Chapter 2
AVERY
Now I saw that the room was surprisingly modern.
Not sterile-modern — although there wasn’t anything personal or any pictures of Aunt Evelyn — but updated-modern.
I’d subconsciously expected stuffy furniture and shelves full of knick-knacks, but the sofa was newish and upholstered in a crisp navy, the wing chairs on the other side of the marble coffee table covered in a cheerful yellow print.
The marble fireplace looked original, but instead of heavy dark furniture, the sofa was flanked with two small mirrored chests that might have originally been intended as nightstands.
The ivory-and-navy rug was traditional, but the table lamps had modern shades, and the brass chandelier hanging from the coffered ceiling was simple and clean-lined, each bulb covered by a crisp cream-colored shade.
Not what I would have expected from the traditional architecture. Either Aunt Evelyn had impeccable taste or she’d hired an interior decorator.
My mind went to the three men I’d met at the gazebo, another subverted expectation.
When Irving Norwood told me the house came with caretakers, I’d expected grizzled old men with weathered faces and thinning hair and maybe a kindly older woman who kept the house in order (my imagination was apparently sexist).
Clearly I’d been more than a little off base, and my face got hot when I thought about my body’s reaction to the three muscular tattooed guys at the gazebo.
Then it dawned on me — I would have to live with them, at least until I sold the house.
I squirmed on the sofa and told myself it was because I was nervous about all the police activity since that was preferable to thinking about the fact that I’d gotten wet at the thought of my three new roommates.
I looked up as a woman entered the room.
The front door had opened and closed a dozen times since the deputy — a lanky guy about my age who had been equal parts nervous and strangely excited— had led me into the parlor.
I’d watched several uniformed officers make their way past the room, but now a middle-aged woman with a long dark braid walked toward me.
“Afternoon,” she said. “I’m Sheriff Crowe.”
Her face was pretty and makeup-free, lined with weather and sun rather than age, and her dark eyes were sharp and observant.
“Hi,” I said. “Avery Hart.”
“Evelyn’s niece.”
I nodded. “I’d just gotten here when I found the…” I pointed vaguely to the window.
She sat across from me in one of the wing chairs and removed a notepad and pen. “I’m going to ask you to take me through your movements right up until Deputy Pike got here. That okay?”
“Sure.” I wasn’t surprised they were questioning the caretakers and me separately.
I’d watched enough true crime to know that was how it worked.
We’d discovered the body — well, technically I’d discovered the body — and they wanted to see if our stories lined up before we had a chance to commiserate.
“Let’s start with when you got into town,” she said.
I took her through my drive into town, my arrival at the house, and my walk through the property in search of the caretakers. Then I recounted all the details I could remember about the dead man in the gazebo.
“Did you see anyone on your way to the gazebo?” Sheriff Crowe asked.
I shook my head. “And I was looking.”
“Hear anything? Someone working with tools? A lawn mower? Anything at all?”
I shook my head again. “Not unless you count the birds and stuff.”
She studied me. “Did you talk to anyone on your way into town?”
“Did I talk to anyone?” I wasn’t sure what she was asking.
“Did you stop anywhere someone might remember seeing you? Gas? Food? Did you talk to anyone on the phone?”
My heart rate kicked up a notch. She was questioning me like I was a suspect.
Like I needed an alibi.
“The car is a rental. It had a full tank when I picked it up. And the drive is less than two hours. I didn’t need to stop.”
“Any phone conversations along the way?”
“I listened to music.”
I tried not to feel pathetic. The truth was, I didn’t have a lot of close relationships.
My dad was busy with his replacement family — including my half-brothers Luke and Evan, who were teenagers — and my mom was preoccupied with her job as a hospital administrator.
My social circle was mostly people from work, and while we went out for drinks every now and then, we weren’t what I’d call friends.
Sheriff Crowe held my gaze, like my eyes might tell her if I was a liar.
Then she stood. “You plan to be in town for a while?”
“Just until I sell the house,” I said.
She looked around the well-furnished room. “Shame. It’s a beauty.”
“I have a job, an apartment…”
She nodded slowly. “I’m going to have to ask you not to leave town for the foreseeable future.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. “I’m not a… a suspect?”
“No one’s a suspect… yet. But you found the body. We might have more questions.” She pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to me. “Give me a call if you remember anything else, will you?”
I nodded and took the card, and she turned her back, then disappeared into the hall.
I exhaled all the air I’d been holding in. My face was hot, my head buzzing, and I leaned forward at the waist, trying to head off what was obviously a panic attack.
Not that I’d ever had a panic attack before. Why would I? My life was predictable.
Orderly, the way I liked it.
But nothing had been predictable about my first three hours in Blackwell Hollow.
I’m going to have to ask you not to leave town for the foreseeable future…
I took long, slow breaths and tried to reason with myself. It would take at least a few weeks to sell the house.
Surely this whole thing would be settled by then.