5:05 P.M.
Located in the university area, the Harmony B&B was one of the few unique places to stay in town. Built in the eighteen-hundreds, the Victorian-style home had been purchased by a couple from New Orleans looking for a slower-paced lifestyle in the country.
Miranda knew the owners from responding to various calls over the years, and unless word had spread about her suspension—which she doubted—she wouldn’t need to show her badge to get the information she wanted. And if the innkeeper had heard, Miranda figured she’d still get the information. Carolyn Ramsey liked to talk.
Miranda smiled and crossed the foyer to the front desk. “Evening, Carolyn. What’s for dinner tonight? It smells amazing.”
“Shrimp creole over rice, green beans almondine, and bread pudding with praline sauce.”
Miranda’s mouth began to water. “And those tiny cheese biscuits?”
“You know it.” Carolyn smiled broadly. “I made extra, like I always do. How about I bag up a couple for you?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but not tonight. I’m here to talk to Susan Lund.”
“Oh.” Carolyn glanced toward the door, a frown creasing her brow. “She must have forgotten. You just missed her.”
“She checked out?”
“No, went for a walk.” Carolyn leaned forward. “What’s going on with her daughter? When she checked in, she told me she was visiting her daughter. I assumed it had something to do with a university event, but our yardman said he saw her coming out of the police station the other day, and Betty from Coffee & More said—”
“Now, Carolyn,” Miranda said lightly, cutting her off, “it doesn’t matter how small this town is; you know I can’t talk about that.”
She looked so disappointed, Miranda figured the woman wouldn’t be offering her biscuits again any time soon.
“Just tell me this—” Carolyn leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Does it have anything to do with that professor’s murder?”
Keeping her features neutral, Miranda asked, “Why would you say that?”
“People are talking, that’s all.”
“I tell you what, Carolyn, you hear anything that sounds like more than gossip, give me a call.” She slid her card across the counter. “Call my cell, not the department.”
The woman looked thrilled. “You’ve got it, Miranda.”
“Any idea where Mrs. Lund may have gone?”
“I suggested the trail around the duck pond. It’s so pretty this time of day.”
Susan Lund had taken the innkeeper’s suggestion; Miranda found her on a bench at the halfway point, staring at the lake. As Miranda approached, her shoulders slumped and she dropped her head into her hands.
“Mrs. Lund … Susan, I was hoping to have a minute of your time.”
She looked up, face blotchy from crying. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I understand,” Miranda said softly, “more than you know.”
“My Jessie didn’t do anything. She’s the one who was hurt! And now, you people—” She bit the last back and stood. “Don’t follow me.”
“I know Jessie didn’t do anything,” Miranda called after her. “Except fall for a bad guy.”
She stopped and turned slowly back to Miranda. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. I know your daughter did not kill Richard Stark. And I know what he was.”
Several different emotions sped across the other woman’s face: hope, suspicion, fear. “How?”
Miranda motioned to the bench. “Can we sit down?”
Susan hesitated a moment, then nodded and returned to the bench. Miranda sat beside her and together they stared silently out at the water.
Several seconds ticked by. Then without looking at her, Lund asked “What did you mean when you said you knew what Richard Stark was?”
“That’s the thing, Susan. I need you to tell me. What Richard Stark was and what he did to your daughter.
She twisted her fingers together. “I can’t.”
“I know what he did, but if say it and ask you to confirm, I’m leading you. I can’t do that.”
“She’s my baby. She had her whole life ahead of her!”
“She still does. She’s not going to jail for this. She didn’t do it. Susan, look at me.”
The woman did, the anguish in her eyes heartbreaking.
“I saw the crime scene, and I talked to your daughter. There’s nothing about Jessie that speaks to that kind of rage. As I’m sure your lawyer told you, they don’t have enough to charge her so they’re going to have to let her go.”
“I am not going to say anything that you’ll use against her.”
“Not me,” Miranda said. “I’m not even working the case, not anymore.”
“So why … why are you here?”
“Because Jess’s not the only girl he … hurt.” Miranda realized her hands were balled into tight fists and consciously relaxed them. “I’m not going to let him get away with it.”
Lund’s eyes brimmed with tears. They spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. “Why do you care? What is my Jessie to you?”
“Another innocent victim.” Miranda paused, turned her own gaze to the lake and paddling ducks. “A long time ago, he did it to … someone very close to me.”
Lund broke down then, sobbing into her hands. “I tried to get her to go to the police … but she said she didn’t have proof … that no one would believe her. She just wanted it to go away. And now look!”
“I’m so very sorry,” Miranda said, voice thick with emotion.
“I trusted the university. I trusted you, the police, to keep her safe! You let me down. You let her down, all of you! I’m so angry … what do I do with it?”
Miranda didn’t know. How could she tell Lund what to do with her anger when she didn’t know where to put her own?
So she simply sat and waited until the woman composed herself and stood. She looked down at Miranda. “What do you want from me?”
“Confirmation that I was right. And, I guess, for you to know I’m not the enemy.”
She nodded and let out a tired-sounding breath. “I’d do anything to protect my daughter. Anything, detective.”
Tears pricked the backs of Miranda’s eyes. How must that feel, she wondered, to have a mother who would do anything for you? Who supported and loved you, no matter what?
“She’s very lucky to have you for a mother, Susan. Some daughters never know that kind of love.”
Miranda watched the woman walk away, acknowledging how emotionally spent she was. How tired.
She stood and headed back to her car. Once inside, she texted Jake:
Heading back home. Talked to mom. Have news.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
8:45 P.M.
By eight that night, Miranda was crawling the walls. She had left Jake two more messages since that first one—and she still hadn’t heard from him. She was torn between relief—his silence surely meant he was still leading the investigation—and frustration. She wanted news, and she wanted it now.
When her doorbell rang, she ran to answer it. Finally! She yanked the door open, but Jake’s name died on her lips.