Macy was tempted to stick her tongue out but decided it was best to keep things professional. A lot of reporters were in town covering Bolton’s recent crime wave. The last thing she needed was a photo of her having a laugh with the state’s leading forensics expert as she received confirmation that Peter Granger was one of the victims.
“Alisa called. Jessica Reynolds attempted suicide,” said Macy.
“That’s a little surprising. She seemed pretty frazzled when we met her at the college, but not desperate enough to kill herself. What’s the prognosis?”
“She’s awake but they’re doing tests. Any news on those photos we found in Hannah Granger’s office? My gut tells me that those women weren’t aware of what was happening to them.”
“Nothing specific on the photos. One of the girls has a tattoo that might help in making a positive identification. Another has some scarring on her arms … possibly self-harm. An intern had the rather brilliant idea of comparing the furniture in the photos with images posted online of parties held at the Granger residence, but we had no joy. I should remind you that we have no way of knowing whether the women in the photos are consenting adults. They look like they’re unconscious, but with that mask covering their faces it’s impossible to say for sure.”
“You know I’m right.”
“Yeah, I know. We just have to prove it.”
“What about the fuel cans?”
Ryan had to finish chewing his food before he could answer. “No fingerprints and nothing on them that could be traced back to the Granger’s house. I don’t suppose it matters though,” said Ryan. “The fractured skull and ligature marks are enough to confirm that someone probably set fire to that house to cover up two murders.”
“Why would the arsonist hide the fuels cans nearby instead of driving off with them?”
“Maybe they didn’t have a car.”
“So, they were collecting cans one by one until they had enough to proceed and then on the night of the fire they took them from their hiding place one by one only to return them later on? No one was seen in the neighborhood that looked suspicious. I think a neighbor would have noticed someone walking around with petrol cans.”
“It was Halloween night. A lot of people were on the street.”
“Still a big risk.”
“Did someone speak to the homeowner that found them about a time frame?” asked Ryan.
Macy flipped through her notes.
“He hasn’t been to the house for about a week but says the fuel cans could have been there longer. He doesn’t always work outside.”
“I think we’re looking for someone who is local to the area,” said Ryan.
“We also have to consider the possibility this was a murder-suicide and there’s no one else to look for.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. It was Hannah who wanted to leave Peter. Not the other way around. He was bound and knocked senseless. Stands to reason that if he didn’t want Hannah to leave, she’d have been the one with ligature marks, and we’ve found no evidence of that on the female.”
“All sorts of possibilities, but you’re right. It does worry me that all we have so far is Jessica’s word that she and Hannah were in a serious relationship.” Macy held up her hand to get the waitress’s attention. “Probably time to have another chat with Cornelia Hart. Did you manage to get any DNA from the blood we found in Peter’s office?”
“I was worried it may be degraded but it’s a good sample. Now we just need to find a match.”
“And the desk chair?”
“Same story, different body fluid. Still waiting for the lab to post results. By the way, the residue on the arm was from packing tape. He had a roll of it in his desk drawer. There were also traces on the other arm in about the same position.”
“Could someone have been bound to that chair?”
“It’s something to consider. If the urine turns out to be Peter Granger’s, that office may be a crime scene after all. Someone cleaned it up well. Hardly a fingerprint in that room.”
* * *
Thick drops of rain pelted the windshield. The snow that had fallen during the night had already been reduced to a thick gray slush. Macy waited at a stoplight where several smashed pumpkins were slowly turning to pulp in the middle of the intersection. A one-eyed jack-o’-lantern stared up at her. Seconds later she felt it pop beneath her right front tire. She took a left on Paradise Road and continued driving across flat terrain. Strip malls and chain restaurants quickly gave way to open countryside. The nearby foothills were obscured by low clouds. Macy was beginning to think she had the wrong address when she finally spotted a new condominium complex jutting up from what had once been farmland. The parking lot was nearly empty and many of the units appeared to be unoccupied. A woman stood outside the sales office smoking a cigarette while she spoke on a cell phone. She waved as Macy drove by.
Cornelia Hart opened her front door a crack and blinked up at Macy with startled eyes. Her hair was pressed to the side of her head and her expression was slack. Macy once again apologized for disturbing her during such a distressing time.
“May I come in?” asked Macy.
Cornelia opened the door a fraction wider and explained that she’d only just woken up. Macy found herself standing in a nicely furnished living room accented with an intricately woven Persian carpet. A wood-burning stove was blazing in the corner. The sliding glass doors at the far end overlooked the inner courtyard where patches of snow stubbornly stuck to the ground despite the rain that was now falling heavily. Cornelia stood in the middle of the room looking as if she was seeing it for the first time.
Macy started to speak. “Maybe this isn’t a good—”
Cornelia held up her hand. She appeared to be counting in her head. Macy waited patiently. Cornelia must have been putting on a brave act when she’d visited Macy at the police station the previous day. She’d deteriorated rapidly over the past twenty-four hours.
“What’s happened is only just hitting me. You’re the only reason I bothered getting out of bed today. I’ll make some coffee,” she said, heading into the kitchen.
