Chapter 10
The neighborhood looked peaceful and quiet when I reached Mia’s house, the kind of place where residents expected bad things to happen somewhere else, but never here.
As I stepped out of the car and reached for my handbag on the passenger seat, my eyes fell upon a man standing in a yard across the street.
His arms were folded, and he was just staring in my direction.
I pulled my bag out of the car, and it tipped over, spilling everything inside onto the pavement.
As I bent down to gather my things, a shadow fell across the ground in front of me.
I looked up to see the same man who’d been staring hovering over me.
I guessed he was in his late thirties, and he was tall and broad-shouldered, with trimmed, dark hair. Not a single strand was out of place.
He bent down beside me. “Need some help?”
“I’ve got it, but thank you for offering.”
He ignored my comment, reaching for a few items and handing them to me.
“Do you live around here?” I asked.
He tipped his head toward the house across the street. “I’m Adrian.”
“Georgiana.”
“You a friend of Mia’s?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“Are you investigating her sister’s murder?”
“I am.”
“I see.”
I slid the last of the items into my bag, and we stood.
“Thanks for the assist,” I said. “How well do you know Mia?”
“We’ve talked a few times, but I wouldn’t say we know each other well. I’m new to the neighborhood, just like her. How’s the investigation going?”
“Mia hired me yesterday, so I’m just getting started.”
Mia’s front door opened, and she stepped outside. She was dressed in gray lounge pants and a loose cream-colored sweater. The polished look she’d had when she first walked into my office had been replaced with something more relaxed, though she still looked put together.
She took one look at Adrian, and her expression soured, which he seemed to notice.
“I better go,” he said. “Nice meeting you. Good luck with your investigation.”
He left, and Mia made her way over to me.
“Georgiana,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”
“I hope it’s not a bad time.”
“No, not at all. Why don’t we go inside?”
The moment I walked through the door, Coco came trotting across the hardwood floor. She stopped in front of me, tail wagging.
“Well, hello to you too,” I said, crouching down to scratch behind her ears.
Coco leaned into the attention like she’d been waiting all day for someone new to give it.
“She likes you,” Mia said.
Greetings aside, I followed Mia into the living room.
The furniture looked as though it had been rearranged, and a different rug than the one in the crime scene photos had been spread across the polished floor.
It was as if all signs of the murder had been erased, even though the emotional scars remained.
Mia gestured toward the couch. “Please, sit.”
I took a seat, and Coco settled next to me.
“It seems you met my neighbor,” she said.
“My handbag tipped over as I was getting out of the car and everything fell out. He offered his help.”
“Interesting. I’ve never considered him a helpful kind of guy.”
“I take it you don’t like him.”
She folded her hands over her lap and sighed. “I’d rather not talk about him. What brings you by?”
“There have been some developments since we last spoke.”
“That sounds promising.”
I took a breath and began walking her through the last twenty-four hours.
“My first stop after meeting with you was the police department. Foley and Whitlock no longer believe your sister’s murder was a robbery gone wrong.”
“It doesn’t surprise me.”
“They’re looking into several possibilities.”
I told her about Clive Simmons, the mistakes he’d made when medicating some of the patients, and about the argument that occurred when Wren fired him. I also told her about the dartboard in his house.
Mia frowned. “She never mentioned him to me. You’re saying he has a dartboard with my sister’s photo pinned to it? Even if Wren knew, it’s still disturbing.”
“He resented your sister when she fired him, but since then, he’s learned he has Alzheimer’s. Now that he’s been diagnosed, he admits he made some mistakes with the residents’ medications, and he understands why your sister had to let him go.”
“If he’s telling the truth. Have you spoken with anyone else?”
“I had lunch with Cooper.”
The change in her expression was subtle but noticeable.
“How is he?” she asked.
“Grieving. He admitted something I think you should know. It’s the main reason I stopped by. Cooper was at your house the night Wren died.”
She shook her head, staring at me as if waiting for me to tell her I was kidding. “He what?”
“He said he arrived around dinnertime and left around seven thirty.”
Her face went pale. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t he mention it to me?”
