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Ms. C. nodded. “She’d stay up late and watch shows, then fall asleep on her couch.”
Which appeared to be what had happened, except— “Did you turn off the TV?”
Ms. C.’s bright blue eyes jerked to mine and she frowned. “No. It wasn’t on.”
“You heard something last night?”
Her frown deepened. “Terrible shrieking. Like something was dying right outside my house. I had to put my hands over my ears, it was so awful.”
Bing!
If I were a cartoon, there’d be a lightbulb blinking over my head. The shower of sparks, the horrible sound, the fire that wasn’t.
“What time was this?”
“I’m not sure. My electricity was out.”
Which could explain Ms. G.’s turned-off TV.
“Probably three a.m. or thereabouts,” Ms. C. continued.
Which was a lot later than I’d heard the sound, but who was to say Ms. C. could remember the day of the week, let alone what time it had been when she’d heard something in the middle of a storm without benefit of a clock?
“You didn’t think the shrieking might be coming from Ms. G.’s place?”
“Marion never raised her voice.”
I didn’t want to point out that she might have if she was being attacked. Why upset the woman any more than she was already?
“The door was locked when you got there?”
“Of course.” She straightened, appearing concerned. “Not that Lake Bluff isn’t safe, Grace. I mean Sheriff.”
I waved my hand to indicate she didn’t need to use my title. Ms. C. had been around since long before I wore diapers, let alone a sheriff’s uniform.
“Okay, thanks.” I stood, held out my hand, and she took it. But instead of shaking, she sandwiched mine between both of hers. Her skin was paper-thin, soft, and mapped with roads of blue.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’d resigned myself to losing her soon.”
“Why?”
“When she had the diagnosis, I was upset, but I had time to make
my peace.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Marion had congestive heart failure. The doctors didn’t give her long, although she’d been doing so well... She spread her hands. “I’m glad she went in her own home in relative peace.”
There went whatever theory I’d had about the shrieking being connected to some unidentifiable monster that was killing little old ladies.
I returned to Ms. G.’s house. Just to cover all my bases, I walked around the yard, and didn’t find a single track. Big shock with all the rain. Then I checked every window—locked, with no sign of forced entry—and I did the same for the doors. Beyond Ms. G. being dead, nothing was out of place—neither outside nor in.
I should have been happy that she’d gone to her reward without any help, but I had a funny feeling, and I’d learned long ago that my funny feelings were often premonitions.
Chapter 7
Back at Ms. G’s I discovered Ian Walker bending over the corpse as the two baby paramedics looked on.
