“Not the car.”
“Thank God for that, at least.” She leaned back against the cushions, extended her long legs in front of her, and dabbed at dry eyes with the corner of the tissue. “How did it happen, then?”
Sarkisian cleared his throat. “I’m afraid he was murdered.”
“Mur— Oh, no. But who…? I can’t believe it!”
She wailed on, but I didn’t listen. In my opinion, Cindy Brody could use some acting lessons. I’d swear her predominating emotion was satisfaction, not shock, though to her credit, I sensed distress, as well. Or was that just uneasiness?
Definitely unease. And she hadn’t asked how, when, or where her husband had been murdered. The news had come as no surprise to her. She’d known. But how?
I allowed my gaze to travel down Cindy’s jean-clad legs—damn, I’d give anything to be able to squeeze into a size that small—until I hit the ankles. Something brown smeared around the rolled hem at the bottom. Mud? The small expanse of dark blue nylon stockings didn’t offer any clues. I shifted in my seat to get a glimpse of the soles of her running shoes. Mud, all right. Streaked and mostly wiped off, but definitely mud.
Cindy had her face buried in her tissue again, this time adding an artistic sniff. I gestured at Sarkisian, catching his eye. He glanced at me, and I pointed at Cindy’s feet. He signaled me to be still, but checked out the mud for himself. It was a pity there wouldn’t be any readable footprints around Aunt Gerda’s house. The heavy rains had done too thorough a job of saturating the soil and smearing any clues.
Cindy looked up and managed a trembling smile. “It’s very kind of you—of both of you—to bring me the news. I didn’t even know you were home, Annike.”
“I just got here. It’s a terrible night to be out driving, isn’t it?”
Cindy nodded. “That’s why I stayed in.”
“You did?” I kept the skepticism out of my voice, but it wasn’t easy. “What have you been doing?”
“Preparing for Thanksgiving. I’ve got out-of-town guests arriving tomorrow, so everything’s going to be chaos. I thought I’d get a jump on it by starting this evening.”
“Guests?” My compassion surged to the forefront. “Look, would you like me to call them for you? Break the news? I know how hard it can be telling people.”
Cindy shook her head. “I’ll let them know when they get here.”
“Get…” I blinked. “You mean you still want them to come?”
“After all this work? I’m not about to call it off, now.”
“No, of course not,” I murmured, taken aback. I glanced at Sarkisian, but he said nothing, merely sitting there with a sympathetic expression plastered on his face. I turned back to Cindy. “All that work,” I agreed in what I hoped was a commiserating tone. “Is that why you resigned as event-coordinator?”
Cindy’s mouth tightened. “Your aunt told you about that, did she? It was the only thing I could do! There was no way I could get ready for my friends when I was forever running around on the most ridiculous errands. Have you seen the lists they’ve all made up?”
“I’m about to. They elected me to take over.”
Cindy gave a short laugh. “You have my condolences. If you want some advice, don’t go anywhere near Peggy. Don’t even listen to that woman! She’s list-crazy.”
Sarkisian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve had a shock, Ms. Brody.”
Cindy jerked her head around to look at him. “Oh, God, yes. Am I babbling?” She resorted to her tissue once more, then began shredding it. “I’m sorry, it’s just that anything is better than talking about…about Cliff. I mean, just because I couldn’t bear to live with him any more doesn’t mean I can face the fact he’s dead. It’s…” She broke off and shuddered.
“You need some brandy,” Sarkisian announced. “Got some? Ms. McKinley, you stay with her while I go and find some. In the kitchen?”
“That’s
“Thank God for that, at least.” She leaned back against the cushions, extended her long legs in front of her, and dabbed at dry eyes with the corner of the tissue. “How did it happen, then?”
Sarkisian cleared his throat. “I’m afraid he was murdered.”
“Mur— Oh, no. But who…? I can’t believe it!”
She wailed on, but I didn’t listen. In my opinion, Cindy Brody could use some acting lessons. I’d swear her predominating emotion was satisfaction, not shock, though to her credit, I sensed distress, as well. Or was that just uneasiness?
Definitely unease. And she hadn’t asked how, when, or where her husband had been murdered. The news had come as no surprise to her. She’d known. But how?
I allowed my gaze to travel down Cindy’s jean-clad legs—damn, I’d give anything to be able to squeeze into a size that small—until I hit the ankles. Something brown smeared around the rolled hem at the bottom. Mud? The small expanse of dark blue nylon stockings didn’t offer any clues. I shifted in my seat to get a glimpse of the soles of her running shoes. Mud, all right. Streaked and mostly wiped off, but definitely mud.
Cindy had her face buried in her tissue again, this time adding an artistic sniff. I gestured at Sarkisian, catching his eye. He glanced at me, and I pointed at Cindy’s feet. He signaled me to be still, but checked out the mud for himself. It was a pity there wouldn’t be any readable footprints around Aunt Gerda’s house. The heavy rains had done too thorough a job of saturating the soil and smearing any clues.
Cindy looked up and managed a trembling smile. “It’s very kind of you—of both of you—to bring me the news. I didn’t even know you were home, Annike.”
“I just got here. It’s a terrible night to be out driving, isn’t it?”
Cindy nodded. “That’s why I stayed in.”
“You did?” I kept the skepticism out of my voice, but it wasn’t easy. “What have you been doing?”
“Preparing for Thanksgiving. I’ve got out-of-town guests arriving tomorrow, so everything’s going to be chaos. I thought I’d get a jump on it by starting this evening.”
“Guests?” My compassion surged to the forefront. “Look, would you like me to call them for you? Break the news? I know how hard it can be telling people.”
Cindy shook her head. “I’ll let them know when they get here.”
“Get…” I blinked. “You mean you still want them to come?”
“After all this work? I’m not about to call it off, now.”
“No, of course not,” I murmured, taken aback. I glanced at Sarkisian, but he said nothing, merely sitting there with a sympathetic expression plastered on his face. I turned back to Cindy. “All that work,” I agreed in what I hoped was a commiserating tone. “Is that why you resigned as event-coordinator?”
Cindy’s mouth tightened. “Your aunt told you about that, did she? It was the only thing I could do! There was no way I could get ready for my friends when I was forever running around on the most ridiculous errands. Have you seen the lists they’ve all made up?”
“I’m about to. They elected me to take over.”
Cindy gave a short laugh. “You have my condolences. If you want some advice, don’t go anywhere near Peggy. Don’t even listen to that woman! She’s list-crazy.”
Sarkisian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve had a shock, Ms. Brody.”
Cindy jerked her head around to look at him. “Oh, God, yes. Am I babbling?” She resorted to her tissue once more, then began shredding it. “I’m sorry, it’s just that anything is better than talking about…about Cliff. I mean, just because I couldn’t bear to live with him any more doesn’t mean I can face the fact he’s dead. It’s…” She broke off and shuddered.
“You need some brandy,” Sarkisian announced. “Got some? Ms. McKinley, you stay with her while I go and find some. In the kitchen?”
“That’s
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