by Kari Bovee
I leaned my face down closer to it. It was an earring—a gold earring with a suspended blue stone. “That’s strange,” I said.
“What?
“This looks like one of Lizzy’s earrings.” I met Chet’s gaze. “What is it doing here?” A sinking feeling hit the pit of my stomach. Had Lizzy and Daniel come over here when they’d taken Chet’s truck? Had they— No. No, I refused to believe it. There had to be another explanation.
Chet shrugged. “Maybe they have matching pairs.” He carefully moved the hair away from Margaret’s ears. She wore a tiny pearl on each lobe.
“I doubt it,” I said quietly, wishing I could believe it. “Lizzy told me they were once her grandmother’s.” Turning my gaze back to Margaret’s lifeless body, I raised a shaking hand to my forehead. “Oh, this is horrible, Chet.”
Chet stood up and stepped over her to get a closer look at the earring. “Do you think Lizzy gave them to her when she was at the ranch?”
I lowered my hand to my mouth, trying to keep my tears at bay. “Maybe.” I swallowed, then asked, “How long do you think she’s been like this?”
Chet looked down at Margaret again. “From the looks of her, she’s been dead quite some time. And her skin is cold to the touch, too. We need to get the police over here. Does she have a telephone?”
I nodded. “Yes. In the living room, I think.”
Chet left the room, and I studied Margaret’s beautiful face, which had turned a ghastly shade of blue. Who could have done this to her? And why? Was it just some random killing? A date gone bad? A shudder ran down my spine. It had to be something like that, I reasoned.
Poor Lizzy. Her elder sister, her only family, dead. How would I tell her?
Suddenly, Lenora Lange’s warning flashed in my mind. She’d said that something tragic would happen to someone in my circle—within forty-eight hours. I shook the thought away, and another memory stole its way into my mind.
I had been sitting in Flo’s office at the theater when I’d learned that Sophia had died. My hands and feet had gone cold as ice, and an ache in the pit of my stomach had crawled up my throat, strangling me. I had felt like I was suffocating. I’d gasped for breath but couldn’t pull the air into my lungs.
I grabbed hold of the doorframe now and tried to blink the memory away. When my head finally cleared, I took a deep breath. Holding a hand against my temple, I staggered out of the room and down the hall. I made it to the kitchen before I collapsed in one of the chairs. I could hear Chet talking in the other room and felt some comfort at his presence. I concentrated on breathing.
He stopped talking and then walked past the kitchen.
“Chet.” My voice was weak and quiet.
He popped his head into the doorway and seeing the state of me, rushed over. He knelt down next to the chair. “You’re white as a sheet.” He took my hand. “And your hands are freezing. You’re in shock.” He took off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. He went to the kitchen sink and took a glass from the cupboard, then filled it up and brought it over to me.
“Here. Drink this.”
I sipped at the tepid liquid. He sat in the chair opposite me and took hold of my hand. “I wish you hadn’t seen that.”
I wished that, too, though, truth be told, the state of Mr. Travis’s body was much more gruesome. But it didn’t pack the same emotional punch as seeing Margaret for some reason.
“I should call the studio,” I said, raising my other shaking hand to my temple. “Tell them I’m not coming in.”
“Let me,” Chet said, his voice soothing. “Are you okay if I go to the phone again?”
I nodded, and he let go of my hand. He went back to the living room, and I covered my face with my hands. Sophia’s image pressed in on my thoughts. As much as I tried, I couldn’t stop seeing her collapsed on the bathroom floor. She blinked up at me, and her mouth moved as if she was trying to say something, a white cloud floating from her throat. I yanked my hands away from my face, the vision vaporizing like mist. I pulled Chet’s jacket tighter around my torso.
“I let the studio know you wouldn’t be coming in. I told them you weren’t feeling well. We shouldn’t mention this to anyone until the police arrive.” Chet pulled his chair close to mine. His nearness broke open the dam I’d been keeping my finger in, like the little Dutch boy and the leaking dike. I shuddered, waves of emotion rolling through me like a torrent.
