Chapter 13
I WAKE UP TO VOICES DOWNSTAIRS, MUFFLED BEYOND MY BEDROOM door.
Sun shines through the windows and lights up the little room for the first time in days.
I dress quickly and head into the hallway.
Ruth and Alex are sitting in the front room.
They both turn and look at me as I descend the stairs. Ruth stops mid-sentence.
“Good morning,” Alex says.
“Hi. I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”
“How are you, dear?” Ruth says. Her silver hair is a little flat, mascara smudged under one eye, but her dark slacks are neat and blouse, unwrinkled.
“I’m fine. I don’t mean to intrude.”
Alex waves me over. “Join us.”
I walk over to the sofa and sit at the end farthest from where they sit in matching armchairs.
“Ruth has just had a visit from Detective Bellman,” Alex says. Ruth lets go a big breath. “They’ve completed the autopsy on poor Simon.”
Ruth shakes her head. “I didn’t want them to do that to Simon, but that nasty detective said they’d get a court order, so what could I say?” She claps her hands against her thin thighs.
“You couldn’t help that, Ruth. Don’t let it bother you.”
“I’ve known Tom Bellman for years. We all have. You’d think he’d be a little more sensitive.” She pulls a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her cardigan and holds it against her nose.
“What did they find?” I ask tentatively.
“They’ve decided that Simon was murdered,” Alex says. “Though I can hardly believe it. They think someone hit him in the back of the head with a weapon of some kind, which they haven’t found.”
I feel goose bumps rise on my arms. The Cheshire Lake residents will have to come to terms with this now, and I wonder who could’ve done this. “Do they think someone got into the neighborhood?”
Ruth’s gaze catches mine. “That’s the worst of it. They’ve insinuated it was one of us.” She clamps her hand over her mouth.
It’s a horrible thought, but I had wondered before if it was possible.
I’ve tried to discount it. It wasn’t possible, I told myself.
But could one of the neighbors who have welcomed me so kindly be a killer?
It seems beyond belief, and the secluded little community starts to feel suffocating and sinister amidst the natural beauty of Cheshire Lake.
“That could change,” Alex says, “as they get deeper into the investigation. How can they be sure that someone didn’t get in?”
Ruth nods, glances sideways at Alex. “Do you think the Thompsons could’ve done it?
” she asks quietly. “Simon was over near their place. Maybe they heard a noise and thought he was a prowler, you know, in the dark; they might not have recognized him, and they hit him and then realized their mistake. Now they’re laying low, acting innocent. ”
Alex tips his head. “It’s possible, I suppose.”
I think about the conversation at dinner that night. Ruth not wanting to sell because of Simon, the eagerness the Thompsons had for the Harwood land. But they seem so nice. Not like coldblooded killers. But I wonder if Ruth and Alex are thinking the same thing.
Alex leans over, his elbows on his knees. “Ruth, do you think … Do you think Jeffrey could have something to do with it?”
Ruth’s mouth falls open. “No, of course not.”
“Last time I was up here, I heard Simon yelling at him in the garage. I know that he didn’t mean anything by it, but Simon’s gotten pretty irritable lately. I’m not blaming Simon. It happens with his illness. But maybe Jeffrey didn’t know how to handle that. You know how he is.”
Ruth shakes her head and gives me a surreptitious glance. “Jeffrey adored Simon. He wouldn’t have hurt him.”
“I’m just thinking out loud here.”
“Well, you can stop thinking that.” Ruth gives me another look.
I get the distinct feeling that Ruth has grown uncomfortable discussing Simon’s death in front of me.
I jump up from the sofa. “I think I’ll get a cup of coffee.
” I leave the room quickly. The pot is empty, so I move on to the Keurig.
I’d been so happy when I went to bed, so relieved after my talk with Alex, but now, here in the morning, the talk of Simon’s murder ratchets up the anxiety that had fled last night.
The Keurig burbles as I get the milk from the refrigerator. After the coffee brews, silence descends on the kitchen, and I hear Ruth from the other room.
“How much do you really know about this girl, Alex?”
I lean back against the kitchen wall, mug in hand, and close my eyes. Their conversation lowers to where I don’t hear anything but muffled words.
Oh God, I think to myself, don’t let these people suspect me. I’ve just found a new family. I don’t need this.