They stared ahead at the dark TV, silent as they went over every minute of that day. But Janet Beeson wasn’t a person you could remember very well. She was short, dumpy, gray-haired, with unplucked eyebrows, no makeup, and a quiet voice that didn’t carry well. An unassuming woman, someone who faded into the background. The day she was at Sara’s house, she’d silently taken a seat, opened her laptop, and started searching for whatever someone told her to look for.
The truth was that she was such an unremarkable person that it was embarrassing. They couldn’t recall a thing she’d said. She didn’t make jokes or complain or even ask questions. When everyone was driving Kate crazy about what food was to be served at the memorial for the Morrises, Janet had made no comment. She’d just stayed in the background, always helping, never asking anything of anyone.
“This really and truly makes no sense,” Sara said. “Why would anyone want to kill her? I know at least five people in this town who deserve worse than what was done to her.”
“Leave my relatives out of this,” Jack said.
His semijoke brought them out of their stupor and they again stood up.
Sara looked at Jack. “Your mother seemed to know Janet well. She might have some idea about why Janet was targeted.”
“You said you photographed the whole house?” Kate asked Sara.
“She even videoed it,” Jack added in wonder. Sara liked still photos, not pictures that moved.
They looked at each other. They were standing in a circle, as though they meant to close out the rest of the world.
>
After a moment, Kate took a few steps back. “I’m not going to get involved, but I am going to talk to Heather. Maybe she remembers something from that day.”
“I think I’d be better at talking to my own mother.”
Kate grimaced. “You can’t go. Heather will cook some childhood thing for you, then your sister will arrive, and you’ll forget all about poor Janet Beeson.”
Sara nodded in agreement. “I need to go buy some flash drives to put the photos on.”
Jack frowned. “I hope you don’t mean to let people see pictures of that body. My mother and sister aren’t to see it. They—”
“Give me a break.” Sara headed toward her bedroom, then stopped. She was looking at Kate and there was fear in her eyes. “I’m serious when I say that we shouldn’t get involved in this. I don’t want us to deal with the police, the sheriff’s department, any of it. Are we agreed?” She didn’t have to say that she was thinking about what had nearly happened to Kate when they’d investigated another murder.
“Yes.” Kate’s smile showed her relief.
“I agree,” Jack said.
Smiling, Sara nodded. “Okay, Kate, go talk to Heather. When you get back, tell me what you learned, I’ll write it up, and we’ll give a report to Sheriff Flynn. Then we’re done with all of this. Does that sound good?”
“Excellent,” Kate said.
“Yes,” Jack added. “Whoever did that to Mrs. Beeson is dangerous. And insane.”
“Or driven to insanity by something that we obviously don’t know about,” Sara said. “We’ll meet back here by six. Jack, get a couple of pounds of prawns.”
“It’s not my turn for the grocery. I’d have to make a second trip.”
Kate knew what he wanted. “Okay! You can go with me to your mom’s.”
“Good idea. Maybe while you two are talking, Mom might cook something. Don’t look at me like that. I missed lunch.”
“Whatever,” Kate said, then turned to hide her smile. She didn’t relish the idea of talking about death—especially a brutal one—to anyone.
* * *
Heather’s pretty kitchen was designed by her daughter and built by her son. She was at the stove finishing a pot of minestrone while Jack and Kate sat at the counter. There was a platter of snacks before them: raw veg for her, cheese and crackers for him.
“We heard about the suicide,” Heather said.
Her back was to them so she didn’t see Kate start to speak, then Jack shaking his head no.