They stayed around and let me ask them questions.
Dane’s steps slowed even more as we reached the front porch. He placed his hand on my arm in a silent command to be quiet.
Duh.
The door of the old Charleston home stood ajar just an inch or two. It swung wider, the hinges creaking, as we approached.
“That seems like we need a welfare check,” Dane said.
I nodded in agreement.
The house was still—no voices or movement. Just the sounds of traffic on the street. Dane pushed the door open with one hand, keeping the other out so I couldn’t run in before him. Probably smart. The adrenaline of solving this case had me itching to move faster.
We stepped inside together. The foyer was large but dim, the air in this part of the home stale. The quiet continued. My instincts were on high alert. Something wasn’t right. Not at all.
Was Donna Lee lying in wait for us? Did we walk right into a trap?
A frantic, “Shit,” came from deeper in the home.
Dane and I glanced at one another, and he pointed in the direction of the speaker. I pulled out my cell phone and started a video, keeping it at my side. We inched in that direction, passing a dining room and the start of a long hallway, until finding the woman in question in a side parlor.
The old, thick, dark wooden trim of the Victorian home framed her as she stood, back rigid, one hand curled around a small glass with brown liquid. Donna Lee’s blonde hair was frizzed, like she’d just run through the streets of Charleston.
She threw back the drink in one gulp. The room behind her was pristine. If I hadn’t been worried about our lives, I’d have been envious. She had the room full of vintage furniture. It looked like Jane Austen could have come for tea.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Donna Lee said, speaking first. Her voice wobbled.
Dane took a step in front of me. “The door was open. We thought you’d want to talk to us before we go to the police with our evidence about William’s murder.”
She snorted. “I’ve already talked to the police about Will’s suicide. You saw the video. He’d lost his mind. It was a tragic loss.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I breathed. She didn’t have a gun, but I also didn’t want her to chuck that thick glass at us.
Donna Lee’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I had nothing to do with William’s suicide.”
“You knew he was about to leave the company for the job at Boone Hall,” Dane said.
She lifted her left shoulder. “You can’t prove that.”
“Yes, we can,” I lied. We had enough evidence to at least suggest she knew. The cops could do the rest of the dirty work. “And we have a note pointing to you as the killer.”
A silence stretched out between the three of us, each waiting for the next to make their move. It was probably only a minute but felt like a full year.
“I can make whatever problems you have go away.” Donna Lee set her empty glass on the waist-high table beside her. “Money solves a lot of issues. No one would ever need to know where it came from.”
“We don’t want your money,” I cracked.
Dane slid his body more in front of mine as if he expected her to do something. “Why did you do it, Donna Lee? That’s the only question left.”
“You don’t understand.” Her lips quivered, the first break in her composure. “If Lonny finds out, it will break him.”
“Lonny will never have to know,” I said. He was definitely going to find out at her murder trial, but if thinking she got to keep a secret made her spill the beans, I’d run in that direction. “We won’t tell him. Ever. I promise.”
Donna Lee glanced to her left, her eyes going wild with guilt or fear. Maybe madness.
“Do you hear it?” she whispered.
20
