At the very least, this can’t be a coincidence—Eve dead, and now Miranda. It defies the laws of probability that two single women were violently murdered by different people within a week of each other in such a small city. They must have been killed by someone who knew them both—or else I’m supposed to believe that a serial killer has blown into town and begun a bloody spree.
I can’t stay here, I think. I have to get back to the inn, where it’s safe. Before I can turn, I hear the sound of a car approaching from behind me, undeterred by the crowd. I glance over. It’s a dark four-door with a pulsing red light on the edge of the roof, directly above the driver’s door. The man behind the wheel noses the vehicle ahead, forcing people to shift to the left. With a jolt I note that Corcoran is riding shotgun.
I avert my gaze, hoping she won’t notice me. As soon as the vehicle has disappeared beyond the TV vans, I retreat to my car. The only way to escape the area is to return the way I came, which means putting the car in reverse, backing into a nearby driveway, and then pulling out so that I’m pointed in the opposite direction. As I maneuver the car, I notice several clumps of people on the fringe of the crowd turning to watch me.
I’m barely conscious of the drive to the inn. All my thoughts are on Miranda, lying lifeless under that sheet with her bright red hair and creamy skin. Bludgeoned to death. I need to talk to Derek and find out if his reporter friend has spilled more details.
And where the hell is Guy right now? I feel sick thinking that he might have done this and that a single remark from me might have compelled him. If he wanted to keep Miranda from talking, he might have the same plan in mind for me, to shut me up.
As I near the center of town, I check the rearview mirror. There are headlights several car lengths back, and I have a sense, without being sure why, that they’ve been there for a little while. Fortunately, by the time I reach the inn, they’ve vanished. The town, in fact, seems deserted.
After parking, I make a mad dash through the night to the front of the inn and up the steep steps of the porch. I reach for the door handle. It’s locked. Damn. I squint, searching for a buzzer to ring. I see the panel then, and realize I need to use my key card. I fumble in my purse for the card and jab it into the slot. It’s like my freaking nightmare, again, the door I can’t make open.
Finally the lock clicks and I shove the door, nearly stumbling into the small foyer as it opens. There’s no one at the front desk. To the right, the parlor is empty, with only a small lamp burning on a side table, and the breakfast room, just beyond the parlor, is totally dark, though there’s enough light cast in that direction for me to see that the tables have been set for breakfast.
I hurry toward the staircase. As I take the first step, I hear a noise from far off, possibly from the back of the inn. I freeze and listen. The sound comes again. It’s a faint clanging, as if someone has banged a pot against a counter or pushed a metal object out of the way. There must be a kitchen back there, I realize. Maybe a helper is prepping food for breakfast tomorrow morning.
I take the stairs, two at time. The second-floor corridor turns out to be utterly quiet, with not even the drone of a TV escaping from under a door. Flying down the hall toward my room, it feels as if I’m slicing through the silence like a fish through water.
Inside my room I take a minute to catch my breath before calling Derek.
“Did you end up falling back asleep?” he asks.
“What?” But then I see from the screen that he phoned fifteen minutes ago. I probably missed the call because I left my purse on the front seat of the car when I joined the crowd of rubberneckers. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear it.”
“Okay, the woman who died is Miranda Kane. She was apparently beaten with a heavy object—they’re not sure what yet. Do you recognize the name?”
“Yes. She’s Guy’s assistant.”
“My God. You knew her then?”
“Yes. And I went there, Derek—after talking to you. I had to see it for myself.”
“To the crime scene?”
“Yup, I just got back. Whatever she was beaten with, the crime’s not so different from what happened to Eve.”
“True, though the two murders may not be related. According to my buddy, Miranda Kane is divorced and the house is in the ex-husband’s name. This might have involved bad blood from the split. Are there kids, do you know?”
“Yes, but they’re in college, so there’s no custody issue. And she’s been divorced for years, as far as I know.”
“So maybe not the ex-husband.”
Neither of us speaks for a few moments, and I can practically see the question forming in Derek’s mind.
“I have to ask you,” he says finally. “I know you said Guy had an alibi for Eve Blazer’s murder, but is there any chance he could have killed both of these women? He’s a big common denominator.”
I sigh, not wanting to utter out loud that I’ve considered the same idea. Though I’ve relied on Derek for support, I don’t know him well. There’s no way I dare mention the exchange Guy and I had about Miranda or my doubts about Guy’s alibi. “It’s hard to imagine he’s capable of that.”