by Cate Martin
"We're trying to figure that out," I said. "Why were you in the cellar?"
"When did you go in the cellar?” Brianna asked, overlapping my own question.
"About fifteen minutes ago," Sophie said. She walked up until she was about as far away from Cynthia as Brianna and I were. She was as neatly dressed as the day before in gleaming sneakers, immaculate jeans of a deep indigo, and a silky tank top under a loose black cardigan. She gathered that cardigan closer around her, hugging her arms around her middle.
"Can you be more precise?" Brianna asked.
"No," Sophie said.
"But you came out this way and definitelyhh didn't see her?" I asked.
"The cellar doesn't connect to the house anywhere," Sophie said, her voice inflectionless as her eyes never left Cynthia. "Those doors are the only way down there."
"Why were you down there?" I asked again.
Sophie didn't answer, and I didn't press her again. We all just looked down at Cynthia, the woman who had brought us all here from all over the United States, and we didn't even really know why.
And now she was dead.
Another voice pierced the morning air. She wasn't close enough for me to catch her words, but I would know that annoyed tone anywhere.
"Mrs. Olson," I said. "We can't let her see this."
"She's coming up the path past the dining room window," Brianna said, retreating from the corner of the house as if the neighbor frightened her.
"I'll get her," I said, jumping off the porch onto the grass and brushing past Sophie as I rushed to catch Mrs. Olson before she came around the corner.
"There you are!" Mrs, Olson declared as I appeared on the stepping stone ahead of her.
"Oh, you were looking for me?" I asked.
"Not specifically," Mrs. Olson groused. "I don't suppose Mr. Trevor is in?"
"I haven't seen him," I said.
"I thought as much," Mrs. Olson grumbled. "He's never in when I call."
"Can I help you with something?" I asked. I tried to take her arm, to guide her back to the front yard, but she twisted away from my grasp. For a moment I thought she was going to hit me with the cane she was brandishing, but in the end she just used it to help her pivot and head back the way she'd come.
"I've already complained to you about the parties," she said as I fell into step beside her.
"Yes, you did," I agreed. "I heard them myself."
"Well, of course you did," she snorted.
"No, what I mean is, they aren't coming from this house," I said. "I was up all night on account of the noise too. It definitely wasn't coming from here."
"Well, it's coming from somewhere," Mrs. Olson scowled.
"It certainly is," I agreed. We had reached the steps that led up to the front door and she drew to a halt to turn and stare up at me.
She was tiny. I had thought she was taller, but when she had been talking to me over the hedge she had been standing on higher ground than I had thought. The top of her head barely reached my armpit.
She planted her cane between her feet and tipped her head to glare up at me. "You can't put me off."
"No," I said. "I'm not trying to. I tried to figure where the music was coming from last night. I was up on the third floor, I could see pretty far from there, but I couldn't see any sign of a party. Maybe it's a trick of acoustics, sound bouncing from some other point in the river valley here."
"It's excessive," Mrs. Olson said.
"It was most of the night," I agreed. "You know, one of the other visitors here is a sort of scientist."
"The redheaded girl?" Mrs. Olson guessed. "She looked smart. Not particularly friendly. She ran away when I tried to talk to her."
"She's shy," I said, although I was pretty sure that didn't begin to describe what was going on in Brianna's head. "I'll talk to her about it."
"She can stop the noise with science?" Mrs. Olson asked skeptically.
"Well, maybe she can find out where it's coming from, and we can stop the noise with a complaint to the police department," I said.
Mrs. Olson just stared at me like I was nuts for a long moment.
Then she grunted and turned away.
"So, I'll get on that," I said to her back. She waved a hand over her shoulder, not turning back to look at me. If she said anything more I couldn't make it out.
I went back to the backyard. Sophie and Brianna had stepped several feet away from the body and were talking together in low whispers.
"She didn't see anything," I told them as I approached.
"You're sure?" Sophie asked.
"She's just upset about the noise at night," I said. "The music and parties."
"I didn't hear anything," Sophie said with a frown.
"Me neither," Brianna said.
"I'm not crazy," I said.
"No, I don't think so," Brianna said. "Your room overlooks the backyard. Sophie and I both have windows over the sides of the house."
"It was pretty loud," I said. "Even with my window closed I could hear it, all night long."
"It's an interesting problem," Brianna said.
"I'm glad you feel that way, since I kind of promised Mrs. Olson that you would look into it."
"Oh," Brianna said. "It's a little outside of my area of expertise, but I can take a stab at it I suppose."
"I think we might be busy," Sophie said, pointing at Cynthia's body with her chin. "We have to do something about this."
"We should find Mr. Trevor," Brianna said. "I didn't see him when I came down this morning, but the coffee had already been made so I'm sure he was up."
"He told me he likes to take walks in the morning and do some shopping," I said. "I'm sure he'll be back soon. But we should really call the police."
"No," Sophie said, exchanging a long look with Brianna. "We need to talk to Mr. Trevor first."
"Why?" I asked.
Brianna bit her lip and fidgeted with her earbuds as Sophie glared at her, practically daring her to say anything.
