Shadow Notes Laurel Peterson (best reads TXT) 📖

those weren’t going to get her very far in the local society she wanted to be part of.” He stopped, tangled in his own sentence.

“And was she an intuitive, Ernie? Did she…was the little house on her farm where she, I don’t know, saw her clients? It’s so like the one out back here that Mother uses…”

He shrugged. “Loretta said so. I’m not one to judge one way or the other.”

At least that explained some of the rumors about her.

“Why are we here, Ernie? I know Mother and Loretta are friends but…”

“Loretta was like a big sister to your Mom while she was growing up. They’ve been close a long time.”

“You guys never come to any of the parties, I never see you in town, I didn’t know Mother and Loretta were this close.”

“Oh, the party scene doesn’t matter, and your mom knows it. She always invites us, and we always say we’ll see her some other time. Who needs to stand around drinking gin with a bunch of people who want to spout nonsense in fancy clothes?” He had a point.

The coffee gurgled and spit its readiness. “Mugs live in that cabinet above the stove and sugar’s in the pantry on the first shelf.” He opened the refrigerator and took out milk and a loaf of sweet bread. Together, we loaded the tray. Just before he pushed through the front room door, Ernie said, “You and me have some talking to do.”

“I’ve got to resolve this first.”

He swung into the living room without another word.

Loretta and Mother sat holding hands, two frail china figurines perched carefully side by side. Loretta had stopped crying. Ernie set the tray on the low, carved table in front of them. When everyone had a cup, he slouched into a chair. “They found her by the side of Levittown Road in her car. She’d been shot once, in the head.” His voice was quiet, almost monotone.

The image punched a hole in my gut, and the vision I’d had in the bar flashed through my mind again. If I’d only responded when she asked what I’d seen. She’d known there was something; I could see it in her eyes. I could have warned her. She might still be alive.

Ernie went on. “That new police chief said it looked like an assassination; he thought the assailant had been hiding in the back seat. She was parked on a road she never drove, one that wasn’t a direct route from town to her farm.” He looked at Loretta. “Clara tells me she saw Hetty at The Peak. She left at about eleven-thirty or so.” He turned to me. “You’ll tell Detective DuPont?”

I nodded. It was the least I could do.

“They are impounding the car and checking the site for evidence. They have to do an autopsy, but we’ll get her back when the investigation is over.”

“That could take weeks.”

“DuPont says it won’t.”

“How does he know?” It burst from Loretta, her terror and rage gunpowder fueling the verbal explosion. “They might never find who did this, and then what? We’ll never get her back! It’s two days to Christmas!”

Ernie reached across the table and laid a hand on his wife’s knee. She grabbed it and squeezed. “Oh, Ernie.” She pulled away from my mother and slid to her knees on the floor by her husband. “I’m so sorry.” She put her head on his lap.

“For what, my love? You’ve done nothing.”

“I’m falling apart. My daughter, if I’d only…” She could barely get the words out between her sobs.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here, Constance is here.”

She laid her head in his lap and he stroked her hair. Her fingers, wrapped around a wad of tissues, pressed against her lips, as if she could stop herself from weeping. I looked at my mother. She was cradling her coffee cup in her hands as if for warmth. We stayed like that for a long time.

Chapter 18

What I really needed was some time to think. My vision of Hetty meant something; maybe I could make the link for Chief DuPont between my attacker and Hetty’s, but I had to figure out how to persuade him a connection existed. He would want empirical evidence. I didn’t have that, and sitting in Ernie and Loretta’s living room wouldn’t help me get it. I needed to find a way to get out and get quiet.

We were talked out by seven. We’d tossed around theories all night, but none of us had anything more than supposition. Hetty had been scared of Andrew Junior, and scared we knew each other. Junior had seen her fear; could he have killed her? Had he telegraphed some kind of message in our conversation that caused her to bolt? Had he texted or called her later? But we’d stayed a good hour after Hetty had left—oh!—long enough that Bailey and I functioned as Junior’s alibi. If he needed an alibi. Plots of movies and TV shows swirled in my head, where murderers had just enough time, if…I reined in my thoughts.

No, Hetty must have connected with someone after she left the restaurant, someone she thought would allay her fears. Hetty was a loner; who could she possibly have called at that hour? Who did Hetty threaten and was her death related to Hugh’s? We knew so little; even our speculations didn’t make any sense. Loretta, worn out with crying, had fallen asleep on the couch. Ernie was working on stable business, and Mother was reading a book she’d plucked off their shelves. I volunteered to make a breakfast run.

“Maybe some cold cuts or soup for lunches and a few ready-mades so they don’t have to think about dinner,” Mother said.

I headed out, glad to be free for a few minutes, and drove to Whole Foods, stepping into the smell of warm bread and coffee. Before I bought pastry, I filled a cart with cheese, sandwich bread, sliced ham, salad makings, bottles of fancy fizzy water, and several