“Hey, hey.” He wrapped me in his arms, his chin resting on my head.
“She’s all alone,” I croaked.
“Margaret?”
“No. Lizzy. She’s all alone. What’s she going to do?”
“She has us. She has you.” He stroked my hair, still holding me close.
I pulled away from him. “But she’s facing a possible murder charge. What if she goes to prison? What if she . . . hangs? I can’t. I can’t let it happen. I have to prove she didn’t kill him.”
“It’s going to be all right,” Chet murmured. We sat there quietly for some time, waiting for the police. The tension in my body eased, and I began to relax in his embrace.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but a knock at the front door broke the silence. “Hello?” A male voice called out.
“In here,” Chet said. He pulled away from me and his gaze met mine. Something in his eyes sent a sinking feeling to my stomach.
Detective Walton came into the kitchen, followed by Officer Clayton.
“The door on the right, down the hallway,” Chet said.
We followed the two policemen and stood at the doorway while they examined the body.
“Looks like she was strangled,” the officer said.
Detective Walton picked up the stocking. “Looks like.” He studied Margaret’s face, and with his fingers on her chin, moved her head one way and then the other. “She look familiar to you, Clayton?”
The officer nodded.
“You’ve seen her before?” Chet asked.
The detective frowned. “Maybe. Can’t say for sure yet.”
I looked over at Chet, confused. He looked equally confused. Did Margaret have a police record, too?
“I’ll start to search the place.” Officer Clayton stepped over the body and squeezed past us in the doorway.
“Did you two find anything else?” Detective Walton moved Margaret’s clothing about, then looked up at Chet.
Chet pointed to the earring. “That might be something of interest. We think it belonged to Lizzy.”
My heart sank at Chet’s words. They gonged in my head like a betrayal. “But she wasn’t here this morning,” I said feebly, hoping to convince the detective.
“This woman wasn’t killed this morning,” said Detective Walton. “I’d say it was at least a day ago. Have you been aware of Lizzy’s whereabouts?”
“She hasn’t left the ranch,” I said.
“She wasn’t there when I arrived yesterday.” The detective gave me a hard glare. “She and that Daniel fellow had taken the truck. Were gone longer than expected, am I right?”
I swallowed the walnut lodged in my throat at his insinuation that I didn’t have any idea where my charges were or what they were doing. Did he really believe that? Guilt punched me in the gut. I had been busy with work since Lizzy had arrived, really, but I had always been apprised of the children’s whereabouts, what they had been working on in school, how things were going with their chores and various projects. It had been an agreement between Chet, Rose, Miss Meyers, and me that my greatest contribution was the financial well-being of the kids and the ranch. And I always made time for the children when I could. So why did his statement make me feel like an utter failure?
“Well, yes, but—”
“You told me earlier that Lizzy and her sister were estranged, correct? Bad blood between them?”
My heart beat a staccato rhythm against my ribs. “I don’t think I said that. It wasn’t like that. Lizzy was just rebelling against—” I realized how awful my words sounded, how they painte
d a picture of Lizzy’s possible guilt, and I wished I could take them back. She would never have killed Margaret, no matter their differences. They were two sisters alone in the world. Why would Lizzy kill her?
The detective turned his attention back to Margaret. “She was there”—he pointed at her—“at the reading of Travis’s will. You know anything about that? Why she might have been there?” He looked up at me as if I had all the answers.
“She was? I didn’t see her.” Surely, I would have known if she had been there.
“She was there all right.” Pushing his hands against his knees, he stood up with a grunt.
I shook my head, not understanding. She couldn’t have been there.
“Sir?” Officer Clayton edged between Chet and me and entered the bedroom. In his hands he held a platinum-blond wig.
“Just as I suspected.” Detective Walton took the wig, holding it up for me to see. “Now what had she been doing at the reading of Edward Travis’s will?”
