CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Kate's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as she followed DeMarco's sedan through the residential streets leading to Eleanor Whitman's house.
The afternoon sun that had seemed so pleasant during her interviews now felt harsh and unforgiving, casting sharp shadows across the pavement.
When they pulled up to Eleanor's house, Kate immediately noticed the stark difference from the peaceful scene she had left that morning.
A single police cruiser sat in the driveway, its red and blue lights flashing silently, while neighbors had begun to gather on the sidewalk despite the officers' attempts to maintain a perimeter.
The wrap-around porch where Eleanor had probably enjoyed countless quiet evenings now served as a staging area for emergency responders.
The sound of sobbing reached Kate's ears before she even stepped out of her car. Through the front windows, she could see movement inside the house and hear a woman's voice rising and falling in waves of grief that spoke of fresh, devastating loss.
"I’m assuming that’s Paige, the daughter," DeMarco said as they approached the front door. "According to the detective I spoke with, she’s the one who found the body. She drove over from Short Pump to spend the afternoon with her mother.”
It looks like Eleanor took my advice and called someone to be with her this evening, Kate thought.
A uniformed officer met them at the front steps, his expression grim but professional.
“Agents,” the cop said. His lapel read CARTER.
He stepped aside to let them enter the foyer.
"The daughter is in the kitchen with Officer Collins.
She's pretty shaken up, not making much sense yet. The scene is out back in the garden."
Kate could hear Paige's voice from the kitchen, punctuated by harsh sobs and fragments of sentences that didn't quite connect.
The woman was clearly in no condition for coherent questioning, and Kate knew from experience that traumatized witnesses needed time to process what they'd experienced before they could provide useful information.
Pressing them right away usually made things more difficult.
"We'll look at the scene first," Kate told Carter. "Is the area secured?"
"Collins is with the daughter, and I've been maintaining the perimeter out back with Officer Neely, who is still out there.
No one else has been in the garden since we arrived.
" Carter led them through Eleanor's living room toward the back of the house.
He pointed to a sliding glass door that led out into a small garden and back yard area. "Help yourself," he said.
The sliding glass door led from Eleanor's kitchen to her backyard. Kate could see another uniformed officer standing near a series of raised garden beds. Officer Neely glanced up as they approached, his face pale despite years of experience with crime scenes.
"Officer Neely," Kate said as they stepped onto the small patio. She showed her badge and ID, which Neely barely even glanced at. "What can you tell us?"
"The victim is Eleanor Whitman, sixty-seven years old. Her daughter found her around 3:45 this afternoon when she arrived for a planned visit. She said her mother had called and asked her to come over because she was frightened about some recent events… the other two murders, I’m assuming.
" Neely gestured toward the garden area.
"The body is among the vegetable plants. Appears to be strangulation."
Kate and DeMarco followed Neely across the neat backyard toward the raised beds where it seemed that Eleanor had been tending her autumn garden.
The scene immediately struck her as profoundly wrong, a violation of what had clearly been a peaceful moment.
Small garden tools lay scattered across the dark soil, and several tomato plants had been damaged in whatever struggle had taken place.
Eleanor's body lay on its side among the vegetables she had been tending, her gardening clothes now stained with dirt and the evidence of her final moments.
But it was the silk scarf wrapped around her neck that made Kate's breath catch in her throat.
The fabric was a deep burgundy color with an intricate paisley pattern, beautiful and elegant even in its current deadly purpose.
It looked to have been pulled tight around Eleanor's throat, leaving visible impressions in her skin where the fabric had cut off her air supply.
Eleanor's face had taken on the characteristic discoloration that Kate recognized from other strangulation cases.
Her eyes were open but unfocused, bulging slightly from the pressure that had been applied to her neck.
Petechial hemorrhages dotted the whites of her eyes, small red spots that indicated the blood vessels had burst under pressure.
Most disturbing was Eleanor's expression; it was frozen in what appeared to be surprise rather than fear.
Her mouth was slightly open, as if she had been interrupted mid-sentence or mid-breath.
Unlike Margaret's peaceful positioning in her library chair, Eleanor looked as though she had been caught completely off guard by her attacker.
"The scarf doesn't look like something Eleanor would have been wearing for gardening," DeMarco observed, crouching beside the body without disturbing the scene. "It's too formal.”
“And too delicate for yard work," Kate added as she studied the expensive-looking silk fabric. "The killer brought it specifically for this purpose. This wasn't a crime of opportunity where they used whatever was available. This was planned."
"Just like Margaret's candlestick and Jennifer's poisoned tea," DeMarco said. "Someone came prepared with the exact method they intended to use."
Kate felt the familiar pattern recognition that had served her throughout her career. Three murders, three different methods, but all involving careful preparation and specific tools brought by the killer. This went beyond planning and closer to something like an obsession.
"DeMarco, would you mind working with the officers to process and document everything here?" Kate asked, stepping back from Eleanor's body. "I want to check inside the house for something."
"What are you looking for?"
"Eleanor was an avid reader, just like Margaret and Jennifer. If our killer is following the same pattern, I bet you anything that Eleanor had been reading something that contains a strangulation scene. I want to check on that."
Kate left DeMarco coordinating with the officers and made her way back through the house toward Eleanor's bedroom.
Paige's sobbing continued from the kitchen, punctuated by Officer Collins' gentle attempts to get basic information for his report.
