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Saga was certain she would not have got along with Theresa Abernathy. By all accounts, the woman was judgmental, unkind, and quick to anger—the sort of person whose opinion you’d take with a heaping tablespoon of salt. Though, perhaps Theresa’s opinions didn’t need any more salt added.

However, in the case of Katherine Sweeney, Saga had to concede Theresa was right on the money. Katherine was indeed a gossipy bitch.

In the five minutes or so they had spent questioning the woman, they had learned the following:

A private war between Katherine and Theresa had been off and on for the last sixteen years but had particularly picked up in the last six.

Katherine could not recall what had begun it, but she was certain it was Theresa.

Katherine had overheard the initial (and reportedly nasty) argument between Carson and Theresa that ended in him leaving her.

Katherine was—frankly—surprised Carson hadn’t left sooner.

If foul play was at hand, she would not be surprised nor blame Carson if he had done it.

Theresa Abernathy had no friends or visitors other than her children. The only calls she seemed to make were to the police to report her neighbors for living better lives than she was.

While she was not happy Theresa was dead—no really, she was not—it was sort of a relief someone else called the police on her for once.

She was at home with her husband all night. He can vouch. Really, she wasn’t happy Theresa was dead—she wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

She saw a figure sneaking into Theresa’s backyard last night. She’d assumed it was Chloe. This was around eleven thirty p.m., because her television program had just ended, and she was closing the curtains for the night.

That last piece of information had made the string of slanderous rambling that had preceded it worthwhile. It of course could not have been Chloe, as she’d been across town with her father.

It did, unfortunately, put Blake Hingley in a more guilty light. He was taller than Chloe, but they could be mistaken from a distance. That is, of course, if her current theory that these deaths were somehow related was true.

“I wonder if a yearbook would help us,” Saga suggested as they looked over the collected information tacked up on the wall.

“Do you mean an almanac?” Avery asked. She was getting better at asking Saga things when it was just the two of them. Sometimes she would even try to work it out verbally, breaking it into Greek or Latin roots, making a guess at the meaning so Saga could confirm or deny her conclusions. It was, in a word Saga would never dare to use in front of her friend, “adorable.”

“Sort of,” Saga confirmed. “A yearbook for a school catalogs highlights of that year. It’s possible, if we find one from the year Theresa Abernathy dropped out of university, we may also find the connection between Betsey Paris and maybe even John Hingley.”

“You’re keeping to your theory that they are related?”

“Is that wrong?”

“No,” Avery answered cryptically. “You may even be right, I’m just curious about your line of thinking.”

Saga liked that Avery had a way of keeping her on her toes without making her feel belittled. “Carson Abernathy told us Theresa had had family money since he met her. Based on Chloe’s age, he had to have met her shortly after she’d left school, and since trusts are typically doled out at age milestones, it’s likely she was granted her trust at eighteen.” She quickly interjected, knowing Avery would want to know she had considered all avenues and factors. “We should investigate her financials to confirm what those award conditions were exactly. It is entirely possible that she left school because she received the trust and didn’t see the point in continuing her education. However, if she already had access to the money when she started school, leaving so close to graduation suggests something inspired that exit. Something happened bad enough that she felt she had to distance herself. Something like your teacher being murdered.”

“Assuming she was one of John Hingley’s students, while his murder would be distressing, it did not happen at the university, it happened at his home. Why would that make her want to leave school?”

“She was scared.”

“Why?”

“Because…maybe she thought what happened to Hingley would happen to her too?”

“But Betsey stayed.”

That was puzzling, Saga had to admit. She put both fists on her hips and stared up at everything on the “murder wall.” Her eyes fixed on the “gopher holes.” “Do we know if Hingley’s house was also ransacked?”

Avery stiffened suddenly. “We might.”

Saga turned to see the other woman rifling through her bookcases quickly with the quiet muttering to herself that came with retracing her steps. At last she snatched up a file that had been placed atop a row of books on one of the high shelves.

“You told me you’d called Lahiri and asked for any information he could bring me on John Hingley.”