4th of July

Chapter 116

WHEN KEITH AND I pulled up in front of Cat’s house, the driveway was full: the Explorer, a patrol car, a glazer’s truck bearing the legend “We Do Windows,” and a big metallic-blue van with Disaster Master decals on the doors.

I thanked Keith for the lift and, with Martha trotting behind me, I went inside the house, where I found a big man with a little mustache and a horseshoe of dark hair around his head, vacuuming the sofa. He turned off his power vac and “Uncle Chris” and I exchanged introductions.

“Buncha snoopy reporters showed up,” he said. “I told them you moved out until the house was put back together. Okay?”

“Perfect. Brilliant.”

“And Chief Stark was here a few minutes ago. Said to call him when you could.”

I ignored the forty-seven messages blinking on the answering machine and called the station from the kitchen phone. I got the duty officer.

“The chief’s in an interview,” she said. “Can he call you back?”

“I really wish he would.”

“I’ll see to it, Lieutenant.”

I hung up and walked down the hall to my nieces’ room.

The blankets were still on the floor. A window was shattered, and one of those sweet potato vines was drying up on the floor. I’d dented the dresser really good when I bashed the chair against it, and the whole room full of stuffed animals seemed to rebuke me.

What if the kids had been here?

What then, Lindsay?

I dragged the unbroken chair over to the corkboard, sat down, and stared at my notations on the murders. My eyes went right to the thing that disturbed me most.

Sometimes the most telling facts hide in plain sight until you’re ready to see them.

I had tunnel vision now—on the peepholes in the O’Malleys’ closet.

I changed my clothes and put Martha outside with Penelope. “You two play nice.” Then I carefully angled the Explorer around the glazer’s truck and out to the street.

I drove back into town.