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To be alone before she had to face what came after.
She’d have to face life again.
As she pulled into her driveway, two people got out of a car parked at the curb. She paused as they started up the walk in their black suits.
Not reporters, she thought. She’d learned to spot and avoid them over the last week.
More cops? she wondered. Insurance people?
Why now? What more did they want from her? What more could she say?
“Ms. Albright?” The male suit, graying hair, compact body, held up a badge. As did the woman, dark skin, hair in short, dark coils, deep brown eyes oddly cool.
“FBI Special Agents Morrison and Beck. Could we speak with you?”
As the headache pounded, pounded, Morgan stared at the identification. “FBI? I don’t understand.”
“We know you’ve had a difficult day, but if we could come in and explain.”
“It’s about Nina?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She felt that tiny inch toward closure slide away again.
“All right.” She led the way. “I’ve talked to the police, and gave a statement. I honestly don’t know anything else.”
She unlocked the door, went inside.
“I can make coffee,” she offered, only because she thought she should.
The woman—Beck—nodded slightly. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No, it’s okay. Sit down. It’ll only take a minute.”
Instead of sitting in the living room, Morrison followed her, stood just inside the kitchen. “You have a nice house.”
“Thank you.” She saw his gaze shift to the back door as she started the coffee. “Bill, my boss, fixed the door. The police—the detectives that came after the other police that day, and the crime scene people—they said it was okay to fix the broken glass and put in the dead bolt.”
“Of course.”
“It just had the thumb lock before. He broke the glass, and just reached in and flipped it open.”
“He?”
“He, she, they, I don’t know.”
“She was home unexpectedly from work?”
Again, she thought. She had to say it all again.
“They sent her home sick. She had a cold, and it got worse at work. The coworker who drove her home because her car was in the shop said they stopped so she could buy some DayQuil. She must’ve been in bed because the bottle was on the nightstand, and a box of tissues on the bed.”
She kept her hands busy, got out mugs, creamer, sugar, spoons, a tray.
She’d say it all again, she thought, then they’d go away so she could sleep.
“The detectives said it looked like he went to my office, either to start there or to hide there if he heard her. The house should’ve been empty, but it wasn’t. He was in there, and she walked in or started to, and he killed her.
