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After parking his glass on the counter, Tom mounts the back stairs and Emma hears him knock softly on the door of the guest bedroom. A murmuring of voices follows. A minute later, Brittany descends behind him into the kitchen, dressed in leggings and a long white shirt, and looking apprehensive.
After asking his stepdaughter to take a seat at the island, Tom relates solemnly that Taylor has been killed and that her death might be a homicide.
Emma had no doubt that Brittany would be disturbed by the news. After all, she must have seen Taylor around the office, even chatted with her, and it’s bound to be an awful blow. But she’s taken aback by the degree of the girl’s reaction. A look of sheer terror passes over Brittany’s face, as if she’s been cornered in a room by the killer herself.
Tom clearly picks up on it, too. He lays a hand over one of Brittany’s.
“I know this is terribly shocking,” he tells her. “But we’re going to do everything in our power to help the staff get through it, okay?”
“But who woulddothat to her?” Brittany demands, her words nearly strangled.
“Honey, we don’t have any idea. There’s still a chance it was an accident of some kind.”
Brittany doesn’t respond, just stares at Tom with her mouth open in shock.
“The police will be coming to the office tomorrow and speaking with everyone,” he says, “but there’s no reason for alarm. If it does turn out to be a homicide, they’ll probably ask if you noticed anyone suspicious around the building, questions like that. What time did you get home tonight, anyway?”
“Five thirty.” Brittany’s begun crying now, and breathing in short little bursts.
“Okay, then I doubt there’s anything for you to contribute because this must have happened later, probably after dark.”
“Brit, you know who Taylor was, right?” Emma says.
She nods, her gaze resting on the island surface. “She introduced herself the day the summer interns started, and she invited us all to lunch once. In the cafeteria.”
“That was so nice of her. And I’m sure that makes the news even worse—the fact you knew her a bit.”
“Are the police even anygoodhere?” Brittany asks plaintively. “Are they going to figure it out?”
“I’m sure they will.” It suddenly occurs to Emma that Brittany must be scared as well as upset, and why wouldn’t she be? Someone’s killed a young woman right there in the company parking lot. “And we don’t want you to be worried about your own safety. Tom will continue to take you to work each day, and if he has to stay later than you, I’ll come pick you up. And for the time being, I think it might be good to scale back your social life and, you know, not do any overnights.”
Emma wonders if the girl is about to shoot her a withering look and announce she has no intention of curtailing her fun summer plans, but she nods. “All right.”
“Would you like to hang down here with us for a while, have a snack or some tea?” Tom asks.
“No, I want to go back upstairs.” Brittany’s expression has gone back to the blank look she so often favors, but Emma senses she’s roiling inside.
“If you change your mind, we’ll be up for a while,” Emma tells her. “And just know that we’ll be looking out for you.”
Brittany nods almost listlessly and slides off the bar chair.
“Why don’t you sleep in?” Tom suggests. “The police told me they’ll need to continue to process the scene tomorrowmorning, and I can’t open the office until I get word from them.”
Another dull nod, then they watch her disappear into the back stairwell. Tom shakes his head, obviously perplexed.
“I’m glad we told her tonight, but she’s much more upset than I expected,” he says.
“I know—she must feel so vulnerable.” Emma runs her gaze around the kitchen, as if she might find something, anything, that will tamp down her own distress. But she comes up empty. “So what’s next?”
“I made some quick calls from the car, but there are a few more people I want to get through to. We need to be sure we handle this as sensitively as possible as a company, probably bring in a psychologist. And I also want to see what I can find out about Taylor’s timeline this afternoon and tonight.”
He crosses the room to the fridge, scoops up a few more ice cubes from the freezer, and refreshes the drink he’s left on the counter.
“You must have checked in with her after your flight, right?” Emma says.
“I actually saw her—at about five,” he replies, his back to her. “I ended up swinging by the office for a few minutes to check in with her and Janice.”
Emma feels a tiny pulse of unease.