A collection of Peter Granger’s novels took up most of the space on Cornelia’s bookshelves. Hannah’s paintings covered the walls. There were also several framed photos of Cornelia looking radiant in their company. As far as Macy could see, there weren’t any other personal photos. Aside from being her employers, it was becoming apparent that Hannah and Peter were Cornelia’s only friends. According to the background information Alisa had gathered so far there didn’t seem to be anyone else in Cornelia’s life. One of the framed photos started to tip over but Macy caught hold of it before it fell.
There was a small antique frame behind it. Macy picked it up and studied the faded photograph. Cornelia couldn’t have been more than twenty. She wore a bathing suit and held a tiny infant in her arms. She smiled broadly and waved at whoever was taking the picture. Macy had thought Cornelia was childless. She checked the room again but there were no other pictures of children. Macy put the frame back where she found it and stepped away from the table. She felt like she was intruding on someone’s private grief.
Macy took off her jacket. It was incredibly warm in the condo. She caught sight of her reflection in a mirror. Her face was flushed. A large black cat grazed Macy’s leg as it made its way into the kitchen. Its stomach was so bowed it dragged on the floor. Its purring grew in volume until Cornelia relented and opened a can of cat food.
“All this cat does is eat all day. She’s getting so fat.”
“Maybe she’s expecting kittens,” said Macy.
“She had the snip years ago, so that would be quite some miracle.” Cornelia took a carton of milk from the refrigerator and studied the sell-by date before tipping it into the sink. A sour odor filled the kitchen.
“I haven’t been to the supermarket since last week. I hope you don’t mind drinking your coffee black.”
Cornelia sat on the sofa with her cat, and Macy perche
d on an ornate gilt-framed chair that looked like it had been taken from the stage set of a costume drama. Not since her high school prom had she felt so regal.
“It was a gift from Peter,” said Cornelia. “He liked to call me Queen Cornelia.”
“Perhaps you should be sitting here.”
Cornelia ignored the suggestion. “Do you have any news? I read that the coroner was finally able to examine the bodies.”
“There will be an official announcement tomorrow, but I don’t see the harm in telling you now. I’m afraid we’ve formally identified Peter Granger’s remains.” Macy let this sink in for a few seconds. “We have reason to believe he was murdered.”
“Why would?… I don’t understand. And Hannah? Is there any news?”
“Identifying the other victim may take some time,” said Macy.
Cornelia’s eyes widened a fraction. There was a red-wine-colored rash breaking out on her neck.
“Are you telling me that it may not be Hannah who died in that fire?”
“I’d rather not speculate. A few things have come to light over the past forty-eight hours, which is why I need to ask you some follow-up questions. I’ve been in contact with Jessica Reynolds. In the course of the interview she admitted to being in an ongoing romantic relationship with Hannah. Did you know about this?”
Cornelia nodded. “Hannah told me about it back in January.”
“Why didn’t you mention this in your initial interview?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“The fact that there was a third party in Peter and Hannah’s marriage provides us with a possible motive. I’d like to know if there is more that you’re not telling me. For instance, was Peter faithful?”
Cornelia folded her hands together on her lap.
“Over the last few years they’ve had a very open arrangement. I was under the impression that there were other women in Peter’s life. I was never told the details and it wasn’t my place to ask. It’s why I didn’t put much weight on Hannah’s involvement with Jessica. Neither of them seemed to take things like that too seriously.”
Macy pulled out the photocopies of the Polaroids found in Hannah’s office and placed them on the coffee table.
Cornelia studied them carefully. “I don’t understand what I’m looking at.”
“These photos were found in Hannah’s office. We want to know if they were taken in the Granger’s home. Though we can’t see their faces, it does appear from their positioning that they might be unconscious.”
Cornelia pointed out the one that had been taken in a bedroom. “I recognize the paisley pattern in that bedspread. I think I was with Hannah when she bought it.”
“Are you sure?” asked Macy.
“I’ve housesat for the Grangers.” Cornelia pointed to a photo of a girl sprawled naked across a bed with her arms wide. “I think I’ve slept in that bed.” She held the photograph up to the light. “Although, come to think of it, the bed isn’t the same. The one in their guest room has a padded headboard. This one is made of wood.”
“It is a five-bedroom house. Are you sure it couldn’t have been from another room?”
Cornelia took some time before answering. “I don’t believe so. They’d furnished the guest rooms with pieces from the same collection.”
“I was hoping you might know who these women might be.”
Cornelia couldn’t take her eyes off the photos. “There was a constant stream of people coming and going in that house. Parties, dinners, guests from out of town. There were rumors that things were getting a little out of hand. I didn’t approve of everything that went on but it wasn’t my job to judge.”
“Out of hand in what way?” asked Macy.
Cornelia blushed. “Sexually … there may have been sex parties.”
“That’s not something that’s been mentioned before.”
“I feel like I’m overstepping by saying anything about it. There may not be any truth to it. I certainly wasn’t included.”