Kate tried to block out the heartbreaking sounds as she focused on her search.
Eleanor's bedroom reflected the same careful attention to detail that characterized the rest of her house.
The queen-sized bed was perfectly made with a floral comforter and matching pillows, while antique furniture provided storage and displayed family photographs from decades of holidays and celebrations.
A reading chair sat in the corner by the window, positioned to take advantage of natural light during the day.
Kate approached the nightstand on what appeared to be Eleanor's side of the bed, noting the reading glasses folded neatly beside a small lamp.
A book lay face-down on the polished wood surface, its pages spread open to mark Eleanor's place.
Kate carefully lifted the volume without disturbing any potential fingerprints on the cover.
Still Life by Louise Penny. Kate recognized the author’s name, though she’d never read anything by her. She pulled out her phone and navigated to Goodreads yet again, typing the title into the search function.
The plot summary that appeared on her screen made Kate's pulse quicken.
An inspector by the name of Gamache investigating a murder in a small Quebec village.
Multiple suspects with complex motives. And according to one of the user reviews, a scene where a character is strangled with a silk scarf during a confrontation in a garden setting.
Kate read the review twice to make sure she understood correctly.
In Penny's novel, the strangulation occurred when the victim was caught off guard while working alone outdoors, attacked by someone who had approached silently from behind.
The killer used a silk scarf that belonged to the victim, but the method and setting matched Eleanor's death with disturbing precision.
"Three for three," Kate murmured to herself, taking photos of the book's position on the nightstand before carefully closing it.
Margaret reading about candlestick murders, Jennifer reading about poisoned tea, and now Eleanor reading about silk scarf strangulation.
The pattern was undeniable now. Their killer wasn't just familiar with classic mystery novels; they were specifically targeting book club members based on what those women were currently reading.
Kate made her way back through the house, her mind processing the implications of this discovery.
The killer had to have access to information about what each book club member was reading at any given time.
That suggested knowledge that may even reach beyond the book group.
It suggested something potentially more personal.
As she reached the kitchen, Kate could see Paige sitting at Eleanor's small breakfast table.
She was clutching a box of tissues while Officer Collins patiently waited for her to compose herself enough to answer basic questions.
The woman was probably in her early forties, with dark hair and Eleanor's intelligent green eyes, though those eyes were now red and swollen from crying.
Eleanor’s eyes caught her for a moment, tough. Through a tear-choked voice, she asked: “Are you with the FBI?”
“I am,” Kate said, entering the kitchen. “Agent Kate Wise.”
Paige looked up at Kate with an expression of desperate hope mixed with overwhelming grief. "Agent Wise? Mom mentioned you. She said you came to warn her about staying safe.”
Kate felt a stab of guilt about Eleanor's death.
She had specifically warned the woman to take precautions, to stay with family, to be careful about unexpected visitors.
But Eleanor had died in her own backyard, in what should have been the safety of her enclosed garden, while her daughter was driving over to provide the very companionship Kate had recommended.
"Mrs... " Kate began, realizing she didn't know Paige's last name.
"Hendricks. Paige Hendricks." She wiped her eyes with a fresh tissue. "Mom was so careful after you talked to her this morning. She called me right after you left, asked me to come over and stay with her this evening. She seemed genuinely frightened, which wasn't like her at all."
"When did you arrive at the house?" Kate asked, settling into the chair across from Paige.
"About three-thirty. Mom's car was in the driveway, but she didn't answer when I knocked on the front door.
I used my key to let myself in, called for her, but there was no answer.
" Paige's voice broke slightly. "I found her back door standing open, which was strange because Mom never left doors open.
That's when I went out to the garden and found her. "
Kate noted the timeline. Eleanor had been working in her garden when she was attacked, probably sometime between Kate's departure that morning and Paige's arrival in the afternoon.
The killer had either been watching the house, waiting for an opportunity, or had known Eleanor's schedule well enough to predict when she would be alone and vulnerable.
"Did your mother mention any concerns about specific people? Any book club members who had been bothering her or making her uncomfortable?"
Paige shook her head emphatically. "Mom loved everyone in that book club. She talked about them like they were family.”
"Mrs. Hendricks, I know this is difficult, but we need you to think carefully about anyone who might have had detailed knowledge of your mother's daily routine. People who knew she would be alone in the garden this afternoon and might even know what books she’d been reading."
Paige considered the question while dabbing at her eyes. "Mom was pretty predictable. She worked in the garden most afternoons when the weather was nice. Dad is at work right now and… oh, Jesus. I have to tell him. I… shit!” She screamed the expletive and it echoed the house like thunder.
"What about people who…” Kate started.
But before she finished the question, Paige seemed to collapse in on herself at the heavy prospect of telling her father.
She wailed and screamed, and Officer Collins did his best to console her.
He gave Kate a small nod of dismissal. Kate left the kitchen, thinking about the accelerating timeline of the murders.
Margaret on Tuesday evening, Jennifer Thursday night, and now Eleanor Thursday afternoon.
The killer was moving faster, taking greater risks, becoming bolder with each attack.
That suggested either growing confidence or increasing desperation.
It suggested someone who felt the investigation was closing in and needed to complete their work before being caught.
She knew killers in a hurry tended to make mistakes, and that played to her and DeMarco’s favor.
But how many others would be hurt along the way?