I stared at him openmouthed. I had absolutely no idea.
“Looks like we need to make another visit to your ranch. See if Lizzy can tell us anything—and find out how that earring got here.” He directed the statement at Chet, who nodded in agreement.
My heart wilted.
When we arrived at the ranch I went in search of Lizzy. She was just coming out of the schoolroom, books in hand. The children were often done with their lessons by noon and had the rest of the day for chores, projects, and homework.
“Lizzy, I need to speak with you. After you take your books upstairs, would you meet me in the living room please?”
“Sure,” she said with a nonchalant shrug. I mustered a weak smile, my heart heavy with despair at what I had to tell her. I then took Miss Meyers aside and asked her to keep Susie after school. She could do her outdoor chores later.
Daniel and Ida were gathering their things, and I told them Chet needed them to start outdoor chores right away.
A few minutes later, Chet and I were in the living room breaking the terrible news to Lizzy.
A look of horror crossed her face. “That can’t be. You’re lying.” Her eyes darted from Chet to me and back to Chet.
I took her hand. “I’m so sorry, Lizzy.”
She ripped her hand away from me. “No. There’s been some kind of mistake. She’s not dead. She can’t be dead!” Her voice came out shrill.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” Chet said, sitting down on the coffee table to face us.
“But I—”
I laid my hand on her knee. “Yes?”
There was a knock at the door. I took in a deep breath, knowing it was Detective Walton. He’d said he be out to the house directly after seeing to the body. I wish he could have given us more time with Lizzy. It seemed cruel to question her when she hadn’t had time to even process that her sister was dead.
Chet opened the door and directed the detective to where we were sitting. He came around the sofa and took a seat in the chair adjacent to it.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said to Lizzy. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“But why?” she asked.
He gave her a pointed look. “Your sister has been murdered.”
Lizzy’s eyes opened wide, and her mouth quivered. She grabbed my hand back. Hers was clammy and cold. Of course, she’d be in shock.
“Did your sister know Mr. Travis?” he asked, his voice calm, cool.
Lizzy looked over at me and then back to the detective. “Mr. Travis? I . . . I don’t think so.”
“Had you ever met Mr. Travis before? Before you came to live here at the ranch.”
Her mouth trembled, and her eyes pooled with tears. “No. Like I told you before, I’d first met him when Grace took me to work with her a couple of days before the party.”
“I see.” Detective Walton paused and leaned back in the chair. “Did your sister have any boyfriends that you knew of?”
She shook her head, her cheeks waning of color. “Um . . . no.”
“You’re sure?” Detective Walton interlaced his fingers over his protruding belly.
“If she had boyfriends, I never saw them.”
Another pause. This one annoyingly long. He took a deep breath. “Where were you on Tuesday afternoon, Lizzy?”
“Tuesday?” She looked at me, as if for further clarification.
“When you and Daniel left the ranch,” the detective explained. “Where did you go?”
She squeezed my hand tighter. “We told you.” Her voice came out calm and sure. “We ran an errand for Joe. Went to the feed store.”
“And that’s it? Nowhere else?”
“No.” Her jaw tensed. “That’s what I said.”
Detective Walton reached into his pocket. He pulled his hand out and opened his palm to reveal the sapphire earring. “Recognize this?”
Lizzy stared at the earring, her brow knit in confusion. “Where’d you find that?”
“Do you recognize it?”
Her grip on my hand intensified again. “It looks like one of my earrings. It was my grandmother’s.”
With the index finger of his other hand, Detective Walton rolled the earring back and forth in his palm. “We found this at your sister’s house.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Any idea how it got there?”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “N-no. I put them in my jewelry box.”
“When was that? Before the party?” He held the earring up as if admiring it. I didn’t like the way he was playing with her. It seemed unfair.
“Um, yes. Yes,” she repeated with more certainty. “After I went riding.”
He placed the earring back in his pocket. “Did you wear them to the party?”
