Nine Liars (Truly Devious, #5)(84)

Stevie mimed this with the hammer, perhaps a little too closely for Nate’s liking.

“I’ve killed you. Oh shit. My bad. What do I do? I should run now. I don’t run. I bury you in wood. I break the glass lightbulb sometime around here, so I guess I’m still waving the axe around? Why? Whatever. I take so long that someone else shows up. Again. I don’t run. I kill them.”

She mimed with the hammer from farther away this time, making token gestures.

“I bury the second person. Why am I waiting around?”

“Rain?” Nate offered. “I mean, it’s not a great reason . . .”

Stevie shook her head.

“And these geniuses who walked in the rain to steal a few weed plants and end up committing double murder manage to avoid being seen by anyone else. Except, Sooz says she saw a flashlight go past the window of the sitting room, but the police just disregard her because she was drunk and because it doesn’t fit what they clearly wanted it to fit. And all of it ignores the hard facts that Rosie knew something was wrong and must have seen this article about Samantha Gravis, which appeared in the paper that very morning. No.”

She shook her head. Now she was more certain than ever.

“This has an order to it. Samantha Gravis. Rosie. Noel. One leads to the other. Problem leads to problem.”

“I know an old woman who swallowed a fly,” Nate said.

“What?”

“You know that song? We sang it in kindergarten. It’s about the old woman who swallowed a fly. And then she swallows a spider to catch the fly and keeps swallowing progressively bigger crap to deal with the last thing she swallowed.”

Stevie turned and started walking back. On their right was woods, and on the left, trees and low wall and the opening of the great lawn. As they got nearer to the house, Stevie turned in that direction, climbing over the short bit of stone wall and walking on the grass toward the small pond and the folly. To get there, they had to cross the slender stream that went through the property, but it was only about two feet wide and a few inches deep where they were and could be managed with a single stride.

Follies came up a lot in murder mysteries. People liked to put bodies under or around them. That made sense, because they were pointless bits of architectural extravagance—what you built if you were a rich, grown-ass adult and wanted a playhouse. Why not build a tiny Greek temple out on the lawn? You’d be weird if you didn’t.

This folly was made to look like the front of a temple—four columns and a peaked roof. It had no inside room; it was just a little overhang, a place to stand out of the sun or rain, maybe have tea or a picnic.

“I’ve been reading these witness statements all night,” she said. “I looked at Angela’s notes. She tried to figure out who was where and when. And that’s great, but the point is that from about eleven until two thirty in the morning, pretty much everyone was just somewhere on the grounds, not seen by the others. They pop up here or there, but everyone was out of view except for Sebastian, who was here. He had the keys to the woodshed down his pants. It’s pretty on display, huh. Nowhere to hide.”

Behind them was the pond, which looked to be maybe three feet deep at best and was home to some koi. Stevie watched them glide under the surface.

“The medical examiner looks at the bodies at about two in the afternoon,” she went on. “They estimated that Rosie and Noel died around the same time, between eleven p.m. until four in the morning. So, the murders could have happened at any time during the night and pretty much anyone could have done it.”

She leaned her forehead against a column.

“I’m never going to figure this out,” she said, mostly to herself. Her breath puffed in front of her, a delicate feather of white mist. “It’s impossible. I’ve got a murder mansion, a house full of suspects, a pile of evidence, and nothing.”

She pushed herself away from the column and walked off to look at the sheep in the fields below. They were already complaining to each other, in long, lowing baas. A few deer poked through the trees and sampled the early morning grass. Nate came up beside her. He was about to take another step when she remembered.

“Ha-ha,” she said, clutching his arm.

She pointed down.

“The fuck?” he said, looking down at the sheer, unmarked drop.

“It’s supposed to keep the animals away while preserving the view. They call it a ha-ha.”

“Like that laugh the kid from The Simpsons makes? What is wrong with people?”

“A lot of things,” she replied. She sat down on the ground, letting her legs dangle over the edge. She felt the wet grass soak into the butt of her onesie. It was not designed for this sort of use. Possibly any use. David was asleep upstairs right now. She had so little time left here, but it all seemed so hopeless. Why bother?

Because Angela was out there somewhere.

“Can we talk about something else for one second?” he said, sitting down next to her.

She turned in surprise.

“Well, since we seem to be in the middle of goddamned nowhere with no one around, and I was planning on . . . I figured this trip was a good time, and since we’re out here at dawn for no particular reason . . .”

Nate was struggling with words, squinting at the pale moon above them.

“What?” she prompted.