When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(48)

“You ever walk in on a hanging where a loved one didn’t try to cut down the body?” Kimberly asked now.

“No. First instinct is always to get the person down. Then again . . .” D.D. indicated to Martha Counsel’s bloated purple face. “She’s clearly past saving.”

Kimberly nodded, pursed her lips, walked around the room again. “I don’t like it. But I have no good reason not to like it.”

“Agreed.”

“I wonder what she meant about being wrong to live at another’s expense.” D.D. shrugged.

“One way to find out. Come on, let’s deal with the husband.” Kimberly led the way back down the hall to the sunroom.

D.D. thought she caught a flash of movement. A person, disappearing down the hall, but it was too fleeting to be sure. She wondered again about Martha’s niece.

Was the mayor really the kind of guy to brew his own cup of coffee? Somehow, she doubted it.

Howard was still sitting at the table. The sheriff was positioned across from him. Neither man was talking.

“Is there someone we can call for you?” Kimberly asked, her voice surprisingly gentle considering her skeptical tone earlier.

The mayor looked up blearily. “She was my world,” he said.

D.D. walked behind him, brushing his shoulder. She thought she caught a whiff of whiskey, but couldn’t be sure. “Fresh coffee?” she asked.

He had to turn the other way to answer her, which gave Kimberly the chance to lean closer for her own inspection. Divide and conquer. Policing 101.

“I’m fine, thank you,” the mayor said. His voice sounded hollow, a faint shadow of the sure figure he’d been just the day before.

“More people will be arriving,” D.D. said calmly. “Officers, evidence techs, the coroner. It’s only a matter of time before your guests wake up and start asking questions, as well.”

“Evidence techs?” Howard echoed.

“Perhaps I could fetch your niece to help. Which room . . .”

The mayor finally roused himself. “No need. I just . . . there’s a button. Push the button.” He got up abruptly, crossed to the far wall, where D.D. now noticed a swinging door that probably led to the kitchen. There appeared to be a panel beside it, for summoning the hired help. The mayor pushed a black button. Then without saying another word, or awaiting a response, he returned to the table.

“Do you believe your wife killed herself?” Kimberly asked softly.

“She hasn’t . . . she hasn’t been herself. Not since.” The mayor swallowed heavily. He picked up his coffee cup. Once again, his hand trembled so violently he had to set it back down. “Not since the discovery, a month ago,” he whispered.

“The discovery of the first grave?” Kimberly clarified.

“Yes.”

“How was Martha not herself?” the sheriff prodded softly.

“She seemed distracted. Upset. And at night . . . she used to have a single glass of sherry. But lately . . . I knew something was bothering her. I tried to ask. I did!” The mayor glanced up abruptly, his eyes wild. “But she wouldn’t talk to me. She wouldn’t!”

The connecting door at the other end of the room suddenly swung open. The girl appeared, wearing her blue maid’s uniform and bearing a silver coffeepot. Her eyes fell immediately on D.D. She paused infinitesimally, then recovered herself, moving forward as if nothing was amiss. She dragged her right leg slightly, and her face appeared as pale and bruised as the mayor’s. Had she seen the body? Did she know what her “aunt” had supposedly done?

Or was she once again just the hired help? Summoned to serve and knowing better than to question it?

Now, she wordlessly topped off the mayor’s coffee cup, while studiously avoiding D.D.’s gaze. She set the pot in the middle of the table, then turned back toward the kitchen.

“Poor thing,” the mayor said, looking right at D.D. “First her mother, and now this.”

“We’ll want to question everyone who was present this evening,” D.D. started, before the mayor’s harsh laugh interrupted.

“Ask her questions? She can’t answer. How cruel can you be? Besides, she doesn’t know anything. When I first found the body . . . I started screaming. She came. Cook, too. They may be staff, but we are also family. We all need time to grieve.”

With the mayor’s attention fully on her, D.D. had no choice but to nod. She would love to force the issue, follow the girl directly into the kitchen and play their one-finger-for-yes, two-fingers-for-no game. But the truth was, the girl was a minor and her uncle ostensibly her legal guardian. D.D. had no grounds to pursue the matter without Mayor Howard’s explicit permission.

The girl disappeared through the swinging door. She’d had her left hand down by her side, but D.D. couldn’t tell if she was holding out any fingers or not. With all eyes watching, D.D. forced herself to focus once more on Mayor Howard.

“Why do you think your wife was off?”

The mayor didn’t answer right away, staring instead at the fresh steam rising up from his coffee cup. “Martha was born with only one kidney,” he said presently, his voice rough. “Twenty years ago, that kidney started to fail. Martha went on the transplant list, but you know how it is. So many who need organs, so few that are available.”