Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery) (18 page)

Suddenly, Olivia realized what Flynn was saying. “You watched her die?”

He said nothing. She waited, and eventually, he gave a single nod.

“Why didn’t you try to stop them?” she asked.

Again, he turned toward the ocean. A rumble of thunder reverberated over the waves and both Flynn and Olivia raised their eyes to the slate sky. The clouds appeared to be sinking, closing the gap between heaven and earth. A sheet of lightning lit up the horizon, competing with the lighthouse beacon.

“I just wanted Vi to give me something,” Flynn whispered. “Amabel wanted it all. She hated that Vi and Elijah had a special bond. She hated that she hadn’t been born blue and, therefore, wasn’t special. She hated that her sister left home and never looked back. Never sought her out. Never cared that as sisters, they were supposed to share a bond too. Amabel wanted to be Violetta. Amabel thought that if her sister was gone and she had the diamonds, center stage, and me, then she’d finally be happy.”

Olivia had to lean forward to hear him. The breeze was escalating into a bona fide wind. It whistled around the lighthouse, scattering fistfuls of sand and salt. “When did you and Amabel start talking again?”

“She called me after Hicks died. Of course, I had no idea Violetta pushed him to his death. Amabel only told me about that when she couldn’t find the diamonds. She planned to get them away from Vi during her trip here, and we’d split them equally. I’d save the store, and she’d buy all the things she’d lived without her whole life.” He shook his head. “I had no idea that she wanted to kill Violetta, and Amabel must have realized that I’d never hurt her sister. That’s why she dragged Greg Rapson into her scheme.”

“She was going to divvy up the diamonds with whoever helped her,” Olivia mused aloud, horrified by Amabel’s ability to plot her sister’s murder. Olivia had sensed a coldness in her from the moment they’d met, but she had no idea that Amabel was so calculating, so utterly remorseless. To premeditate the murder of one’s own sister . . .

Flynn was watching her. “I thought you might be able to explain it all to me. How can old wounds suddenly fester? How can the things we’ve shoved into the deepest pits of our souls claw and scratch their way out? Why couldn’t Amabel lead her own life? Why couldn’t I let go of Violetta? Why did someone else seeking the diamonds set off this sequence of tragedies? You have insight into this kind of thing. Can you tell me why this happened?” He swallowed hard.

Olivia fell silent, giving serious consideration to his question. “I don’t know, Flynn. Some people are more adept at moving on. And then there are those who can’t forget. Or forgive. Violetta had no problem leaving people after she’d gotten what she wanted from them. She must have known that eventually, she’d make someone so angry that they’d want to hurt her.”

“And yet, it took Amabel years to act. After Vi left home, they never saw each other again until that night in Charlotte after Hicks died. Amabel didn’t attend the same storyteller events as her sister, but the bitterness grew in her all the same. She couldn’t go anywhere without hearing about the amazing Violetta Devereaux. She couldn’t escape her younger sister’s shadow.” Flynn touched his chest. “And that shadow grew until Amabel’s heart turned black.”

“So their second reunion of the year occurred here? In our library? When Vi pointed at Amabel in the audience the night she was killed?” The notion chilled Olivia. “That’s how Violetta knew her time had come. She looked into her sister’s eyes and just . . . knew. And she didn’t try to escape her fate. Why?”

Flynn gave her a wry grin. “Because she wanted her whole life to read like a story. An incredible and, more importantly, an unforgettable story. If she died of heart disease or went peacefully in the night, her name would eventually be forgotten. As Elijah’s was forgotten. That’s not the kind of ending she would ever accept. She feared obscurity more than anything else. By mentioning the diamonds during her performance, she invited her sister to act, guaranteeing herself more time in the spotlight. She continued performing, manipulating people and shaping her own story until her very last breath.” He choked on the last word.

Olivia frowned. “I don’t see how Lowell fits into this macabre picture.”

“Greg was Lowell’s teacher in prison,” Flynn said. “But you probably know that by now. It was his idea for Lowell to apply for the position of Violetta’s assistant. Greg thought he could get in her good graces if he put her and Lowell together. Greg Rapson’s had a thing for her since he joined the storyteller circuit. And Lowell? He really was trying to go straight. Too bad he ended up right smack in the middle of something too tempting to resist. Cartier diamonds? The guy stood no chance.”

