Lie of the Needle(66)

            “They?”

            “Could be. To manhandle a guy into an attic and spray-foam him into the rafters would take a strong man, possibly two.”

            “There’s something else,” I said. “One of the neighbors in the Cassell development saw a flash of light out of the window of the vacant house that night. The McIntires’ house is directly across from it. Jim McIntire might have gone storming over there if he thought the photographer was taking pictures of his wife.”

            Serrano was focused on savoring the last piece of croissant. I wasn’t sure he’d even heard what I said. I almost felt like snapping my fingers to get his attention.

            “I don’t suppose you found a camera near the body?”

            He shook his head. “No. Why?”

            “I gave Roos a vintage camera that he said he planned to use for the shoot with Cyril. If he had it with him that night, where is it now? If we can find that camera, it might hold the clue to the murder.”

            “He coulda left it in Cyril’s truck while they went in the pub.”

            “Oh, you’re probably right.” I sighed, feeling deflated. Now that I thought about it, Alex wouldn’t have schlepped his stuff into the bar, because he would have assumed that Cyril was giving him a ride home. “Speaking of Cyril, though . . .”

            I told Serrano about the crossword puzzle in the newspaper, but before I was even halfway through the story, it sounded like a stretch, even to me.

            He placed his mug and napkin neatly on top of the plate. “Daisy, you need to keep a clear head on this one. You can’t let your emotions and panic about Cyril cloud your thinking. As a matter of fact, I’d rather you stay far away from this case. Whoever did that to Roos is a ruthless bastard. If Cyril Mackey did see what happened that night, he’s lying low for a good reason.”

            After he left, I logged on to the Internet and did some research on Beau Cassell, looking for news articles. Not surprisingly, he’d had run-ins with residents of other townships. I found plenty of angry bloggers who’d purchased Cassell homes complaining about the quality of the build. In fact, one group was involved in a lawsuit against him about a mold issue and how he’d failed to properly remediate the problem.

            I sucked in a breath as I saw a name and face I recognized. Terri Jones. The woman with the bad cough from the sampler group. I might have to stop by another class and have a chat. Had Roos reverted to his photojournalist roots and that’s what triggered his demise?

            I stood and stretched my back. And what had Cyril meant by the canary clue?

            “Come on, Cyril,” I said out loud. “I need more of the story. Why don’t you show yourself? Why not come home and let Serrano protect you from whatever’s going on?”

            So not only did I talk to mannequins, but now I was talking to a guy who wasn’t there and could quite possibly be dead.

            Stop it. Don’t talk like that. Alice was glaring at me.

            “You’re right.” Even if this was a psychotic episode, there was no sense thinking that way. I had to cling to the belief that Cyril was out there, somewhere.

            “Who are you talking to?”

            I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn’t heard the front door open again. Eleanor stood there, staring at me.

            Oh, the hell with it. “I was talking to Alice,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster.

            To my surprise, Eleanor didn’t snicker. “Bet she’s a good listener.” She walked past me toward the kitchen in the back. She was carrying a bulging grocery bag.