number to her direct line.