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Lily stood behind the counter, arranging a display of hand-painted mugs, her movements meticulous. Her smile was a thin veil over her anxiety as she greeted the detectives. “Back again, detectives? I hope you want to buy another painting.”
Sam’s eyes were gentle, but his voice carried a weight that anchored the conversation in seriousness. “Not quite yet. We just need to ask you a few more questions.”
Jo lingered near a stand with prints, her gaze not on the art but on Lily, reading the quivers of unease that ran through her.
“We wanted to ask about your aunt, Mary Madden,” Sam said.
“Aunt Mary? I haven’t heard from her in ages.”
“When did you last hear from her?” Sam asked.
Lily’s lips pursed. “It was before the divorce. She… she cut ties with us then. I haven’t heard from her since.”
Sam’s gaze was steady, his voice carefully neutral as he broached the subject. “Did you know that your aunt had taken on a new identity? That she was going by the name April Summers?”
The question seemed to pierce through Lily’s composure, her eyes widening as she shook her head slowly. “April Summers? No, I— What do you mean?”
Sam took a deep breath, readying himself to deliver the difficult news. “Your Aunt Mary had changed her name. We thought you might know why.”
Lily’s hands fluttered to her mouth, her eyes clouding with confusion and the beginning of distress. “But… I had no idea. Why would she do that? Why wouldn’t she tell us?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Jo added gently. “Sometimes people need a fresh start, or maybe there were other reasons. Unfortunately, she can’t tell us herself.”
Lily’s grip tightened around the mug, a lifeline in the tumult of revelations. “I don’t understand. Why can’t she tell us?”
Sam leaned forward slightly, his voice as gentle as he could make it under the circumstances. “She was found dead at the owl sanctuary. Murdered.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis for Lily. She gripped the edge of the counter. “Murdered?” she whispered, a lone word filled with a chasm of realization and sorrow. “By who?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Sam said, his voice firm, eyes locked on hers. “You surely can grasp how it looks. Your bandana was found not far from where your aunt was murdered.”
Her reaction was instant. Her eyes ballooned in shock, and her posture stiffened. “You can’t possibly believe I had anything to do with that! Why would I kill my aunt?”
“We’re not accusing you,” Sam clarified, but there was an edge of insistence in his tone. “We’re just trying to piece together the puzzle. If there’s anything you’re holding back, now is the time.”
Lily’s façade began to crumble, the weight of implications and coincidences too heavy to bear in silence. “I—I was there but not for what you think. I was meeting someone.”
“Who?” Sam asked.
Lily looked down at her feet. “It has nothing to do with my aunt.”
“We’d still like to know,” Sam insisted.
Lily nodded, a troubled frown creasing her brow. “Yes, but it was personal. We’re… It’s not something my parents approve of. I don’t know anything about Aunt Mary being there or what happened to her, I swear.”
“Lily,” Sam said rather sharply. “Who were you meeting?”
“Ricky Webster.”
Jo leaned in, a soft but authoritative presence. “You met with Ricky Webster near the sanctuary?”
“Yes, on Tuesday.” Lily looked up at them, fear in her eyes. “I swear I never saw my aunt and have no idea what happened.”
Sam was inclined to believe her, but maybe she was just a good actress. Still, he nodded slowly and passed her his card. “If you think of anything, let me know.”
“I will.” Lily nodded, looking relieved that they weren’t putting her in cuffs and taking her into the station.
As they made their way to the car, the early morning stillness was beginning to give way to the buzz of the town waking up. Jo walked beside Sam, her strides matching his, the leash of their K-9, Lucy, looped loosely in her hand.
