finger-wagging, shoulders-swaying behavior. Meredith, Delilah, and I stifled smiles. “Please, do you mind fetching the drill from home? And, if you have them, would you bring some D batteries?”
Amy leaped to her feet. “Can we go with you, Aunt Charlotte?”
Clair bounded to her side. “Yes, can we?”
“I want to see our old room,” Amy said. “And the attic where we used to drink cocoa and read books together.”
“And I want to hug Rags,” Clair added.
I eyed Delilah. “Will you miss a Pilgrim and an Indian for a half hour?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll cope.”
“First, bus your dishes to the trash.” I pointed toward a garbage bin that my grandfather had wisely stationed at the end of the buffet table.
“I’ll drive.” Meredith said with a wink. “And I expect an update on gossip.”
• • •
On the way home, I called Noelle, just in case she was still there, to warn her about the impending invasion. She didn’t answer her cell phone. Minutes later, Meredith pulled to a stop in front of my Victorian. All the lights in the house, other than the porch light, were off. A dim light glowed in the garage. Noelle’s BMW was parked on the right-hand side of the driveway.
Acting like they hadn’t visited the house in years, the twins bolted from Meredith’s newly purchased Chevy Tahoe and up the cobblestone path to the front door.
“It’s so beautiful,” Clair exclaimed.
“We’ve missed you, House,” Amy cried.
“Wait for me,” Meredith called as she unlatched her seat belt and dashed after them. “Charlotte, is the door unlocked?”
“No.”
“Don’t worry. You get the power drill. I’ll use my key, and I’ll make sure the girls don’t drive Rags to distraction. By the way, I love the wreath on the front door.”
“It was a gift from Grandmère. She and her Do-Gooder ladies are making Thanksgiving wreaths as a theater fund-raising project.”
Meredith smirked. “What doesn’t she do?”
“Slow down . . . Ever. Stay away from her if she’s wielding a glue gun. It means she’s recruiting.”
“No argument here.” Meredith laughed.
I traipsed down the driveway hoping that Noelle wasn’t still slaving over the desk. She had done enough. The side door was ajar. As I approached, I didn’t hear anything. No scraping old paint off wood, no oldies music.
The moment I stepped inside worry spiraled up the back of my neck and into my senses. Something wasn’t right. There was a smell—metallic yet marshy.
“Noelle?” I called into the gloom. I flipped on the overhead light switch and gasped. The garage had been ransacked. Cabinet doors hung open. Boxes of nails and garden supplements lay upside down, their contents spilled on the cement floor.
Someone moaned.
I spun to my right. Inches beyond the secretary desk, which stood on its feet with its legs secured, I saw her—Noelle, lying on her side, her legs and arms at an angle. The heart-shaped corkscrew from Matthew and Meredith’s wedding jutted from the hollow of her throat. Her chest moved; she was breathing . . . barely.
“Oh no.” I rushed to her. “Noelle.”
Her mouth moved. “Ch-h-h—” The beginning of my name. Barely a whisper.
“Yes, it’s me. Charlotte.”
Noelle licked her lips. “Hell’s . . . key.”
“Hell’s key?” I repeated.
Her eyes fluttered. She inhaled sharply. “Ch-h-h—”
I gripped her hand. “Stay with me, Noelle. Stay with me.”
But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Her body shuddered and went quiet. I didn’t detect a pulse. Pressing on her chest wasn’t the right thing to do, not with a puncture wound to her neck. I pinched her nose together and blew into her mouth. Nothing. I tried again. She didn’t revive.
Yanking my cell phone from my purse, I stabbed in 911. A woman asked me to relay information. When I ended the call, my shoulders gave way and tears flowed down my cheeks.
Suddenly, another realization hit me. Whoever had killed
Amy leaped to her feet. “Can we go with you, Aunt Charlotte?”
Clair bounded to her side. “Yes, can we?”
“I want to see our old room,” Amy said. “And the attic where we used to drink cocoa and read books together.”
“And I want to hug Rags,” Clair added.
I eyed Delilah. “Will you miss a Pilgrim and an Indian for a half hour?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll cope.”
“First, bus your dishes to the trash.” I pointed toward a garbage bin that my grandfather had wisely stationed at the end of the buffet table.
“I’ll drive.” Meredith said with a wink. “And I expect an update on gossip.”
• • •
On the way home, I called Noelle, just in case she was still there, to warn her about the impending invasion. She didn’t answer her cell phone. Minutes later, Meredith pulled to a stop in front of my Victorian. All the lights in the house, other than the porch light, were off. A dim light glowed in the garage. Noelle’s BMW was parked on the right-hand side of the driveway.
Acting like they hadn’t visited the house in years, the twins bolted from Meredith’s newly purchased Chevy Tahoe and up the cobblestone path to the front door.
“It’s so beautiful,” Clair exclaimed.
“We’ve missed you, House,” Amy cried.
“Wait for me,” Meredith called as she unlatched her seat belt and dashed after them. “Charlotte, is the door unlocked?”
“No.”
“Don’t worry. You get the power drill. I’ll use my key, and I’ll make sure the girls don’t drive Rags to distraction. By the way, I love the wreath on the front door.”
“It was a gift from Grandmère. She and her Do-Gooder ladies are making Thanksgiving wreaths as a theater fund-raising project.”
Meredith smirked. “What doesn’t she do?”
“Slow down . . . Ever. Stay away from her if she’s wielding a glue gun. It means she’s recruiting.”
“No argument here.” Meredith laughed.
I traipsed down the driveway hoping that Noelle wasn’t still slaving over the desk. She had done enough. The side door was ajar. As I approached, I didn’t hear anything. No scraping old paint off wood, no oldies music.
The moment I stepped inside worry spiraled up the back of my neck and into my senses. Something wasn’t right. There was a smell—metallic yet marshy.
“Noelle?” I called into the gloom. I flipped on the overhead light switch and gasped. The garage had been ransacked. Cabinet doors hung open. Boxes of nails and garden supplements lay upside down, their contents spilled on the cement floor.
Someone moaned.
I spun to my right. Inches beyond the secretary desk, which stood on its feet with its legs secured, I saw her—Noelle, lying on her side, her legs and arms at an angle. The heart-shaped corkscrew from Matthew and Meredith’s wedding jutted from the hollow of her throat. Her chest moved; she was breathing . . . barely.
“Oh no.” I rushed to her. “Noelle.”
Her mouth moved. “Ch-h-h—” The beginning of my name. Barely a whisper.
“Yes, it’s me. Charlotte.”
Noelle licked her lips. “Hell’s . . . key.”
“Hell’s key?” I repeated.
Her eyes fluttered. She inhaled sharply. “Ch-h-h—”
I gripped her hand. “Stay with me, Noelle. Stay with me.”
But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Her body shuddered and went quiet. I didn’t detect a pulse. Pressing on her chest wasn’t the right thing to do, not with a puncture wound to her neck. I pinched her nose together and blew into her mouth. Nothing. I tried again. She didn’t revive.
Yanking my cell phone from my purse, I stabbed in 911. A woman asked me to relay information. When I ended the call, my shoulders gave way and tears flowed down my cheeks.
Suddenly, another realization hit me. Whoever had killed
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