Lizzy’s eyes trailed his hand as if she wanted to take the earring back. “No. I borrowed a pair of Grace’s earrings. To match the dress she loaned me.”
Detective Walton raised his hands in question. “Did your sister have a similar pair of earrings?”
“No. What does this have to do with—”
He leaned forward in his chair and cut her off. “I’m going to ask you again. Did you and Daniel go anywhere else the day Mr. Manetti asked you to run an errand for him?”
Lizzy bit her lip. Her palm was drenched in sweat, but I didn’t let go of it.
The door opened, and Officer Clayton came through, holding a stricken-looking Daniel by the arm. He shoved him onto the love seat. Daniel’s face was red, and he looked on the verge of tears.
Detective Walton looked up at the officer with raised brows.
“Just as we thought, sir.” Officer Clayton crossed his arms. “The feed store was not the only place they visited that day.”
Detective Walton turned to Lizzy. She let go of my hand and ran her palms down her thighs, I supposed to dry them on her dress.
“Lizzy?” the detective pressed.
She burst into tears, holding her hands over her eyes. “Okay, okay!” She lowered her hands and lifted her tearstained face to the detective. “We went to my sister’s house. But we didn’t go in, I swear it.” My heart stuttered at this revelation.
“Why did you go to your sister’s?” the detective asked coolly.
“I wanted to talk to her.” She sniffed loudly, and Chet handed her his handkerchief. She unfolded it and dabbed at her eyes.
Detective Walton’s lips pressed into a firm line. “Did you speak with your sister?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Like I said, we didn’t go in. We just sat in the truck outside her house.”
“Why didn’t you go in?” The detective rested an elbow on one knee and palm on his other knee.
Lizzy lifted her shoulders up to her ears. “I don’t know. I got cold feet, I guess.”
“Why? What did you want to talk with her about?”
Lizzy held the handkerchief to her face and squeezed her eyes shut. She let out a great sob. “I wanted to tell her I was sorry. Sorry for getting in trouble. Sorry for being so hor
rible to her. But—”
I grabbed her hand again. “So why didn’t you?” I asked gently.
“Because I was afraid. She hated me!”
A sob caught in my throat. I hadn’t known the two of them for very long, but I knew that nothing could be further from the truth. I was just about to say so when the detective cut me off.
“Did you hate her?” he asked Lizzy.
Her eyes flashed, and her jaw tensed. “No!”
“But there is still the matter of the earring. Which puts you at the scene of the crime.”
“We never went inside!” Daniel shouted. Officer Clayton shot him a look, and Daniel flinched.
“Can you take me to this jewelry box, where you kept these earrings?” Detective Walton asked.
“Lizzy wiped her eyes again and blew her nose. Yes.” She stood up and then led the detective upstairs. I followed close behind.
We entered her room, and Lizzy went to the jewelry box on her dresser and opened the lid. “I always keep them in the same spot.” She lifted the top level out of the box and froze. She turned to us, her face draining of color. “It was there, I swear it.”
Detective Walton walked over and peered into the box. He pulled out a single gold-and-sapphire earring and held it up, then placed it in his pocket. “Lizzy Moore, you are under arrest for the murder of Margaret Moore.”
“Wait, what?” I stepped forward and grabbed a hold of the detective’s arm, anger and fear blending until I was seeing red. “You can’t! You have no proof!”
Detective Walton looked down at my hand gripping the sleeve of his coat and I quickly retracted it. “I have all the proof I need,” he said, taking Lizzy by the arm. He led her out of the room. My heart thumping, I followed them, not understanding how this could be happening.
We all clattered down the stairs.
“Clayton,” the detective pointed to Daniel. “We are taking them in.”
Officer Clayton went over, grabbed Daniel by the arm, and pulled him to his feet.
“You’re arresting me? What for?” Daniel’s voice cracked.
“Just taking you in for more questioning, son,” Detective Walton said. “But we are arresting your friend Lizzy, here.”
“Chet, do something!” I pleaded.
