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Finley decided not to ask about her having a second key. Didn’t actually matter, in the grand scheme of things. They had far more pressing issues to discuss.
“There was a key hidden under a certain rock in a flower bed out back,” she explained as if reading Finley’s mind. A vague smile movedacross her lips. “I’d forgotten about it until I arrived and couldn’t get in.” She shook her head. “Funny how you remember the oddest little details out of the blue.”
Finley offered a sad smile. “The little things can sneak up on you sometimes.”
Downey looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Finley watched the sadness play across her face. The thing was, Finley had only called the woman maybe ten minutes ago. How had she gotten here so fast with time to wander around?
“You were already here when I called,” Finley suggested.
Downey dabbed at her eyes again. “I was. I can’t really explain why. I suppose because I was feeling nostalgic. The second weekend of December, Louise always held a big holiday party here.” The smile was back, a little brighter this time. “The house was filled with soft music, and the festive spirit abounded. No one decorated the way Louise did. The place, inside and out, was like a Christmas village. Just beautiful.” She looked away a moment. “I miss those times. I miss her.”
Her sincerity—regret, nostalgia, whatever—was real. Few people could fake that level of emotion. The rawness of the moment sharpened Finley’s own feelings of regret for things lost. She pushed the response aside and focused on the reason they were here. There was another little detail Finley wanted to clear up before hitting Downey with the hard questions.
“There’s something I want you to see.”
Downey blinked. “All right.”
“I assume you know about Louise’s home office,” Finley said as she moved out of the room and toward the rear of the house.
“Oh sure. That little building was an old smokehouse,” Maureen said as they crossed the kitchen and exited through the french doors into the backyard. “Louise had it renovated for her home office.”
The air had a bite to it this morning. Winter was coming. Finley wished she had worn a coat over her jacket.
She paused at the set of french doors installed in the former smokehouse, picked out the proper key from the ring and unlocked the door. Inside, she instantly recognized there was something different ... a throw pillow that had been on the small sofa lay front-side down as if someone had been sitting there and gotten up, knocking the pillow over in the process. A few leaves were scattered on the floor.
“Have you been in here?” Finley asked.
Maureen shook her head, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “The hidden key was only for the house. You have the keys to everything else.”
Finley moved beyond the fireplace that split the space in half and shielded the case board from view.
The case board was empty ... blank. All the notes, the newspaper articles, the images ... were gone.
Frustrated, Finley moved around the space, checked in drawers and on bookshelves. Any and everything related to Lucy’s murder was gone.
She faced the woman who stood near the fireplace watching curiously. “The last time I was here, just yesterday, this board was covered with notes and photos and newspaper articles about Lucy’s case. A timeline had been made that started one week before Lucy died. You told me Louise hadn’t created anything like that—that she had no notes on her current work in progress or on Lucy’s case.”
Downey shook her head. “It wasn’t here before.” She glanced around. “I came here after it was obvious Louise was gone.” She frowned, shook her head again. “Then several more times after it was obvious she wasn’t coming back.” She stared directly at Finley then. “I am telling you there was nothing on that board. Nothing. I mean ...” She blinked rapidly, looking around once more. “I ... I’ve been here a few times over the years, but I never came into this office. Why would I? There was nothing out of place during my previous visit. When Louise was working on a project, she sometimes slept in her office downtown.She kept everything related to her project there—in the city. She rarely brought work home.”
A strange sensation burned in Finley’s veins, banishing the cold. Then who the hell ...? “Who else has a key besides you and the caretaker?”
“No one. What’s going on, Finley?”
Finley should have asked this before, but until now it hadn’t seemed relevant. “Who did you hire to take care of the maintenance?”
Confusion deepened on the older woman’s face. “A very trustworthy and highly recommended gentleman. Howard Brewer. He’s a custodian at Harpeth Hall. He called me about the job before I even really began looking. I’d mentioned it to one of the ladies at the school, and I suppose she told him.” She frowned. “Why do you ask?”
Finley wanted to kick herself. Of course it was Brewer. Giving the man the benefit of the doubt, she crossed the room and checked the lock for signs of forced entry. No marks or cracks. Nothing to indicate the lock had been tinkered with or the door forced open.
“What’re you looking for?” Maureen asked, her impatience showing.
“Like I said”—Finley surveyed the space again—“it was all here just yesterday. Now it’s gone. If you didn’t take it, then Brewer must have.”
Either that or Louise Cagle had come back.
Finley dismissed the idea. It had been thirteen years. The woman was likely dead. Deep inside, that conclusion didn’t sit well or right. If Louise was still alive ... add that to her father keeping things from her ... then Finley had a bad, bad feeling about where all this was headed.
Could her father know that Louise was alive?
