“I’m sure I do, but . . .” Edith looked scattered.
Agent Foley cleared her throat. “I’m afraid Mrs. Saybrook might have me confused with someone else,” she said delicately. “But you’re in the best hands.”
She pulled a Chippendale chair from the corner next to Edith and opened a laptop. “Edith came to me the day Poppy died, and I had my team look into things, including the note itself.”
She typed something on the laptop, then turned the screen to face the circle. It was Poppy’s note; next to it was a dialogue window. “The electronic signature on the file shows that Poppy wrote this note at 7:07 a.m. However, several witnesses say that Poppy’s body was on the ground at 7:05. A security camera on the building across the street that caught the lower part of her fall registered that time as well.”
James lowered his coffee cup. “What does that mean?”
Edith raised her palms. “A woman can’t write a suicide note after she’s dead.”
Mason looked skeptical. “Could the clocks have been off?”
Foley turned the laptop back to face her. “We checked that, but the clock on Poppy’s computer matches the security camera across the street exactly. We have to entertain the possibility that someone else wrote that note to make Poppy’s death look like a suicide.”
Aster shot forward. “Wait a minute. What?”
“Someone pushed her?” Rowan asked, and for a moment Corinne wondered if she sounded almost relieved.
“We don’t want to make any rash conclusions,” Foley said. “Unfortunately, the security camera from the building across the street didn’t extend high enough to give us a view into Poppy’s office. There were no witnesses.”
Rowan’s brother, Michael, touched his forehead. “Not one person?”
“We’re still asking around. It’s early yet.”
“What about the autopsy?” James asked.
“The full report isn’t in yet, but so far there’s nothing conclusive either way,” Foley said. “Poppy fell from about fifty feet, and that’s all the findings show. But the discrepancy between her time of death and the time of the suicide note is concerning. One might argue that a bystander was in her office the whole time and typed the note at Poppy’s request after she jumped. But why wouldn’t that person come forward? It doesn’t add up. And because of that, we’re officially opening this as a murder investigation.”
“I knew this wasn’t a suicide,” Edith said tightly. “But who would hurt our Poppy?”
“We have to figure out what exactly happened to Poppy the morning of her death. Who was in her office? Why were they there? Do we know if anyone might have been mad at Poppy for any reason? Someone inside the company, for instance? Or perhaps a business rival?” Foley asked.
Corinne’s skin prickled. Jonathan York’s smarmy smile. I know she was struggling.
“I’m not assuming anything,” Foley went on quickly. “Unfortunately, Poppy’s office doesn’t have a camera in it, and the camera in the elevator bank didn’t show anyone getting off the elevators around the time of Poppy’s murder. But whoever it was could have taken the stairs, where there are no cameras.”
Rowan cleared her throat. “Didn’t the guards on the floors notice anyone coming out of Poppy’s office?”
“It’s a skeleton crew before actual business hours. Most people, including many of the guards and all of Poppy’s assistants, weren’t at work yet, so we don’t have a complete picture. We’re looking into electronic data from keycards used to get into the building and onto certain floors. We’ll interview anyone who was in the building at that time.”
Corinne frowned. “What about the surveillance video from the lobby?”
Foley pulled at her collar. “We haven’t finished going through it yet. But we’ll match the people seen there to the keycard data as well.”
“What about fingerprints from Poppy’s keyboard?” Natasha piped up, her throaty voice surprising everyone. “If someone else typed her note, they’d be there, right?”
Foley nodded as if she’d anticipated the question. “We dusted the keyboard. But the only match was Poppy’s fingerprints. No one else’s. The killer could have worn gloves, though. That would indicate the murder was premeditated—the killer might have anticipated killing Poppy before going into her office. It’s not exactly glove weather.” She gestured at the sunny sky outside, then cleared her throat. “Based on all of this, I’ll need to speak with each of you separately.”
Natasha looked annoyed. “But I don’t even work at Saybrook’s.” Corinne could hardly process everything she was hearing. Poppy hadn’t killed herself; she’d been murdered. Whoever had done this had been inside the Saybrook’s office, and had known Poppy would be at work unusually early.