possibly suspect Warren? He wasn’t even here. Still, hadn’t she heard on police shows that the spouse was always the prime suspect?
“Turn left here,” Natalie directed. “It’s the stone house up ahead.”
“Nice place-. I’ve admired it ever since I moved here.”
“Thank you. My father designed it.”
“Architecture a hobby of his?”
“Yes.”
“That his Jeep Wagoneer in the driveway?”
“Yes.”
“Guess he finished with that critical patient sooner than you expected,” he said dryly.
Natalie didn’t answer. Even if Andrew had been home earlier, she hadn’t wanted to call him from Tamara’s. She would have had to answer a dozen questions, then wait for him to arrive when she wanted desperately to get away from the scene of Tamara’s murder.
Meredith opened the back door for her. She got out and coaxed the dog to follow. “I may need to talk to you later,” he said.
“Fine. Phone number is listed. Thank you for bringing me home.”
As she climbed the steps to the front porch, her father swung open the door. “Before you left I specifically asked you not to get in trouble and here you are two hours later delivered home by the sheriff himself.” Her father’s voice always boomed when he was tense. “Was there a wreck? Are you hurt? You look awful.”
“Dad, lower your voice and let the dog and me come in because if I don’t sit down and have a cup of coffee—”
“You’re going to pass out. There’s not an ounce of color in your face.” Andrew put his big hand on her arm and drew her inside the coolness of the entrance hall. The dog lingered uncertainly on the porch. “You, too. I didn’t mean to scare you. You both look like you need some tender loving care.”
While her father poured water and laid out leftover bacon from breakfast for the dog, Natalie sat down at the kitchen table and stared out at the lake. Sunlight flashed over its glassy surface. In one direction she could see no shore— only water. It looked so calm, so soothing.
Andrew set a mug of coffee in front of her. “Take a drink of that and tell me what’s going on.”
Natalie sipped, then drew a deep breath. “Dad, Tamara is dead.”
“Dead! Then there was a wreck!” Andrew burst out. “Lily drives too fast. Always did. Are you hurt?”
“There wasn’t a wreck.” Natalie raised anguished eyes to her father. “Tamara was murdered.”
“Mur—wha—murdered?” Andrew’s face registered profound shock. “Natalie, what are you talking about? How? When? Murdered!”
The dog quit eating and looked at him. “Dad, please stop blustering,” Natalie said. “Lily hadn’t been able to reach Tam by phone so we went to her house. The windows were open and the draperies damp from the storm last night. The doors were locked. We walked down Hyacinth Lane. Tamara was lying on the road beneath a tree limb. It looked like the falling limb had killed her, but when the police cut it away,
they saw that Tam’s throat had been—” She drew a deep breath. “Slashed.”
“Dear God,” Andrew breathed, sitting down heavily. “Who?”
“They have no idea. Mr. Peyton came and took Lily home before the police discovered that her throat had been cut, so they don’t even know yet that she was murdered. Neither does Warren. He’s at a convention in Cleveland.” She shook her head. “Dad, the dog led me to her body. It was horrible. The vultures had been at her eyes.”
Andrew reached out and covered her hand with his surprisingly slender one, the hand of a gifted surgeon. “Go ahead and cry, honey.”
“I can’t. The tears won’t come.”
“They will in time.” He patted her back in a clumsy attempt at comfort. “How’s Lily?”
“Alternately sobbing and dry-eyed. Shaking. A wreck.”
“Did she see her sister?”
“No, I wouldn’t let her.”
“Good. That would be a sight she’d take to her grave.”
Natalie sighed. “It will be a sight I’ll take to mine.”
4
SUNDAY
“Turn left here,” Natalie directed. “It’s the stone house up ahead.”
“Nice place-. I’ve admired it ever since I moved here.”
“Thank you. My father designed it.”
“Architecture a hobby of his?”
“Yes.”
“That his Jeep Wagoneer in the driveway?”
“Yes.”
“Guess he finished with that critical patient sooner than you expected,” he said dryly.
Natalie didn’t answer. Even if Andrew had been home earlier, she hadn’t wanted to call him from Tamara’s. She would have had to answer a dozen questions, then wait for him to arrive when she wanted desperately to get away from the scene of Tamara’s murder.
Meredith opened the back door for her. She got out and coaxed the dog to follow. “I may need to talk to you later,” he said.
“Fine. Phone number is listed. Thank you for bringing me home.”
As she climbed the steps to the front porch, her father swung open the door. “Before you left I specifically asked you not to get in trouble and here you are two hours later delivered home by the sheriff himself.” Her father’s voice always boomed when he was tense. “Was there a wreck? Are you hurt? You look awful.”
“Dad, lower your voice and let the dog and me come in because if I don’t sit down and have a cup of coffee—”
“You’re going to pass out. There’s not an ounce of color in your face.” Andrew put his big hand on her arm and drew her inside the coolness of the entrance hall. The dog lingered uncertainly on the porch. “You, too. I didn’t mean to scare you. You both look like you need some tender loving care.”
While her father poured water and laid out leftover bacon from breakfast for the dog, Natalie sat down at the kitchen table and stared out at the lake. Sunlight flashed over its glassy surface. In one direction she could see no shore— only water. It looked so calm, so soothing.
Andrew set a mug of coffee in front of her. “Take a drink of that and tell me what’s going on.”
Natalie sipped, then drew a deep breath. “Dad, Tamara is dead.”
“Dead! Then there was a wreck!” Andrew burst out. “Lily drives too fast. Always did. Are you hurt?”
“There wasn’t a wreck.” Natalie raised anguished eyes to her father. “Tamara was murdered.”
“Mur—wha—murdered?” Andrew’s face registered profound shock. “Natalie, what are you talking about? How? When? Murdered!”
The dog quit eating and looked at him. “Dad, please stop blustering,” Natalie said. “Lily hadn’t been able to reach Tam by phone so we went to her house. The windows were open and the draperies damp from the storm last night. The doors were locked. We walked down Hyacinth Lane. Tamara was lying on the road beneath a tree limb. It looked like the falling limb had killed her, but when the police cut it away,
they saw that Tam’s throat had been—” She drew a deep breath. “Slashed.”
“Dear God,” Andrew breathed, sitting down heavily. “Who?”
“They have no idea. Mr. Peyton came and took Lily home before the police discovered that her throat had been cut, so they don’t even know yet that she was murdered. Neither does Warren. He’s at a convention in Cleveland.” She shook her head. “Dad, the dog led me to her body. It was horrible. The vultures had been at her eyes.”
Andrew reached out and covered her hand with his surprisingly slender one, the hand of a gifted surgeon. “Go ahead and cry, honey.”
“I can’t. The tears won’t come.”
“They will in time.” He patted her back in a clumsy attempt at comfort. “How’s Lily?”
“Alternately sobbing and dry-eyed. Shaking. A wreck.”
“Did she see her sister?”
“No, I wouldn’t let her.”
“Good. That would be a sight she’d take to her grave.”
Natalie sighed. “It will be a sight I’ll take to mine.”
4
SUNDAY
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