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Out in the kitchen, she poured coffee into a mug, perusing the list they had made of things that needed to be accomplished before the first of the month.
Number one on the list was organizing the dumpster contents so they could fit more crap inside it. She’d dress for the task in canvas overalls and boots and work gloves, her hair up under a baseball cap. Taking the last sip of coffee, she went out into the freezing air, the wind and mist off the water bone-chilling. As she looked over the water, the gulls crying and the distant clanging of halyards from sailboats at the marina reminded her that there was still some nice weather to come before everything shut down.
She opened the door to the dumpster with some effort and was glad that the last workmen had been conscientious about stacking the refuse from the attic, where the current renovations were taking place.
Ten minutes later, she had another four feet of space to jam in as much plaster with fir strips, cut pieces of drywall, and old electrical wiring as she could. The last piece of debris in the corner of the side yard next to the fence caught her eye, and she bent over to pick it up. She had a shock when she lifted it and discovered a handgun under a pile of old insulation.
Straightening up, she first thought of Will. He’d tell her what to do.
“Take a picture of it and call 9-1-1.”
“Should I just call Alan?”
“No. It’s better to be neutral in a case like this. Let the dispatch person make the decision who to call.”
“Okay.”
“But get photos.”
“I will, promise.”
“Let me know what they say.”
“I will. Love you.”
Laura took pictures and then keyed in 9-1-1, explaining that she’d found a gun in her yard. Then it occurred to her that she and Will had found Lily Porter’s body, and now there was a gun. What if they were blamed for the murder?
“Someone will be right out,” the dispatcher said. “Just a reminder, don’t touch it.”
“I won’t,” Laura said, taking a step away from it.
There were leaves and debris around the gun, like it had been there for a while, so there was a good chance it wasn’t the gun that had killed Lily Porter.
She went inside but waited by the window of the side door, standing guard. In ten minutes, two vehicles pulled up. Henry Wong got out of the car, and some uniformed women got out of the van.
Stepping outside again, Laura took Henry’s outreached hand. They’d worked together on one of the Gilgo murder cases in which Laura had found evidence that led to a conviction.
“Wow, talk about a coincidence,” he said, squatting to look at the gun. He quickly looked up at her. “Not that it means a thing.”
“Whatdoesit mean?” she asked. “This has got me totally creeped out. Do you think it’s been there long? Look at all the debris around it.”
“We’ve had so much wind in the past couple of days. It might have been dropped here on the way off the beach.” He looked around. “You have security cameras everywhere.”
“Ha! Right! Will went a little nutty when he moved in.”
“I bet we have the gun owner recorded. Ask Dr. Peterson to get in touch when he gets in so we can look at the tape.”
“Excuse me, Henry. I can access the video. Remember, this is my place. You’d better watch it.”
“I’m so sorry. Truly. I only said it because you said Will put them up. No sexism intended!”
“Okay, you’re off the hook. Do you want to look now?”
“Sure.”
She got out her phone. “Gotta love technology.”
Henry got close, looking over her arm as Laura logged on to the app. “They save events for a couple of days, so there should be something in here.”