Thunder rumbled again offshore, but the sound was closer now. Again, lightning burned the sky white, but only for half a heartbeat.

“So you really don’t know where the diamonds are. The cops don’t know where the diamonds are. And Amabel and Greg didn’t leave town, so I’m assuming they don’t have them. Does Lowell, I wonder?”

Flynn shrugged. “I hope he does. He might be a thief, but he’s still a decent guy.”

“Do you know who tried to drown him?”

“I’d guess it was Amabel or Greg or both. They’d already killed one person together, and they didn’t get the diamonds from her or Lowell would have never been attacked. He may have figured out where Vi kept them. She tossed Hicks’s laptop and notebook in a mountain lake, but Lowell might have kept one of the pages printed from Hicks’s MacBook Pro. He’s smarter than he lets on.”

Olivia hoped Rawlings was with Lowell right now. If so, Lowell would tell him who’d held his head under the water, and the chief would immediately return to the station, fueled with a quiet anger, to coax a confession from Amabel and Greg. But she had no way of knowing what Lowell’s ordeal had done to his faculties. She could only desperately wish that he was still the man he’d been before he was drowned and brought back to life again.

There was another round of thunder and lightning, and Olivia moved a little closer to Flynn. She saw despair in his eyes, as stark and gray as the sky. “What else, Flynn? What else do you have to tell me?”

“I watched them kill her, Olivia,” he said. Tears slipped down his cheeks. “They didn’t see me. I could have shouted. I could have grabbed them, but I couldn’t move. She stared straight at me, and I felt the old rage. I’ve felt it for most of my life. Part of me reasoned that she deserved what she was getting.” He wiped off his tears, but fresh ones followed. “She didn’t struggle. Not until the very end. And the whole time, she looked right at me. Right through me. As if I didn’t exist. As if I
still
didn’t matter. And so I did nothing. I crept away without making a noise like the ghost she’d turned me into all those years ago.”

The wind ruffled his hair and the sleeves of his shirt. The thunder boomed and in the distance, a new sound floated up to the lighthouse balcony. The sound of sirens.

Rawlings. He’s coming for me
, Olivia thought, her heart lifting.

Flynn heard the sirens too. He slowly got to his feet and took hold of the gun again, the barrel pointing at the floor. “This was never for you,” he told her, gesturing at the weapon with his free hand.

Olivia wasn’t sure if she believed that. “What about Haviland?”

“I suppose he’s wherever you left him,” Flynn said. “I’d never hurt him, Olivia. Or you. I just wanted someone to listen. It’s the last story I’ll ever tell.”

It took a moment, but when the meaning of his words sunk in, Olivia cried, “Flynn, no! I can help. I can hire the best lawyers in the state. I’ll pay off the loan on your shop. This isn’t the way. Let me be a friend to you.”

He gaped at her. “Why would you help me? I’m despicable. I let a woman die, Olivia. I kidnapped you at gunpoint.”

“You’ve made mistakes, but you’re still one of us,” she said over the whoosh of the wind. “Don’t do this, Flynn. You’re one of us.”

The thunder was so loud that it blotted out his reply. He pivoted away from the lighthouse beam, plunging his face in shadow. “Go on now. I don’t want you to see this.”

Another flash of lightning. Olivia cast a frantic glance around, searching for some way to stall Flynn until Rawlings arrived.

The noise of the sirens was louder now. Rawlings wasn’t far. She knew it and Flynn knew it too. He gestured at the door leading back inside. “Go.”

She shook her head. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“
Go!
” Flynn bellowed over a crash of thunder. The storm was moving inland, and it was coming fast.

Olivia heard someone call her name. It was Rawlings. He was probably outside the lighthouse keeper’s cottage.

He’ll come here next
, she thought.

“Go to him,” Flynn said. The emptiness in his voice tore at Olivia’s heart.

She began to cry. “I can’t. I can’t leave you here.”

“When they get close enough, I’m going to do it. For Christ’s sake, I’m trying to spare you, Olivia. Won’t you let my last act be a decent one?”

“
Olivia!
” Rawlings shouted, his voice carried by the wind.

“This town has lost enough already,” Olivia spoke as if she hadn’t heard Rawlings. “I’ve lost enough.” She was aware that she was repeating Rawlings’ words from earlier that day, but they felt right. “Please. I’m still your friend. You’re not alone in this.”

