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She figured she knew what had happened: A diversion at the front of the sheriff’s office had lured the on-watch deputy from Howard Counsel’s cell.
“Can Franny give you a description of the man who caused the commotion? Any detail at all. Set her down, make her visualize.”
“You think it was a setup?”
“I think it would be too much of a coincidence to be otherwise. Housecleaning, remember? First Martha, then Hélène, now Howard. For all we know, the cook is dead, too.”
Though D.D. doubted that last statement; that woman was too mean to die. If anyone could hold her own with some evil UNSUB, even work as his right-hand person, it would be her.
“How’d he get the damn blanket?” Sheriff Smithers was now asking someone.
“He said he was cold, sir. I didn’t think. I’m sorry, sir. I’m very, very sorry.” A young man’s voice, most likely Deputy Chad. It was the kind of mistake that haunted an officer.
Another sigh, then more noises from the background.
“I never got to talk to Howard.” Sheriff Smithers returned to the phone. “By the time I got here, the deed was done and bedlam already erupting.”
“You don’t know the username or password,” D.D. filled in.
“No, ma’am.”
D.D.’s turn to sigh. “I’ll let Keith know. But, Sheriff, don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve seen Keith in action before. Howard’s death slows us down, but we’re not out.”
“I’m very sorry, ma’am.”
Which was echoed by more apologizing from the background. Franny again, probably wringing her hands or clutching her golden cross.
“We already knew they were one step ahead of us,” D.D. said. “All the more reason to keep moving forward. Maybe you should join us at the Mountain Laurel. Usernames and passwords are often based on personal information. It’s possible there’s something written down or a key photo in the office or bedroom that might help us out.”
“I’ll help,” Franny was saying in the background. “Please let me do something. I feel terrible!”
D.D. rolled her eyes. She didn’t care who came, as long as it was someone.
“Give me an hour or so,” the sheriff said. “Gotta sort out the body here, then we’ll be by.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.” D.D. ended the call. Bonita was gazing at her expectantly. “Howard Counsel is dead,” D.D. told her.
A flicker of expression crossed the girl’s face, then nothing. Had she hated the Counsels for treating her like a maid? Or had she been grateful that they’d taken her in when she had nothing left? Maybe a bit of both. It was possible to love and hate your captors—just ask Flora.
Bonita finished leading the way down the stairs. They stopped at the office long enough to give Keith the news.
He was no longer working the desktop, but had a laptop open in front of him. Now, he shrugged philosophically. “Found the Tor browser. This is the machine.”
“At least we have some progress for the morning. The sheriff will be by to see if he can help search for the username and password.”
Another shrug. “Lotta data in this office. I can start with birth dates, anniversary dates, name of their favorite cat, that sort of thing. I’ll get it eventually.”
“Exactly what I told him.”
“Where are you going?”
“Down to the basement. It was where the servants lived.”
Keith frowned. “In these grand old homes, the servants’ quarters were generally in the attic. Homeowners needed the chillier temps in the cellar for storing root vegetables and other perishables. Add to that a large enough space to hold all the coal and wood used to heat a home of this size, plus a much smaller, contained room for dumping kitchen offal, other... waste products.” Keith wrinkled his nose. “Basically a nice cool cellar was too valuable to waste on servants.”
D.D. had no idea. “This basement has a dozen tiny rooms and hallways. Maybe the Counsels did it later.”
Keith clearly didn’t like her answer. “I have to back up the original hard drive before I can start working,” he said slowly. “While I wait, I think I’ll go with you.”
“You really want to tour the basement?”
“Yes. I really do.”
