Allison Brennan - Love Is Murder

What could have had that fast of an effect? Or was it simply the quantity? And what would have caused light-headedness or fainting?

“I’ll see you downstairs.”

Leaving was much easier than Lucy had thought. She and Kyle traversed the fifty or so yards to the barn. She’d already verified that Grace and Steve were both in the main lodge. Beth was cooking soup in the kitchen for lunch. Lucy couldn’t count on the cottage remaining vacant, but she would have to take her chances.

The wind had died down, but the snow still fell. It was almost picturesque, except that she could barely see the barn. She had never seen such odd light before, almost everything appeared black or white through the thickly falling snow. Everything white, except shadows and trees and buildings that were black and gray. It was both eerie and beautiful.

And silent.

Because there was no wind, it only took a couple minutes of plodding through the snow to reach the barn. Lucy went in through the regular door, which was unlocked; the main doors were braced from the inside to keep them from breaking off in the heavy winds from the night before and this morning. The barn was dark, and she didn’t want to turn on the lights and attract attention. Angie had been instructed to tell anyone who asked that Kyle had walked Lucy to the garage to get something for Patrick, but why encourage followers?

She went straight to Patrick’s car and retrieved his gun.

“What are you doing?” Kyle asked.

“This is just a precaution.”

He looked skeptical. “I don’t like this. Someone’s going to get hurt.”

“Kyle, I trusted you, I need you to trust me.”

He was torn. “I don’t like guns. I don’t like what’s going on here. Tell me the truth.”

“Vanessa was murdered.”

He paled. “How can you be sure?”

“We can’t until an autopsy, which is why Patrick secured the body in the root cellar. The only people who were in the house during the time of death were Trevor, Beth, Grace, and possibly Steve. Alan and Heather returned from town at four, which is on the tail end of the window, and you and Angie were on a walk. Unless you lied and conspired to kill a woman you’d never met before this weekend.”

“We were on a walk! I didn’t kill anyone.” He was too stunned at her comment to be insulted or angry.

“I also suspect that she was drugged before she was killed. Again, I can’t prove it. But we have a lot of circumstantial evidence to back it up.”

“Why?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.” Why indeed? Lucy was still missing a few pieces to the puzzle. She hoped to find them in the cottage.

She threaded the holster through her belt and tucked the gun inside her thick ski pants. It wasn’t visible with the bulky clothing, but there was no way she’d be able to hide this.45 on her person once inside, even if she wore an oversized sweater. She’d have to think of something.

She walked around the barn, looking for anything that didn’t belong. There were a lot of tools, Steve’s truck, a Jeep Cherokee, and a classic Mustang.

She looked in the glove compartment of the Jeep first. It belonged to Beth-Elizabeth Ann Holbrook. It was registered in San Rafael, California, and Lucy wrote down the address. Beth’s car, like her room, was immaculate. Service records were folded neatly into the pocket on the front of her car manual. The Jeep had been serviced at the same place she’d bought it four years ago. She found a business card holder. Beth had been a manager at a national bank in San Rafael.

She had the knowledge to embezzle, but what was her motive? Jealous of her sister? Needed the money? Nothing in her bank statements seemed to indicate a need of funds, but Lucy knew she could have hidden accounts, could be in debt, could be involved with something nefarious.

Nothing else in the car gave Lucy more information. She next went to the Mustang.

“What can I do?” Kyle asked.

“Look for anything that seems out of place-something that doesn’t belong in a barn or garage.”

In the Mustang’s glove box was the registration. Grace Delarosa, at the lodge. Behind it was an older registration. Grace Anderson, Orlando, Florida. She was about to put it back when she saw there were three other papers.

Grace Ann Summers, Chantilly, Virginia. Grace Brooke Jackson, Monterey, California. The last, Grace Marie Holbrook, with a Phoenix, Arizona, address. That registration had expired nine years ago.

Phoenix. Vanessa was from Phoenix.

Heart racing, Lucy wrote down all the names, addresses, and dates and put them back in the glove compartment. She looked the car, but couldn’t get into the trunk, which needed a key because the classic model didn’t have a trunk release.

“Kyle,” she called.

“It’s hard to look for something you don’t know what you’re looking for,” he said.

“I know. I found what I need.”

“What?”

“Let’s steer clear of Grace for a while.”

“You don’t think-”

“I’m thinking nothing right now except I need more information, and I’d rather not talk to her first.” She also needed to call the sheriff again and give him Grace’s aliases and tell him that she’d lived in the same town as the deceased. Phoenix was a big place, but it was too much of a coincidence.

Lucy thought back to Vanessa’s message to her brother.

You were right. We win .

What did she mean?

Trevor hadn’t called Vanessa’s brother yet, and Lucy wanted to be there when he did. But if she let on to Trevor that Vanessa’s death was a homicide, she didn’t know what he would do, or if she could control his reaction. It was best to keep the information to themselves.

Leaving the barn, Lucy looked toward the lodge. Visibility was still poor, but Lucy didn’t see anyone walking around on the porch. The lights in the cottage were off. She turned back to Kyle. “I need you to go back to the house and hang around the porch. Delay anyone coming to the cottage.” She looked at her watch. “I need ten minutes.”

“You’re going to search that place that fast?”

“I know what I’m looking for.” Or she had a good idea.

Kyle reluctantly agreed, and he and Lucy parted ways at the short path-at least, she thought the path was where she turned, buried deep in the snow-that led to the cottage.

The door was locked, but she opened it with the key she had taken. More silence, though as she listened she heard a ticking grandfather clock. The hum of the refrigerator. The deep drone of the generator.

She quickly assessed the layout. There were only two bedrooms, no den, and one great room that had a kitchen and dining area attached to it. She went to the room that was obviously Grace’s and immediately searched her drawers.

At first she found only clothing. She went to the closet, which was packed with thick winter clothes. The floor was a mess of clothes that had fallen off hangers and shoes and folded blankets.

If Lucy needed to hide something, where would she hide it? Not under the bed-though she checked there quickly. Grace wouldn’t have wanted Steve to find it, even accidentally.

She thought back to her brothers and how they never liked to talk about “girl stuff”-namely menstruation. Carina had once told her that she used to hide her chocolate in a Tampax box so Patrick wouldn’t steal it.

“He never looked there, didn’t even consider it.”

Lucy went to the bathroom. The bottom drawer was filled with feminine hygiene products. She opened every box and there it was.

Maybe she didn’t know what she was looking for specifically, but she had certainly found it.

A box full of pill bottles. Prescriptions for Thyrolar, made out to Grace Marie Holbrook, and several prescriptions made out to Leonardo Delarosa. She put them out by date-first a basic diuretic, common for high blood pressure. Then lisinopril, which was a stronger medication. That started after his heart attack three years ago. Then six months before his death, the doctor increased the dosage.