Flynn smiled at her. She recognized gratitude in that smile, but it was too tainted by despair and resignation for her to dare hope that she’d changed his mind. “I’ve been lost since the day I first saw her,” he said, his voice a hoarse croak. “I mean to find her again.” He pulled the pistol’s hammer back and looked at Olivia. His eyes pleaded with her. “Go.”

There was a crash down below, and Rawlings called to her again. She heard fear in that call, and she wanted to assure him that she was okay. Acting on impulse, she moved toward the stairs. She only meant to yell, “I’m here!” before returning her attention to Flynn, but she never got the chance. The second she left the balcony, a crash of thunder was immediately followed by a sharp blast. Olivia gasped and clutched at her chest as if she was the one who’d been shot.

“
Olivia!
” Rawlings’ shout was filled with anguish. Olivia heard him racing up the stairs, and then her knees buckled and she sank to the floor. She could feel the storm gathering behind her, gaining in power and force. She could sense the waves rising and smashing against the shore, and imagined that they were a harsh contrast to the slow, steady ebbing of Flynn McNulty’s lifeblood.

She didn’t know when Rawlings reached her. She stared at him, unseeing, as he spoke to her, shook her gently by the shoulders, and checked her for injuries. Then his hands dropped away, and he stepped out onto the balcony. Olivia watched him bark commands into his radio while she pulled her legs into her chest. She suddenly felt so cold, as if winter had crept into her body and turned her bones to ice.

Rawlings got down on the floor and held her to him. He rocked her slowly and stroked her hair, whispering “shhhh, shhhh,” like she was a child who’d woken in the middle of the night because of a nightmare.

Eventually, other men and women in uniform appeared and began to transform the lighthouse into a crime scene. Dully, Olivia observed them unpack their equipment. She shut her eyes to keep from seeing the camera flash and thought about all the times she’d snuck into this building as a child, climbing up the stairs with a book tucked under her arm. She’d spent so many afternoons on that balcony, savoring an apple as she read. Every now and then, she’d have a pimento cheese sandwich that she’d share with the seagulls. Whenever she finished a book, she’d hold it on her lap and gaze out at the endless water, dreaming of all the places she’d visit when she was grown. She especially loved to read on the balcony after supper. The moon would rise over the ocean, creating a gleaming path of white-gold light. Olivia vowed that one day she’d follow the moon road to a magical place, a place where a skinny, freckled girl could find love and friendship.

She’d found those things here in Oyster Bay, where her journey had begun. But there’d been no straight path for Flynn to follow. Neither the lighthouse beam nor the lightning held still long enough to guide him. Yet he’d gone forth into the darkness all the same.

Rawlings murmured a few orders to his team and then led Olivia downstairs and over the dunes to the keeper’s cottage. When he moved to open the door, she hesitated and held out her hand, palm facing skyward. A fat drop of rain splashed against her skin. Another drop followed. And another.

She raised her face, inviting the water to fall on her. She wanted it to wash her salty tears away, but they stuck fast to her skin.

“Come on, love,” Rawlings whispered and slid an arm around her waist. “It’s over now. Come on inside.”

Olivia let him lead her into the house. He made her lie down on the sofa and then covered her with a blanket. He brewed a cup of strong coffee and stirred in a dollop of whiskey with the cream. All the while, he said nothing.

He sat with her while she sipped her coffee. Outside, the rain fell harder. The sound of it hitting the roof was a beautiful symphony to Olivia. It muffled the gunshot that kept going off again and again in her head.

“Would you open the windows?” she asked Rawlings. “All of them?”

Nodding, he got up and moved around the cottage. When he was done, the snug house was filled with the cacophony of a summer storm. It was unexpectedly comforting.

Olivia knew that Rawlings was waiting for her to speak—that he had an urgent need to know everything she’d heard on the lighthouse balcony. She would tell him of course. She would repeat every word, recall every terrible detail, if it meant helping him put two murderers away.

But just for a moment, she wanted to lose herself in the storm. After weeks of drought and dryness and heat, she wanted to close her eyes and drown in the rush of water.

A short while later, while Rawlings held her hand and the tempest raged outside the cottage, she began to speak.

The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.