“It wasn’t just you. Foley and Whitlock didn’t know about it either.”
She leaned back in the chair. “That’s strange. Isn’t it?”
“I’d say so.”
“What reason did he give for keeping it from everyone?”
“He said he was in shock when the police first questioned him, and he was scared. He knew if he mentioned it, they’d consider him a suspect.”
Silence settled over the room for a moment.
“I guess I can see how that would happen,” she said. “But to keep it to himself for all this time? I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“I’m not either.”
She stood. “My throat is dry. I need some water. Would you like some?”
I nodded, and she walked to the kitchen.
Coco remained at my side, her tail thumping.
I glanced around the room. In the far corner there was a piano with a row of framed photographs along the top. Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over to get a closer look.
The photos told the story of two lives intertwined since birth.
Mia and Wren as children.
Mia and Wren at a birthday party.
Mia and Wren standing beside each other at college graduation.
In every photo, they stood shoulder to shoulder, smiling for the camera.
In that moment, something occurred to me.
Sometimes twins went out of their way to look different from each other.
But not Wren and Mia. They had the same blond hair, same eyes, and were the same height.
I picked up one of the frames and held it in front of me.
The resemblance was uncanny. Even their hair was styled the same.
From across the room, the killer may not have been able to tell them apart.
The thought crossed my mind, and once it was there, it refused to leave.
Mia returned carrying two glasses of water, and she handed me one. “Here you go.”
I turned toward her. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Has anyone ever mistaken you for Wren?”
“More times than I can count.”
“I imagine it happened a lot when you were younger.”
“All the time.”
“What about in recent years?”
“Here and there.”
I set the photograph back on the piano. “I want to run a theory by you, but before I do, I’ll admit you may not like it.”
Her expression shifted. “I’ve already buried my sister. Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than that.”
I wasn’t so sure.
“What if Wren wasn’t the intended target?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What if someone came here that night planning to kill you, and they killed her by accident?”
Mia jerked back, and some of the water in her glass splashed onto the floor. She swore and went to the kitchen, grabbing a hand towel to clean it up.
When she returned, she looked at me and said, “Your theory is absurd.”
“Is it? The two of you were almost identical in looks.”
“It doesn’t mean—”
“If someone saw Wren inside your house, they might have assumed she was you.”
Mia laughed, but I detected nervousness in her voice.
“It might explain something the coroner told me today,” I continued. “Also, there’s evidence to suggest Wren was lifted up after she was shot.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“Maybe after shooting her, the murderer realized they killed the wrong sister.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore.
“That’s ridiculous,” she said.
She looked away.
And for just a moment, I saw it.
Not laughter.
Not disbelief.
Fear.
“I think your theory is a stretch,” she said.
Until I could prove I was right, there was no reason to argue the point.
“Was there anything that helped people tell the two of you apart?” I asked.
She tucked a handful of locks of hair behind her left ear, revealing a birthmark about the size of a pea. “When my hair is down, you can’t see it.”
“And Wren didn’t have one?”
Mia shook her head.
I thought back to the crime scene photos.
Wren’s hair was up, pulled back into a bun, exposing her ears, something the killer may not have noticed from afar, but close up …
“It’s been a long day,” Mia said. “I’m tired.”
“I understand. I should go.”
I took a few sips of water and handed the glass to her.
She walked me to the door, and Coco trotted behind.
“Thank you for updating me on the investigation,” she said.
“I’ll continue to keep you in the loop.”
“I appreciate that.”
Outside, the evening air felt much cooler than when I’d first arrived. I walked down the path to my car, and once inside, I sat for a moment staring at the house. If my theory was right, the killer’s job wasn’t finished, which meant Mia could be in danger.
I grabbed my phone and called Whitlock.
He answered right away.
“How’s the rest of your day been?” he asked. “Have you gained any traction on the case?”
“I may have. I need to talk to you.”
“What’s going on?”
“I just left Mia’s house, and I have a theory.”
He paused. “What kind of theory?”
“The kind I’d rather discuss in person.”
“All right. I’m free now. Where do you want to meet?”
“My place. I’m just leaving Mia’s now.”
“All right, see you in twenty.”