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“That and any research she printed.”
“These books have since been published?” Trent asked. “Or were some new?”
“Most of them were likely already published, but she’d have WIPs around too. You really found nothing?”
Amanda shook her head.
“That is strange.” Celeste blew on her tea and took a tentative sip. Barry followed his wife’s lead.
They could have it all wrong—the paperwork wasn’t all burned but some stolen. But why would the killer care about any of it?
“We don’t know if it factors into her murder,” Trent said. “Detective Steele and I were also wondering if Felicity rented anywhere, a space to do her writing?”
Trent’s question presented another explanation for the absence of the paperwork that they had considered before.
“Not that I know of,” Celeste said.
“Couldn’t you just check her bank accounts to find out something like that?” Barry asked as he set his cup down on the table.
“We will. We just thought we’d ask.” Getting their hands on financials took time. “One more question before we go. Did Felicity have an area rug and long coffee table in the living room?”
Celeste blinked a few times, her brow wrinkled. “She did, come to think of it. What is going on? I don’t remember seeing it when I looked in and saw her. But I was distracted by—” She swallowed roughly, and a rogue tear slid down her cheek. “Where would her rug and table have gone?”
“That we don’t know. Yet.” It was overwhelming to admit most of what happened in Felicity’s house last night remained a mystery.
ELEVEN
Amanda expected the Sweeneys would give them answers. She just hadn’t expected the ones they received. “We’re assuming the killer burned all—if not most—of Felicity’s work, but why?”
“It’s hard to say at this point.”
“We figure the killer turned up around five forty, and the early end of the time-of-death window was ten PM. Was Felicity subjected to literally watching her work go up in flames?”
“By a person who wanted to hurt her in that way? Someone jealous of her success?”
“Could be.”
“It wouldn’t have been easy for her to watch but surely she had backups of her work—a drive or computer. Not that we’ve found either.”
“Presumably the killer took those.”
“It almost sounds like this killer was trying to ensure something remained secret.”
She didn’t say as much but his words had her thinking about Felicity hiding her phone again. “We need to find out more. But if the killer burned all her paperwork, wouldn’t there be more ash?”
“We don’t know how long the fire burned, likely hours. As you just mentioned, Felicity was with her killer for hours before he killed her. It’s also possible he took some of the papers with him, along with the coffee table and rug even.”
“So, basically, the killer backed up a truck to Kelley’s place.” Amanda shook her head. “If that happened, you’d think someone would have seen something. Regardless, this all sounds very premeditated.”
“I think the playing card alone tells us that much. It’s not like most people keep a deck in a back pocket.”
Amanda nodded.
Trent pulled down Felicity’s street. The immediate area near Felicity’s house was cordoned off, but the media was looming on the outskirts. Amanda groaned at the sight of Diana Wesson, a reporter with PWC News. She was standing at the edge of the barricade, her back toward Felicity’s house, talking into a padded microphone, her cameraman filming away.
“She needs to go, along with the rest of them,” Amanda said. Besides Diana, there were at least two other people she recognized as journalists, including Fraser Reyes, who’d written a damning piece about her and PWCPD two and a half years ago for the paper in the area, Prince William Times.
“I’m sure the officers will get them moving.”
