Murder by Yew (An Edna Davies Mystery #1)(40)

“I got through. Patrol car’s on its way,” Mary said, slamming the door behind her.

Edna waited for her pulse to slow after this latest fright and felt the phone being thrust into her hands.

“Battery’s low.”

“Oh, no. Not now.” Edna took the phone and asked Mary to shine the light on the small handset so she could dial Starling’s apartment in Boston. While she waited for a response on the other end, she looked up toward Mary’s silhouetted form. “Albert takes care of charging our cell phones. He must not have checked it before he left Thursday.”

On the fourth ring, Starling’s answering machine kicked on, and her voice asked that the caller leave a message. Considering it was sometime between three and four in the morning, and knowing what a sound sleeper her daughter was, Edna didn’t worry that Starling hadn’t picked up the phone herself. “It’s your mother, dear. I’m fine. I just wanted …”

Several shrill beeps sounded before the phone went dead. In the dim light, Edna watched with frustration as the light faded away on the little monitor. Not wanting to accept what she feared to be true, she shook the phone and pressed the redial button before putting the receiver to her ear again. Nothing. She hit the side of the phone against the palm of her left hand and again poked redial. It was no use. Communication with her family was cut off.

Hoping her message had been recorded, Edna pushed herself out of the chair. She felt as alone as she had ever been in her life and realized with a shock that she had better start doing something about her predicament. Nobody else was going to. With that thought came the understanding of how much of her security and well-being she had left to those around her, particularly Albert. Now, it seemed as if her entire world were falling apart.

In her husband’s absence, she was the next line of defense for herself and their home. If they think they can get the better of me, just because Albert’s not here, they have another think coming, she thought. With a growing anger, she straightened her back and looked at Mary’s indistinct form. At that moment, she wanted light, needing to see clearly. “Let’s get some hurricane lanterns from the kitchen,” she said.

Mary and Hank stayed close as Edna lit several lamps and carried one to the hall table. She was about to lead the little parade back into the kitchen when she heard cars crunching up the broken-shell driveway and opened the door to two uniformed policemen.

Both men exceeded six feet by an inch or two, but Willis Russell was as blond and slender as Zeb Grayson was dark and burly. Each man carried a large flashlight with a beam so strong that it shed more light in the hall than did the kerosene lamp. Once they’d introduced themselves, the men entered the house and immediately began directing rays of light over the walls and down the hall toward the living room.

“What’s this?” Russell’s beam picked out the easel.

“Looks like Tom Greene,” Grayson said, surprise in his voice.

The sheet of paper, which Edna was certain had been secured over the portrait, lay on the floor, and Tom looked back at them, seeming almost alive in the light that shone on the drawing.

“Good, isn’t it?” Mary said.

Even in the dimly lit hallway, Edna saw the look that passed swiftly between the two policemen and felt her face redden. “These men aren’t here to admire my artwork,” she said to Mary. “Would you gentlemen like to come into the kitchen? I have more lanterns in there, and the light’s a little better. We can sit down.”

“You want Hank to search and secure the place first?” Mary spoke to the officers.

Grayson smiled as he squatted beside Hank and rubbed the dog’s head. “I know this big guy. Used to go fishin’ with Tom and him. I think if anyone was still in the house, he’d have flushed ‘em out afore now.”

Officer Russell was shining his light around the floor. “If you two ladies will wait here, Zeb and I will see what we can make of these prints on the floor. Oh, and we’d better have your shoes and slippers.”

While she waited in silence, watching the men slowly follow the muddy tracks through to the kitchen, Edna wondered where Mary had put her gun. She turned toward the living room and considered the easel. There was no mud at that end of the hall, but it looked like water spots on the rug, as if rain had dripped from someone’s coat.

She lifted the lantern from the hall table and held it before her as she walked slowly down the room, studying the floor. Drops of water led to the easel, where bigger splotches formed puddles in front of the wooden frame. One corner of the paper lying next to the easel was wet.

“What are you doing?” Russell had come up beside her. “We need you to stand aside, Mrs. Davies.”

She ignored him, frowning at the floor. “Why would there be water here but no mud?”

He lifted his hat by the brim and scratched his head as he looked at the wet spots. “This confirms what Zeb and I were just talking about. Looks like whoever was here took off their shoes when they came in, so’s not to make any recognizable tracks. Either that, or sometimes they’ll tie plastic baggies over their shoes. Seen it done before. Only recognizable foot impressions we’ve found seem to be Mary’s, Hank’s or yours. Looks like someone saw this easel standin’ here and came over to see what it was. Water trail stops right here.”

Grayson appeared behind his partner. “No signs of a break-in. Either the door was unlocked, or they had a key.”