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Talk.
Slowly and carefully, I recounted the story, the why’s and how I found her. Then, the detective dove in and the investigation officially began.
“Let’s go through what we know of your mother’s last twenty-four hours. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, what I know of it, yes. Um, well, my mother doesn’t work; she stays home. So I assume she was home all day.”
“What does she do during the day?”
“Mostly bakes for the church, watches television, not much.”
“You’re not sure if she left the house, for any reason, yesterday or today?”
“No.”
“No, she didn’t, or no, you don’t know?”
“No, I don’t know… But, I don’t think so. She’s a homebody.”
“How often does she leave the house?”
“Not often. Only to the grocery store on Saturdays, on Sunday’s for church, and for the occasional errand.”
“Why is that, do you know?”
“Why is what?”
“Why doesn’t she go out much?”
“She’s kind of an introvert. Like me, I guess. I guess I got that from her.”
“Nothing wrong with that. What church did she go to?”
“The one across from the post office. Cross something.”
“Cross Life, yes, I know it. Did you go to church with her?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you spoke with her?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“Do you remember what time?”
“On my way home from work.”
“What time is that?”
“Five o'clock—well, specifically, probably ten after five.”
“Did you call her or she call you?”
“I called her.”
“And what was she doing at that time? Can you replay your conversation?”
“Yes, she’d called earlier in the day to ask if the strawberries in my garden were ripe. She wanted to make strawberry rhubarb pie for Sunday dinner.”