“Hannah was known for breaking boundaries in the art world. Do you think these photos may have been part of her work?”
“I really have no idea,” said Cornelia. “Have you asked Jessica? It seems more likely that they would have discussed something like this.”
“I’m afraid Jessica is in the hospital. She overdosed on anxiety medication this morning.”
“That poor woman.”
“Fortunately, the prognosis is good. I’m hoping to speak to her later on today.”
“I should have reached out to her. She must be devastated.” Cornelia checked the time. “Perhaps I should go see her.”
“I’d sit tight for now. It may be awhile before she can have visitors.” Macy glanced down at her notes. “I went through Peter’s office yesterday. He kept all the manuscripts you annotated. It seems he’s been relying on your feedback more and more over the years. Did he ever give you any credit?”
“I never expected any.”
“You must have spent a great deal of time reading his work and making notes. I assume there was some financial arrangement.”
“You don’t understand how honored I was to work with Peter. I wanted to do it for free.”
“But surely you’d want some credit in the acknowledgments?”
Cornelia shook her head.
“Did you know he was writing a crime novel?” asked Macy.
“He wasn’t proud of it but the publishers had offered him a substantial advance, but only if he published under his real name. Peter was being very secretive about it. I’m surprised you found out.”
“I spoke to Richard Nichols at length. He says Peter had said he was going to self-publish under a pen name.”
Cornelia made a face. “Richard Nichols, the crime novelist?”
“They have offices in the same building.”
“I’m well aware of that. Peter couldn’t stand him. He said Nichols was always coming over and poking around while he was trying to work.”
“That may be so, but he does appear to know a lot about what Peter’s been doing recently,” said Macy.
“I guess Peter may have gone to Richard for advice, but I would have cautioned Peter had I known.”
“Why is that?”
“For starters, Richard Nichols is a fraud.”
“He seems legitimate to me.” Macy held up his business card. “It says here that he’s an Amazon best-selling author.”
“It’s a scam. He self-published a three-page e-book in an obscure subcategory. I think it might have been board games but I’d have to look it up again to be sure. He sold ten copies, all of which he probably bought himself, and Amazon listed him as a best-selling author. I imagine he’s got the screen shot tattooed to his backside.”
“It’s that easy?” asked Macy
“Never trust what you read online. I downloaded one of his crime novels to make sure I wasn’t being unduly judgmental. It was dreadful. Plot holes you could drive a truck through. God knows how he gets five-star reviews. I assume he must pay a service.”
“How was Peter getting on with his crime novel?”
“I know he was struggling to make the transformation from literary fiction to crime. He wanted to write the next In Cold Blood but felt the manuscript was falling short of his expectations. He was supposed to send a first draft to his publisher last week.”
“Do you know if they received anything from him?”
“I spoke to his editor yesterday. Peter hadn’t even sent him a synopsis. They don’t have any idea what he was working on and neither do I. To tell you the truth, I think Peter was too embarrassed to go through with it.”
“Would it have really been so bad for Peter to admit publicly that he was writing a crime novel?” asked Macy.
“I’m afraid Peter said some very unkind things about crime writers in the past. All of it would have been thrown back in his face.”
“He was going to have to eat his words.”
“Literall
y,” said Cornelia.
“Sounds like he was going to try to get around that by self-publishing using a pen name.”
“The publisher had offered Peter a million-dollar advance. He wasn’t in a position to turn it down,” said Cornelia.
“We have yet to find his laptop so we have to assume it was destroyed in the fire.”
“Thankfully, he backed up everything to his remote server. Has anyone tried to access any of the files stored there?”
“Our tech guys are monitoring the situation carefully. Nothing to report thus far.” Macy checked her notes. “I understand the Grangers have another vehicle. A Tundra? It’s not parked near the house or on campus. Do you have any idea where it is?”
Cornelia picked at a stray thread on one of the scatter cushions.
“I know they brought it in to be serviced a month ago so I doubt it would be in for repairs. Besides, I arrange that sort of thing and nothing was said to me. I suppose there’s a chance they parked it up at their cabin, but I don’t see why they’d do such a thing.”
Macy thought back on everything she’d been told. No one had ever mentioned a cabin.
“Where is the property?”
“About an hour south of here. I guess you could call it rustic chic. I found it to be a little too isolated for my taste.… I imagine the road is inaccessible now. Snow has been falling pretty heavily in that area over the past few days.”
“I need the address.”
Cornelia shifted the cat from off her lap.
“It’s in my address book, but it’s better to use the GPS coordinates. I’ve had to drive out there a couple of times. I would have gotten lost without them.”
* * *
Ryan Marshall was waiting for Macy in front of what was left of the Granger’s home. He wore bright yellow protective gear and held a clipboard under his arm.
“Greeley, you’re going to have to suit up if you want to join me inside.”
“Your message was pretty vague. Are you going to tell me why I had to drop everything and rush over here? I have to head south toward Yellowstone this afternoon.”
“What’s down there?”
“I’ve just learned the Grangers own another property. Cornelia Hart says they may have stored their other car in the garage.”
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