"What's going on here?" I demanded. "What did you two discuss while I was talking with Mrs. Olson?"
"I don't think we can tell you yet," Brianna said miserably.
"Yet?" I repeated.
"After tonight," Sophie said, and I practically screamed out loud.
"Now you two too? Everyone acts like this reading of the will is going to be like an instant education in everything. What on Earth is so magical about tonight?"
To my surprise, Brianna laughed out loud. And not a little bark of laughter, although it started that way. But when she put her hand to her mouth to try to contain it the giggles just overwhelmed her. Soon she was bent double, hands on her knees as she laughed and laughed.
Sophie rubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand, but not quick enough to hide the grin that was spreading across her face.
"Really," I said, deeply annoyed.
"I'm sorry," Sophie said, and nudged Brianna hard in the ribs until she finally got herself under control.
"How can you be laughing now?" I demanded.
"It is funny," Brianna said.
"And I suppose I'll think so too at some point after midnight," I said with all the sarcasm I could coat those words with.
"Yeah," Sophie said. "Well, maybe not. I think part of it is contextual. Brianna's inappropriate emotional response to emotional stress."
"Yes, that," Brianna agreed, and all of the merriment was back out of her in a flash. "I've never seen a dead body before."
"I have," I said darkly.
"Did Mr. Trevor give either of you a way to contact him? A cell number or something?" Sophie asked.
Brianna shook her head. I was about to insist once more that we call the police when yet again the sound of footsteps interrupted us.
Only this time, we didn't have enough warning to head them off.
And this time, it was Nick.
"Hey, there you are, Amanda," he said as he strolled around the corner of the house.
I'm
not kidding. It was really a stroll, hands in pockets, super casual.
At least until he saw the body.
And the three of us gathered together on the other side of the lawn, not doing anything about it.
I really hoped he hadn't heard Brianna laughing, because just the dead body was going to be hard enough to explain.
Chapter 10
Nick looked down at Cynthia's body for a very long time, like he wasn't sure what he was seeing. He was dressed for jogging with earbuds dangling around his neck much like Brianna, but he didn't look like he'd started yet. Not a drop of sweat on him, and I could see he still had his car keys in his hand.
"We can explain," I said, and he glanced back up at me like he had forgotten we were there.
"We didn't do this," Sophie said, and something inside of me let out a sigh of relief that we were all on the same page on that at least.
"We found her here," Brianna said.
"You were walking all around here," he said, pointing out the prints we had left in the sparkling dew. The rapidly evaporating morning dew.
"We didn't touch the body," I said.
"We didn't do this," Brianna said, repeating what Sophie had already said. Nick looked startled.
"I wouldn't think you had," he said. "Clearly this was done somewhere else and the body was moved here."
"We thought so too," I said.
"None of you look like you've just been moving bodies around," he said, looking us each over in turn. Brianna's white T-shirt was sweaty enough to cling to her in spots, but not particularly mussed. Sophie looked like she had stepped out of a magazine shoot just a second before.
I, on the other hand, in my scruffy jeans and stained T-shirt from a concert I had never attended, looked like I was up for any sort of manual labor. It was the usual look back home, but not here. Did I look like I was equally up for pitching hay bales or for transporting corpses?
"I don't think any of you did it," Nick said, "but the fact is this is a crime scene. Where you're standing now is good. Don’t come any closer. Did any of you touch the body?"
"No," I said, and Sophie and Brianna also shook their heads.
"Have you called the police?"
"Not yet," Sophie said. She was cool, like ice cream wouldn't melt in her mouth. I waited for her to explain about wanting to find Mr. Trevor first, but she only spoke those two words.
"We just found her," I said. "It's been a bit of a shock."
"Well, I guess this explains Mrs. Olson," he said.
"What about Mrs. Olson?" I asked. "Did she complain about the noise? Because that wasn't us either."
"She said you three were acting odd. She heard you arguing and then when she came out to talk to you, you were behaving suspiciously," he said. I felt my cheeks flushing. I didn't want to be suspicious. "She's a bit overzealous, sees things where nothing is there. But I guess she was on to something this time."
"We should call the police," I said.
"I'll do it," Nick said, slapping his pockets until he found his cell phone. "Why don't you three go around that side of the porch to get back inside and just wait in the kitchen? I'll take charge of this."
"Why are you taking charge?" Sophie asked.
"I'm kind of police," he said, and this time it was his cheeks that were flushing red.
"Kind of police," Sophie repeated with a raised brow.
"Well, I'm going to be a police officer," he said, then amended again, "I'm going to start police academy in a few weeks."
"A-ha," Sophie said.
"I do have a friend on the force," he said, holding out the phone as if that could back up his story. "I'll call him now. Do you know the victim?"
"It's Cynthia Thomas," I said, remembering that he had said he had never met her. I was suddenly, profoundly sad by that realization.
It must have shown on my face. I felt a squeeze on my arm and looked over to see Brianna's eyes shining behind her cat-eye glasses. I squeezed her hand back and she blinked the tears away.
