“It’s too bad the two of them didn’t have the chance to grow up together.”
“Yes, too bad. Susan missed out on so much.” He sighed. “There was so much I wanted her to have, so much we could have done if only things had been different. But things don’t always work out the way we want them to, do they? Things happen. People … don’t understand what’s important in life, and that we can’t let the petty things get in the way.”
“I’m sure Susan knew how you felt about her. That’s what’s important.”
“I wish she knew how important she is to me still.”
“That’s sweet.” Annie hesitated, trying to think of something to say that would be comforting and not too saccharine, coming up with nothing. “Well, thank you for talking to me again. I hope I haven’t brought back too many difficult memories for you.”
“No, I can understand wanting to know the truth about what happened to someone you’ve lost track of. And don’t worry about mentioning Susan’s cousin to me. As far as I’m concerned, she never had one.”
“Thanks, Mr. Prescott.” She smiled to herself. “Arch.”
“Goodbye, Annie.”
Annie hung up the telephone. So was Susan’s death an accident or not? She still knew nothing for certain either way, and there had to be some means of finding out. The question lurked in the back of her mind for the rest of the day. It was still there when she finally sat down that evening to work on her new sweater.
As usual, Boots wriggled up next to her in the overstuffed chair in front of the living room fire. Annie stroked the gray-velvet head, eliciting some purring chatter.
“What do you think, Miss Boots? Am I wasting my time wondering about all this?”
Boots merely blinked her eyes and then laid her head on Annie’s lap.
Careful to keep her yarn out of reach of curious paws, Annie began to crochet again. Who would want her to stop investigating Susan’s death? Her thoughts turned again to Sandy Maxwell. Were there family secrets that Sandy didn’t want getting out? Perhaps it was Mr. Maxwell who didn’t appreciate the attention. And what was going on between him and Sandy?
Annie shook her head. He hadn’t known Susan since he hadn’t come to live in the house on Elm Street until ten years after her death. Who besides the Maxwells had any connection to Susan at all?
There was only Prescott. Annie hadn’t even known he existed until after she had received the second note, and until she called him, he hadn’t known about her. Besides, he sounded eager to know if Annie found out more about Susan and not as if he wanted to cover it all up.
After a while, Annie laid her sweater in her lap, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. It was a puzzle, that was for certain.
She didn’t realize she had dozed off until she heard Boots growl. The cat had been sound asleep, but now she was standing up with her head thrust forward, staring fixedly at the front door.
“What is it, baby?”
Boots didn’t move, but she didn’t growl anymore. Maybe she had just had a bad dream.
Annie scratched her behind the ears. “Go back to sleep, kitty.”
She tried to push the cat back down into her lap, but Boots resisted, and the fur down her spine and along the length of her tail puffed out like gray eyelash yarn.
In spite of herself, Annie felt her heartbeat quicken. This was Stony Point, not New York City or Chicago. People here left their doors unlocked and weren’t afraid to walk alone at night.
She reached to stroke the cat again. “Boots …”
Once again, Boots growled.
Annie set her crochet on the end table beside her and put Boots down on the floor. She’d call Alice. Then when she took a look around outside, at least somebody would be watching out for her. No, she couldn’t call Alice. It was after midnight. Unless it was a genuine emergency—and the cat’s growling probably didn’t qualify—it would be rude to disturb anyone, even a best friend, this late.
She picked up the phone anyway and dialed Alice’s number, all but the last digit. Then she checked the front door. It was locked, but she slipped the dead bolt into place as well. She went out to the kitchen and checked the back door. She must have left that unlocked when she’d been out in the yard earlier in the day. She locked it, and then turned off the kitchen lights.
For a few seconds, she stood there in the dark just listening, but there wasn’t a sound anywhere in the house. Outside, the wind was rustling the tree limbs, and the sliver of a moon did little to illuminate the yard. Maybe it was just her imagination after all. She put her hand on the light switch and then froze.