Promise Not To Tell(25)

He would plant a few clues that would send the police in an entirely different direction, he decided. The killing had taken place in Pioneer Square. The most logical story would involve drugs and a mystery man. He could invent an online ghost. The police would waste days or even weeks chasing Sandra’s unknown lover. Eventually they would give up.

He thought about that some more. Yes, he liked that idea very much. The cops would look for a man. He would point them toward one who didn’t exist.

He returned to the freezer, took out the chilled bottle of vodka and poured himself another glass. He reran the scene in the back room of the gallery. Again. A dark thrill shuddered through him.

Two shots, just like a pro.

Crazy bitch.

CHAPTER 14

The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted Virginia the next morning when she opened her guest room door.

There was a familiar face in the hall.

“Good morning, Louann,” Virginia said.

Louann Montrose was a small, whip-thin, sharp-faced woman in her early forties. Virginia had gotten to know her because Louann had worked first for Abigail Watkins and was now handling the B and B housekeeping for Rose Gilbert.

Today, Louann was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Her graying hair was pulled back and secured with a rubber band. She was pushing a large cart bristling with cleaning utensils.

She paused when she saw Virginia.

“Hey, there, Virginia,” she sang out in her cheery, singsong voice. “When I arrived this morning, Rose told me that you were back on the island. She said you had a friend with you this time.”

Louann’s face had the tight, weathered look of a woman who’d endured a tough past and had probably overcome more than one addiction. She radiated what Virginia considered an unnatural air of perpetual bliss and serenity. She was a devoted student of yoga and meditation.

The door of the neighboring room opened. Cabot appeared.

Louann brought her cart to a halt. “So you’re Virginia’s friend. Welcome to the island.”

“Thanks,” Cabot said.

Virginia stepped in quickly. “This is Louann Montrose, Cabot. She’s worked here at the B and B for years.”

Cabot inclined his head. “Nice to meet you, Louann.”

“A pleasure,” Louann sang. “Will you two be staying long?”

“No,” Virginia said. “We’re leaving on the afternoon ferry. Cabot is a private investigator.”

Alarm flickered in Louann’s pale eyes. She stared at Cabot.

“Why are you investigating Hannah’s death?” Louann’s voice lost some of its singsong quality. “You think there was something suspicious about it?”

“At this point I’m just asking questions,” Cabot said mildly. “Did you know Hannah Brewster?”

“Of course I knew her. Everyone on the island knew her.”

“Any reason to think someone might have wanted to hurt her?” Cabot asked.

“None of the locals, that’s for sure,” Louann said, very firm now. “Hannah wasn’t what you’d call the warm and friendly type. Her only real friend was the woman who used to own this place, Abigail Watkins. But Hannah wouldn’t have hurt a fly and no one on the island had a problem with her.”

“I believe you,” Virginia said hastily. “But I’m wondering if someone from Hannah’s past might have come to the island to do her harm.”

Louann’s mood changed again. Now she was curious.

“You’re talking about that cult she and Abigail used to belong to, aren’t you?” she said.

Virginia nodded. “Yes.”

“But that was ages ago,” Louann said. “Why would someone come after Hannah after so much time?”

“I don’t know,” Virginia said. “But I can’t get the idea out of my head.”

Louann’s blissful serenity snapped back into place. She gave Virginia a beatific smile.

“I know what it’s like to get dark thoughts in your head and not be able to get rid of them,” she said, once again using her musical voice. “You know what you should do?”

“What?” Virginia asked.

“You should take up meditation. It will do wonders to calm your mind.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Virginia said. “I’ll look into it.”

“You said you were checking out today?” Louann asked.

“That’s right,” Cabot said.

“Mind if I go ahead and make up your beds now? I can do the rest of the cleaning later after you leave.”

“Sure,” Virginia said. “Go ahead and make the beds.”

“Thanks,” Louann said. “I’ll get the fresh sheets.”

She left the cart where it was and walked a short distance down the hall. She disappeared into the laundry room.

Cabot closed the door of his room and waited while Virginia shut hers. They walked toward the stairs. At the door of the laundry room Cabot stopped. Virginia did, too.

The big house had been designed originally as a summer residence for a wealthy timber baron with a large family. The owners had entertained lavishly. In those days there would have been several servants on the staff, Virginia reflected. The laundry room contained a deep sink designed for soaking soiled linens, shelves stacked high with towels and sheets, and a large laundry chute.