Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_04 by Death in Paradise

Ericcson family. That gave me a lot of room to maneuver.
    Was I willing to play the lie? Of course.
    But I phrased my answer carefully. “Johnnie was working for Belle Ericcson when her daughter was kidnapped. I’mtrying to put together the recollections of everyone who was at the house that weekend.”
    She smoothed back a strand of lank hair. “Seems a funny thing to do. To want to remember the bad. Johnnie sure didn’t like to talk about it. It upset him too much. And Miz Ericcson, they say she still grieves something awful. That’s what I’ve heard. She’s never come back, you know. She sold the lake house and the boat to a rich oilman from Amarillo. They say she went off to Hawaii and built a house up on a cliff and she’s never come back to Dallas. Not once.” She turned her gaunt face toward me. “I thought Miz Ericcson knew Johnnie was gone. You’ve come a long way for nothing. There’s nobody here who was at the lake house that weekend except me.”
    â€œYou were there?” I managed to ask in a casual, even tone.
    â€œYes’m.” Her voice was tired but obedient. This was a nice woman, a sick woman, but she wanted to be helpful. “I got the call that Thursday to open the house, mop and dust and put on fresh linens and stock the kitchen. That was when I was still working, before I got sick. I had a big list, getting everything ready for Miss CeeCee’s birthday party. The party was going to be Saturday night even though it wasn’t really her birthday until Sunday.”
    Sunday that year was April 1. So April 1 was CeeCee’s birthday. And the day that Richard would die one year later. No April Fool for the Ericcson family or for me. Not ever again.
    I willed a pleasant expression on my face as I looked into dark, patient, sad eyes. “I understand CeeCee drove up from Dallas on Friday afternoon.” I’d done my homework, pulled up every scrap of coverage about the kidnapping.
    Those thin arms slid to her side. The blue-veined fingers of one hand plucked at the ruffled pocket of her dress. “Theysay she must have come then.” Her voice was low and indistinct.
    â€œYou didn’t see her?” I moved a little nearer.
    â€œNo’m. I finished up about five and I wanted to get home and fix Johnnie’s supper. Johnnie lived with me. All my other kids got families. But Johnnie never married. Maybe…” She sighed.
    â€œYou went home,” I said gently.
    She looked up at a dazzling white house on the bluff. “I walked home. It’s not even a mile if you go through the woods. Johnnie had the pickup. He’d been running errands all day, brought in fresh firewood and plenty of beer for the boat and he’d gone over to Pottsboro for barbecue. So, I left about five. And I locked up real good. I told them that.” She looked up again at the house on the bluff.
    I spoke as if the facts were so familiar and they were. I knew them by heart now. “CeeCee stopped in town for gas. It was just getting dark.” The clerk remembered it clearly when she was interviewed by a television reporter. CeeCee paid for the gas and bought a bag of M&Ms.
    â€œJosie Goetz was working at the station that night. She said Miss CeeCee seemed tired. She wasn’t as cheerful and friendly as usual.”
    A crow cawed, sharp and strident.
    Maria shivered. “Mighty cold out here on the water. I’ve got some fresh coffee made…”
    We walked slowly—it was an effort for her—back to the house. She brought me a white pottery mug filled with coffee as hot and black as molten tar. She settled into a rocker, then made a hopeless gesture at the dust-streaked floor. “I can’t clean no more. I used to keep everything neat as a pin.”
    Dingy crocheted doilies covered the arms of the easy chair and couch. Handmade wooden soldiers crowded the mantel, the windowsills, a pine bookcase,