—
R
UMI

R
awlings listened without interruption. He asked her to pause a time or two while he wrote something in his notepad, but Olivia recounted the last conversation she would ever have with Flynn McNulty with disturbing quickness. She was surprised by the lack of emotion in her voice. It was as if the storm was reacting on her behalf, battering the earth with wind and rain and handfuls of sand while she talked.

“And then you were there,” Olivia said when she was done. “You found me.”

“I’ll always find you.” Rawlings gazed at her tenderly for a long moment and then glanced at his cell phone. “Cook’s called me a dozen times. He texted that it’s urgent.”

Olivia had images of Cook frantically dialing the chief’s number to report that Amabel and Greg had somehow escaped, but knew she was being ridiculous. However, as she watched Rawlings’ reaction to Cook’s news, she sensed that the investigation was far from over.

“It’s Lowell,” Rawlings said after ending the call. “He’s gone. A nurse entered his room to find it empty.” He pushed the phone in his pocket and turned toward the door. “Violetta’s murderers may be in custody, but Mr. McNulty’s confession must be corroborated. Our suspects might panic when they hear that Flynn bore witness to their crime, but unless I can get them to admit to the killing, I need Lowell. He has to press charges against Amabel Hammond and Greg Rapson.”

Shoving the blanket off her legs, Olivia stood up. “Did anyone talk to Lowell after he woke up? Did he realize that he wasn’t in danger anymore?”

“I have no idea,” Rawlings said. “New Bern PD had an officer stationed outside his door, so I don’t know how he slipped out to begin with. Two of my men are en route to the hospital and should arrive any minute now. They’ll report back on his condition when he disappeared, but we must find him without delay.” He checked his watch. “Cook will lead the search. As for me, I need to convince one of our murder suspects to talk.”

“Dixie might know something about Lowell,” Olivia said, following Rawlings to the door. “She sent me a text while I was still at Decadence saying that he was awake.” Picking up her purse, she checked her phone, only to find that the battery was nearly dead. “Stupid little machine,” she muttered and then froze.

“What is it?” Rawlings waited by the open door. His body was tense with impatience, but he looked at her as if he had all the time in the world.

“I think I know how Lowell snuck out,” she said. “In fact, he might still be in the hospital—on another floor or hiding somewhere. He can’t leave without a change of clothes and some cash, right? Or a ride.”

Rawlings tapped on his radio. “Tell me and I can pass on the info to my men.”

“When I went to visit Leona, I shared the elevator with a robot. It delivered medicine from the pharmacy to certain floors,” Olivia explained. “And though you and I couldn’t hide inside, a child could. Or a dwarf. The cabinet was kept locked, but I don’t think that would have stopped Lowell from getting in.”

“I’ll see if New Bern will bring in their K-9 unit,” Rawlings said.

After Olivia locked the cottage, she and Rawlings ran to her car. The rain pelted them as they moved. Rawlings held the passenger door open for Olivia and then raced around to the driver’s side. Wiping a strand of wet hair from his forehead, he made a succession of rapid calls. While he gave succinct commands, Olivia stared at the water-speckled windshield, lost in thought.

“Back to the station,” Rawlings said and put his seat belt on.

Putting a hand on his arm, Olivia said, “We need to get Haviland and then I want to come to the station with you. I’d like to see Violetta’s trunk.”

Rawlings knit his brows together. “Why?”

“Because Lowell’s a thief. He may have wanted to change his ways, but once he heard about the diamonds, I don’t think he could resist their allure. I believe he cared about Violetta and that she trusted him, but only to a certain extent. After Hicks died, I think Lowell finally discovered where she hid the diamonds but didn’t have an opportunity to grab them until the night Violetta was murdered.”

Rawlings was gazing into the middle distance. “That’s why he was assaulted.”

“Sometime after they’d murdered Violetta, Greg and Amabel must have also figured out where the diamonds were kept and went after Lowell to see if he had them. It’s one of the reasons Lowell took off right after Violetta was killed. He was afraid, yes, but he’d committed a crime too.”

“If he didn’t have the diamonds on him when he was attacked, then he’s stashed them somewhere,” Rawlings said. “In his car or at the Weavers’ house.”

“If so, then he won’t truly disappear until he stops in Oyster Bay one more time to collect his prize.”

Nodding, Rawlings handed her his cell phone. “Call Grumpy. If he isn’t at the hospital with Dixie, tell him to go home and keep an eye out for Lowell.”

