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Arnett grimaced. “You ask me, we’re doing her a favor. Can you picture Lopez in a B&B? It’s like Charles Bronson at a doll’s tea party.”
Jo half-smiled. “I cannot. But apparently this is a very special B&B. Rather than cats and flowers and birdwatching, it specializes in vampires, zombies, and anarchy. Tony’s been wanting to go for quite a while, and they both love long drives amid the fall leaves.”
Arnett looked at her like she’d sprouted an extra head. “Let me guess—it’s near Stephen King’s house?”
“For all I know, itisStephen King’s house. I heard he was turning part of his property into some sort of retreat.”
Arnett’s brows telegraphed his befuddlement as he shifted his gaze to the CSIs’ grid search of the property. “Help them out, or stay out of their way and tackle the house?”
“House.”
They put on fresh PPE and headed up. “Security camera midway up, and another over the door. That should help.” But as she squinted for a better view as they climbed the stairs, her hopes plummeted. “Except they’re pointed to capture activity on the deck, not out to the pier.”
Inside the house, sleek, Scandinavian-modern furniture and accents in shades of blue and brown gave an overall impression of clean precision. The house showed signs of habitation—a teakettle by the side of the sink—but no signs of disturbance. They quickly located Sandra’s laptop, iPad, and an old-school day planner. Jo flipped through the calendar, taking pictures as she went, careful to touch as little as possible despite her gloves. “Just basic work appointments. Nothing that jumps out at me as unusual, except…”
“Except?” Arnett shifted over from the entertainment center he was checking to look over her shoulder.
“A countdown of some sort…” She continued to flip the pages. “Ah, to her retirement. She was literally counting the days.”
Arnett’s brows rose. “You think she was running from something?”
“Based on what Hanson said, she was absolutely running from something. The only question is whether that something was external or internal.”
Arnett stiffened. “She wouldn’t be the first ADA to just burn out.”
“Nope. And if she hadn’t shown up dead, that would be my first assumption. But I don’t like how sudden and dramatic the decision seemed to be.”
Jo closed the planner, then bagged and logged it. They finished up with the rest of the house, noting places to have Marzillo’s team check for prints, then made their way back outside.
“I’d like to take a closer look at the foliage,” Jo said. Arnett nodded.
They proceeded slowly, systematically scouring the ground, shrubs, and trees. About halfway down the road, several feet back, she spotted two patches of green fronds bent toward the ground. She pointed. “Look at this.”
As Arnett leaned in, Jo glanced around for the nearest CSI. A few hundred feet away a short woman searched the underbrush, glimpses of pale skin and red hair peeking out from under the clear portions of her gear. Jo recognized her—an experienced, thirty-something CSI who’d recently moved from the Boston area—but struggled to remember her name. It came back to her in a whoosh, and she blurted it out. “Sweeney. Alicia Sweeney.”
The woman straightened. “That’s right, Detective.”
“You can drop the ‘detective.’ I’m Jo. Can you help us?”
“Jo.” Alicia hurried over to them.
Jo squatted into the underbrush. “See it? There and there? Can you photograph it for us so we can take a closer look?”
“Of course.”
As she worked, Jo continued to analyze the terrain. “There’s another.” She pointed to a patch between two trees with several trampled plants.
Sweeney followed her gesture. “More traces go up the hill.”
Jo stared up. The hilly ridge was about twice the height of the house; on the other side of it the larger, main road they drove in on ran parallel to the one that dead-ended in front of the house. “Could it have been some sort of animal?”
Sweeney wagged her head from side to side. “Could be a bear, I can’t rule that out without actual footprints or tracks. But if it’s a bear, why here? She’s got raspberry bushes on the other side of the house and there are some grasses over by the shore that bears might want to eat, but nothing here. And, you can see the pier clearly from here.”
Jo turned to face the lake. “Clear line of sight to the house, too. If the killer hid right between these two trees, they’d be able to see everything.”
“And if they walked from here to where she was doing yoga, they’d be out of range of the security cameras.” Arnett gestured a path across the road.
“Done. Go on in.” Alicia stepped out of the way.