Nick waited for the three of us to go back inside the house before calling his friend. I was sure there was a reason for that, but I couldn't summon the curiosity to really worry about it. I fetched my now-cold coffee out of the solarium and put it in the microwave to warm it up while Brianna and Sophie poured themselves fresh cups. Then we all sat around the kitchen table, looking down at the coffee we didn't take more than a few brief sips from.
A couple of cars pulled up first and we heard voices in the backyard. A larger vehicle, I guess an ambulance, pulled up next, but at that moment Nick came in the back door with a man in dress pants and a tie, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up past his elbows. His hair was longer than Nick's, the thick waves on top looking like they would spring up into a pompadour if less attention were made to the careful combing and pomading that had happened not too long before.
"Everyone, this is sarge… er, officer Nelson Fisher," Nick said. "Nels, this is Amanda Clarke and… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names?" His cheeks were flaming again.
"Sophie DuBois," Sophie said, and I would swear the accent that had lightened up this morning was back full force.
"Brianna Collins," Brianna said, her gaze focused somewhere in the middle of the table.
"I understand you are all guests for the weekend?" Officer Fisher asked.
"That's correct," Sophie said. "Our host, Mr. Trevor, stepped out before any of us were awake this morning and hasn't yet come back in."
"Would you like some coffee?" I asked, then jumped to my feet to fetch it before Officer Fisher could even answer. He and Nick sat down next to each other on the open side of the table and gave a nod of thanks when I set the coffee then the cream and sugar on the table in front of them.
"How well did you know the deceased?" Officer Fisher asked.
"I think we're all in the same boat," Sophie said, glancing at me then at the top of Brianna's bowed head. "Cynthia Thomas came to see me about a month ago, to invite me here for this weekend. I hadn't known her or even heard her name before that day and had no contact with her after that hour or so over coffee until yesterday."
"Same," Brianna murmured. I nodded as well.
"Did anyone see her this morning?" he asked. We all shook our heads.
"I went out to jog thirty-one minutes before Amanda found her," Brianna told the table. "I ran down those porch steps. She wasn't there then."
"I went out to the cellar about fifteen minutes after that, and she wasn't there then either," Sophie said.
"You found the body?" Officer Fisher said to me.
"Only a second before Brianna came back from her jog," I said.
"Why were you outside?" he asked.
"I thought I heard raccoons," I said. "It was a skittering sound, like an animal. Not like someone moving a body. But when I went outside to chase the raccoon away from the garbage, that's when I found her."
Then Officer Fisher asked us a bunch of questions we couldn't answer. Really basic stuff like was Cynthia Thomas married, did she have kids or siblings, where did she live. It was more and more disheartening how little we knew about her. I could see Brianna retreating deeper and deeper inside herself every time she had to shake her head that she didn't know.
Sophie got haughtier and haughtier, and I was starting to sense that that was her own coping mechanism. What I had been reading as rudeness was just her being as stressed out as I was since she arrived the day before?
"When was the last time any of you saw her?" Officer Fisher asked. If our lack of knowledge was frustrating him, he didn't show it.
"Dinner," Brianna mumbled.
"Yes, dinner," Sophie agreed.
I felt everyone looking at me.
"I saw her at about ten last night," I said. "We talked for a bit in the parlor before she left. She said she was going home to go to bed."
"Did she seem odd in any way?" Officer Fisher asked.
"No," I said. "I mean, I had just met her so I don't know her very we
ll, but nothing seemed off about her."
"And none of you saw or heard anything strange? Apart from a possible raccoon," he added.
Sophie's brown eyes bore into me, and I could tell she was silently urging me not to speak. Even Brianna finally looked up from the table to plead with me with her own dark green eyes.
What did they not want me to say? And why?
I didn't want to keep things from the police. What if the thing I held back was crucial to solving Cynthia's murder? I didn't know a lot about police work, but I'd seen enough TV shows to know even the smallest of details can become the clue that pulls everything together.
"There was music," I said. Sophie put a hand over her eyes with a sigh and Brianna shifted her gaze back to the table. I guessed I had said exactly what they hadn't wanted me to say.
"Music?" Officer Fisher asked with a frown.
"That's been an ongoing issue," Nick said. "Mrs. Olson, the next door neighbor, has been complaining about it since I met her."
"It's just, it's very old music," I said. "Jazz, but really old school jazz."
"Like from the jazz age?" Nick asked.
"I guess? I don't know a lot about music," I said. "But the other thing is, Cynthia's clothes were changed. When she left to go home to bed, she was wearing the same kind of slacks and sweater she wore when I met her before."
"Professional wardrobe," Sophie said. "Not corporate shark, all the right labels power suit kind of thing, but definitely lawyerly."
"Right," I said. "But when we found her, she was wearing a dress. Not like a flapper dress, but kind of similar? Like a normal daywear version of that."
"Jazz age," Sophie said, as if just realizing it herself.
"Or replica," I said. "We didn't get a good look because we didn't touch the body. But maybe there was a party near here? Some kind of blast from the past retro thing?"
"It would be the right neighborhood for it." Officer Fisher said. "I'll check into it. Maybe she lied to you about going home."
We all turned at an outbreak of noise at the back door then Mr. Trevor was there, clutching a grocery bag close to his chest as a uniformed officer led him to Officer Fisher.