As Rawlings backed down the driveway, Olivia cast a long look at the lighthouse. “Good-bye, Flynn,” she whispered in a low, heartsick voice.

• • •

Haviland trotted into the police station in high spirits. His brown eyes darted around the lobby, and Olivia suspected he was hoping to catch a glimpse of Greta, Oyster Bay’s canine officer. Greta was an attractive German shepherd who enjoyed Haviland’s attention, but the female officer manning the front desk informed the expectant poodle that Greta wasn’t on duty.

“Every cop on the force is here
but
her,” she added sotto voce, but Rawlings heard her nonetheless.

“I know you haven’t had much time with your family lately, Officer Brooks, but I also know that you’re devoted to this town and its people.” There wasn’t a trace of rebuke in Rawlings’ tone. “We’re almost there, Brooks.”

The young woman stood a fraction taller. “Yes, sir. We have your back, Chief. We’ll see this to the end.”

“Let’s hope the end happens soon,” he said and led Olivia and Haviland down the hall. After depositing Haviland in his office, he took Olivia to the evidence room.

Violetta’s massive trunk was pushed against the back wall. It looked forlorn and diminished beneath the weak light of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. “Do you have a flashlight?” she asked Rawlings. He handed her the one from his duty belt. Directing the narrow beam on the trunk’s center latch, she said, “Can you see how the leather is a deeper color brown around this area? That’s because a padlock hung here. When Lowell dragged the trunk onstage to kick off the performance, he unlocked it. I remember seeing a flash of metal.” She gently opened the lid. “Does your inventory list include a lock and key?”

While Rawlings examined the list, Olivia looked over his shoulder. Violetta’s belongings were typed into neat columns—her life reduced to a group of words like “pair of black cotton gloves” or “wooden hand mirror.” Rawlings set the papers aside. “No padlock. Why is it important?”

“Let me run my theory by Fred Yoder first. I don’t want to waste time chasing a false lead.” She took out her phone. “Just give me one minute.”

“That’s about all I have to spare,” Rawlings said and began to reexamine the bagged contents from Violetta’s trunk.

When Fred answered his phone, Olivia hastily explained that she was at the police station and needed help. As was his way, Fred instantly offered his assistance and then listened as she questioned him about antique padlocks.

“Fred’s seen a variety of heart-shaped padlocks made from the late 1800s to the 1920s,” she said after ending the call. “There were a few models big enough to have hollows inside the center. A person could hide something very small within the padlock and then solder the two halves together. Of course, to get the treasure out, someone would have to remove the rivets. I imagine you’d need a blowtorch to get to the diamonds.”

“I wonder if Grumpy owns one.” Rawlings ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, causing strands to stick up in all directions. “The heart of the old trunk was never a tree. It was always
this
trunk. It was probably Quentin Devereaux’s trunk.”

Olivia nodded. “Alfred Hicks was misled by Violetta’s landmark clues, but Lowell solved her riddle. She added just enough truth in her stories for him to do that.” Olivia touched the soft velvet lining the lid’s interior. “That’s the advice she gave me after her performance. She told me the best stories were an equal blend of truth and lies.” Her fingers made little waves in the velvet. “Violetta also said that Oyster Bay was a good Gethsemane—that she liked how the stars reflected on the water. How they shone like fiery diamonds.” Olivia shook her head. “Why didn’t I remember her saying that until now?”

Rawlings put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You spoke with her once, Olivia. And yet, you’ve fought for her as if you two were close friends.”

“It’ll all be for nothing if we can’t find Lowell and that padlock.” Olivia carefully shut the lid. She stared down at the trunk, unwilling to walk away. Turning to Rawlings, she said, “Could I see Elijah’s photo?”

He took a cardboard box from a nearby shelf and placed it on a table. Gesturing at the folding chair, he opened the box and removed an item encased in an evidence bag. “Just put it back when you’re done. I’ll call you when I can.” Kissing her on the forehead, he left the room.

Olivia waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before she picked up the bag containing the old photograph. The image of Elijah Devereaux was grainy. The black and white had faded to black and grey with spots of brown along the edges of the square paper.

