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The tower Theo had seen from outside turned out to be a library, with a series of mezzanines connected by a wide spiral staircase. Horse, it seemed, was frightened of the staircase and so settled to wait for their return at its foot. The uppermost mezzanine was furnished with armchairs and ottomans and a view that stretched in all directions.
“Could I write up here?”
“Sure…but it’s a long trek down to the bathroom or to get a drink.”
“It’d be worth it.”
Mac showed her how to operate the security system, made her breakfast in the magnificent chef’s kitchen, and showed her where he kept the chocolate before he left. “I’ve given the housekeeper a few days off, so no one should know you’re here,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Make yourself at home… If there’s anything, call me, or press the panic button on the security panel.”
Once he’d left, Theo went upstairs to shower, and to change out of the clothes she’d been wearing when she was admitted to the hospital. The sleeve of her shirt was quite stained with blood and probably beyond salvation. Gus had made some interesting choices in packing a bag for her. She couldn’t help but wonder why he thought she’d need a swimsuit and shorts in the middle of a Kansas winter, but he had managed to throw in a pair of jeans, an old ANU sweatshirt, and her notebook. There were no socks in the bag, so she went into the next room to steal a pair of his.
Gus had managed in one night to turn the adjoining room into a comfortable mess. The contents of his own bag were draped over chairs, and there were stacks of files on the bedside table and more on the bed. She picked up a couple of neckties from the ground. Poor Gus. She knew he was under pressure and that what was happening was not helping. She found the socks and tidied up before she left, hanging up his jackets and shirts and remaking the bed as best she could without disturbing his papers.
She explored the house on her own now, pausing on the things that caught her interest. Aside from the Burroughs painting, Mac seemed to have quite an interest in art. The collection was eclectic: paintings, sculpture, items of Americana. The mantle in the living room held family photographs—a group of young men, including Mac, in flannel shirts, holding up fish freshly caught. Another family photo…the stilted studio variety. Mac seemed to have three brothers and a sister. He looked the most comfortable in a suit. The others all had a certain cowboy flair to their attire. Their mother presided undeniably over the image, a broad white smile, large glasses, and a Liberty print blouse. She did look very much like the president of a church auxiliary, but there was something about her gaze that made Theo think that she probably killed her own meat as well. She remembered what Gus had said about his friend’s family being survivalists. She wondered what they thought of the urban mansion in which Mac lived.
Mac’s father didn’t seem to be a part of that family photograph, though he was in others, with Mac mostly. Perhaps Mac’s parents had separated. Theo went back to Mrs. Etheridge, intrigued. She wondered what she would have felt in the moment she saw that she’d shot her son… What had possessed her to take the bullet out herself? Theo had never sensed any animosity in Mac towards his mother…more a vaguely embarrassed but affectionate resignation. She supposed she and Gus regarded their own parents in much the same way. Theo wished that Mrs. Etheridge had been an idea and not a real person. She would play out wonderfully as a character, but she was real, and Theo could not accept Mac’s hospitality and put his mother in her novel. Surely that would be rude?
She grabbed her notebook and a pen, settled Horse with a biscuit, and climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the round tower, stopping to take in the view. She could see easily into the neighbors’ yards and over the tops of smaller houses on other streets. Lawrence was still heavily blanketed in snow. People were out shoveling driveways and sidewalks. Dan Murdoch’s garden with its clipped hedges and flower beds came unsummoned to mind. There probably wasn’t any work for his gardener right now… Theo toyed with that thought. Dan Murdoch had employed a gardener who, if she remembered correctly, came two days a week. Had she mentioned that to the police? Had they known to question him? Dan had probably just paid him cash—there might not have been any record. The poor man would have just turned up to find his employer dead and the house a crime scene.
Theo thought about where she might find the gardener’s name. The hedges had been quite established, so he could conceivably have been trimming them for years. Perhaps he’d been recommended by Dan’s decorator, whoever that was. It occurred to her then that Veronica Cole might know.
She could make a call and then, if Veronica knew, pass on the name to Mendes. Theo remembered suddenly that she hadn’t yet informed Veronica that she had a new phone and number. She cursed. How could she have forgotten something so important? For all she knew, Veronica might have been trying to contact her.
She ran down the spiral staircase, and then up the wooden one to her bedroom. Horse opened his eyes as she passed, and then closed them again, obviously deciding that she would return shortly and it wasn’t necessary for him to move. Theo checked the room. Yes! Gus had remembered to bring her satchel. She forgave him for the shorts and swimsuit and rummaged through until she found Veronica’s card.
The phone was answered immediately by a receptionist, who, after inquiring after her name, put her through to the agent.
“Theo! Hello!”
Theo babbled about the change in phone and number.
Veronica laughed. “If we needed to get hold of you, we wouldn’t let a little thing like an incorrect number stop us! I’m afraid I have no news for you yet, Theo, but I’m sure a decision will be made soon.”
“Yes, of course, thank you.” Theo was embarrassed to be seen as nagging. “Actually, I was hoping to speak to you about something else entirely.”
“Anything.”
“Dan employed a gardener, a man to clip his hedges and plant flowers—that sort of thing. I don’t suppose you remember his name?”
“A gardener? Are you sure?
“Yes. I thought he might have seen or noticed something that could help locate Dan’s murderer.”
A pause. “Well, listen to you, Nancy Drew!”
“I just thought it might…help the police… I’m not sure they know…” Theo stuttered. She suddenly felt ridiculous.
“Yes, I can understand why you’d want to do that. Unfortunately, I can’t help you. I didn’t know Dan employed a gardener—I just thought he had a green thumb.”
“Oh…”
“Actually, we should talk. Are you free for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course. What time?”
“How about I pick you up? Eight-ish?”
“Sure.” Theo hesitated for a moment, then gave the agent Mac’s address, explaining vaguely the reason for the relocation, and telling herself that she didn’t need to hide from Veronica.
