Detective Anderson took the note back and put it in his bag. “The killer obviously wants to taunt you. Based on my experience, I would say this is most likely someone you know, though maybe not someone you know well. Someone on the periphery of your life.”
“Why do you think that?” Kate asked.
“We know it wasn’t a robbery. No valuables were taken. Your father verified that the only thing missing was the bracelet your mother always wore. If someone had broken in to rob the house, they would have taken much more.”
Kate considered this. “So you think someone deliberately targeted her to . . . ”
Before he could answer, Simon interrupted. “Where are you with the investigation? Are you closing in on any suspects?”
“We’re looking at everyone right now.”
Simon sighed loudly. “I’d appreciate a little more detail. For instance, a short list of suspects. People’s alibis. That sort of thing.” He, Kate, and Harrison, as well as their household employees, had provided detailed alibis to the police in the days immediately following the murder.
“Mr. English. We’re not in the habit of sharing the details of our investigation, because it can compromise our work. I assure you, we’re being very thorough.”
A silence hung in the room until Detective Anderson finally broke it. “Again, if there’s anything else you can tell me, now’s the time.”
Kate turned to Simon for some kind of assurance, but his face, white and stricken, told her he was as filled with panic as she was.
“Were you able to trace the text my wife received?” he asked.
Anderson shook his head. “No, we need to do it in real time. But if they send another one, we’ll be able to. I’ve also contacted the FBI behavioral unit. I’m going to fill out the paperwork to see if they can take a look at some of this. It could be a long wait, but we’ll see.”
Together, they walked to the front door. Detective Anderson pursed his lips again, shaking his head. “I know you’re frightened. We’re doing everything possible to protect you and your family, but please, be on guard too. Are you sure you can’t think of anything out of the ordinary that’s happened recently? Any hang-up calls? Any strangers who’ve approached you for directions or asked you for something seemingly insignificant? Anything odd at the hospital, Dr. English, or your firm, Mr. English?”
Kate thought about it for a minute but came up blank. She shook her head.
“I can’t think of anything either,” Simon said.
“Well, please get in touch if you do. Anything. I’d rather have extraneous information than miss something crucial.”
“Of course,” Kate and Simon said in unison. Suddenly drained, she leaned against him.
Before Anderson left, Blaire walked into the hallway with a crying Annabelle. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Annabelle wants her mom.”
As Kate reached out to take her daughter, Anderson extended his hand to Blaire. “I’m Detective Anderson. And you are?”
“This is one of my oldest friends, Blaire Barrington,” Kate said. “She came in from New York for the funeral.”
“Would you mind answering a few questions for me?” Anderson asked Blaire.
“Certainly.”
Simon piped in. “You can use my office.”
Blaire followed Anderson back to Simon’s office.
Kate looked at Simon. “I’m really scared,” she whispered. “Who could be doing this?”
Before he could answer, his phone rang. He held up a finger and looked at the screen. “Sorry, gotta take this.”
Kate felt her back go up at his offhanded dismissal. She watched angrily as he walked back down the hall. Taking a deep breath, she took Annabelle back to the kitchen, where Hilda was putting together a snack for her.
“Would you mind taking Annabelle into the playroom?”
“I want you, Mommy.”
“I’ll come in soon, sweetie. I just need to talk to Aunt Blaire for a minute. How about a chocolate bar? Special treat for being a good girl.” Kate winced as the words left her mouth, but sometimes bribery was the only way.
Annabelle was still pouting, but she nodded and took Hilda’s hand.
Ten minutes later Blaire was back.
“What did Anderson want to know?” Kate asked.
“He was just verifying my whereabouts the night Lily was killed. I gave him the number of my doorman and the names of my neighbors. He also asked if you and Simon seemed happy.”
Kate raised her eyebrows. She wondered briefly if Blaire had mentioned her feelings about Simon to Anderson.
“I told him we hadn’t been in touch for a while, so I didn’t know. I’m sure he’s just looking at every angle. But what happened before? You looked like you’d just seen a ghost when I came into the hall,” Blaire said gently.
Kate dropped into a chair, worn out by the stress. “I guess Selby left a while ago?”
“Yeah. She didn’t want to be late for her massage. Is everything okay?” The concern was evident in Blaire’s voice.
Kate took a minute to think. Could she tell Blaire what was going on? There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have hesitated. When they were young, Kate had no secrets from her. Before Blaire, Kate’s confidante had been her diary. Bad moods and problems were frowned upon in her home, when she was growing up. Or at least they were kept hidden. Whenever Kate was upset, Lily had always comforted her—at least in Lily’s own way. After a hug and some kind words, she never failed to remind Kate of how incredibly fortunate she was, that she should be thankful for all she had, that complaining or getting upset at her small problems was a sign of ingratitude. When Blaire came along, things had changed. Blaire had told Kate about her absent mother, indifferent father, and hated stepmother. She shared her insecurities and anxieties, and slowly, slowly, Kate opened up too. She had felt like a bird being set free from its cage, grateful to finally have someone tell her it was all right to be sad or angry or however else she felt for as long as she felt. It would be such a relief to confide in her, to let it all out. It took only a few seconds for her to decide to ignore Anderson’s order of secrecy and plunge ahead. “Not a ghost,” she finally said, “but something equally terrifying. A message from the killer.”
Blaire’s eyes widened in surprise. “Lily’s killer contacted you?”
From there, it came out in a rush. The threatening text the night of the funeral, the mice in her bathroom sink.
“And just now he sent three dead blackbirds on a skewer with the nursery rhyme ‘Sing a Song of Sixpence.’”
Blaire stared at her, unblinking, for a moment. “That’s absolutely horrible! What do they think it means?”
Kate shook her head. “They don’t seem to have any idea.”
“Well, what’s the plan?”
“They’ve cloned my phone and computers to see if they can trace who sent the text. They’ve questioned all of us, gathered the foundation files from Mother’s office and the house. And they’ve talked to staff at the hospital and at Simon’s office. Only one thing was missing from the house—her diamond bracelet. You remember, the one she wore all the time.” Kate rubbed her eyes, the fatigue beginning to wear on her. “There was a broken window by the front door, but it could have been done later to make it look like a robbery gone wrong. At this point, Detective Anderson feels it’s someone we know. Or at the very least someone Mother knew.”