Elijah was quite young. Olivia guessed that he was five or six when the picture was taken. He wasn’t looking at the camera but seemed to be laughing at someone standing to the right of the photographer. He was a cute boy with a mop of unruly black hair, a wide smile, and luminous eyes. Olivia had no idea if they were the same sapphire hue as Violetta’s, but they were certainly as captivating. His face, neck, and bare arms looked darker than hers, and Olivia assumed that the family’s genetic condition had tinted him a deeper shade of blue.

“You’re so thin,” Olivia told the boy in the photograph. His limbs were twiglike. His face was gaunt. His oft-mended clothes hung from his slim frame, but his smile spoke of innocent delight, and Olivia hoped Violetta was the cause of his happiness. Because in the moment he’d been captured on film, Olivia believed he’d been happy. She also realized that while Violetta had become a renowned storyteller, she’d never allowed herself to love another person. Elijah had captured her heart, and her heart had broken when he died.

Maybe Flynn was wrong
, she thought.
Maybe Violetta wasn’t simply looking for a dramatic ending to her story. Perhaps she was tired of grieving. Of being angry and unable to forgive. Of the suffocating loneliness. Maybe she was weary of pretending. Or wanted the kind of peace she didn’t think she could find in this life.

Olivia put Elijah’s photograph back into the cardboard box and paused.

Shouldn’t someone hold on to him? Someone who loved him?
Olivia knew she didn’t dare do anything that could compromise the case, so she reluctantly put the box away. She wondered if, when all was said and done, Amabel would want to see Elijah’s picture. Perhaps she might find comfort in remembering how her little brother looked before he got sick. Before he died and her family fell apart. Before Violetta left and Amabel’s hatred for her sister began to bloom inside her like a thorny black rose.

The photo belongs to a girl named Mabel,
Olivia thought
.
Or whatever remains of that girl inside the woman called Amabel. A woman who plotted the murder of her own sister.

Olivia called Dixie from Rawlings’ office.

“Any sign of Lowell?” she asked.

“Not even a glimpse,” Dixie said. “And it’s not like the Carolina coast is teemin’ with dwarves in hospital gowns.” She raised her voice to be heard over the wailing of the storm. “When I heard he was out of that coma, I sang all the way to New Bern, but now I’m back to that doom-and-gloom feelin’. The weather’s not helpin’. Grumpy and I are drivin’ around lookin’ for Lowell, but I can barely see the road with all this rain.”

Olivia glanced out the window. The thinner branches of the crepe myrtles separating the building from the parking lot were being whipped about by the wind. The rain pummeled the leaves and deep puddles were forming in the depressions near the roots. “Are you in Oyster Bay?”

“We are. I figured Lowell had to come back here. He needs his car. Two cops are waitin’ at my house, and my kids think this is the most wonderful thing since peanut butter, but I could do without the drama. It’s fine when I hear about things happenin’ to someone else, but I don’t like it this up close and personal.”

“What did the doctors say about Lowell’s condition?”

Grumpy shouted at another driver, and Dixie told him to calm down. “They said he seemed normal. A little weak and in need of a few days’ rest, but normal. The cops were lookin’ inside that robot when we left. Looks like that’s how he snuck away. But he can’t hot-wire a car and drive off into the sunset. He can’t reach the pedals.” She released a heavy sigh. “What’s he thinkin’? Why is he actin’ so damned crazy?”

Olivia shared her theory about the diamonds being hidden in the heart-shaped padlock. “The police don’t have it, and I don’t think Greg or Amabel do either. I believe Lowell stashed the lock somewhere in town and will come back for it before disappearing for good.”

Dixie was silent for a moment. “He swore he’d changed. I wouldn’t have let him stay with us, be near our kids, if I didn’t think he . . .” she trailed off. “Couldn’t Flynn have the lock? From what you told me, he—”

“No,” Olivia said gently but firmly. She knew Dixie was hoping that the thief was anyone but her cousin, but Olivia thought Lowell was the most likely suspect. And she wasn’t ready to talk about Flynn’s suicide. She couldn’t speak of it. Not now. Not for a long time. She was trying not to think about it. To become so involved in Lowell’s disappearance that her mind would stop replaying the sound of the gunshot. “Have you checked every inch of your house?” she asked Dixie. “Maybe the padlock is hidden in plain sight. In the tackle box or mixed in with Grumpy’s tools or in one of the kids’ rooms. Could Lowell have talked any of them into keeping a secret?”