“You mean, did I think any of them was the killer?”
“I guess it would be a little hard to tell.”
“There was no aha moment, if that’s what you mean. Of course, I did get a reaction when I mentioned two of your deceased classmates in the same breath.”
She nodded. Trying to figure out how the deaths were tied together was one of the first things Max had done—as opposed to the local police who didn’t even think that Gary and Patrick had been murdered, as far as she could tell. That was one of the reasons she’d contacted Rockfort Security. When she’d spoken to the local cops, they’d assured her they were investigating Angela’s death. But she had been frustrated by their lack of progress and their inability to tie together what had happened to Angela, Gary, and Patrick. Of course, to be fair, if Gary and Patrick had been murdered, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make their deaths look like accidents. And then there was the problem of motive. Why them? And why Angela?
When she’d gotten the news about Gary and Patrick, Olivia had been in the midst of grueling shooting schedules—one for a new designer line of evening wear and the other for swimsuits. She hadn’t been able to come down for either funeral. But when Angela had turned up murdered, the news had sent a chill up Olivia’s spine. Patrick’s death really could have been an accident. So could Gary’s for that matter. But her gut had told her otherwise, and she’d been seized by the conviction that she had to take action—before someone else died.
She wasn’t sure why she knew there was going to be a next time. But the anticipation had gnawed at her, and she’d started investigating local detective agencies. She’d gotten some good recommendations for Rockfort Security, and they had felt right. But had she made a hasty decision by teaming up with Max? She hoped not. In almost every way, he was perfect for the job. That he’d gone to Donley was a plus. But Olivia hadn’t counted on the simmering sexual dynamic she sensed between them. She thought the attraction was mutual and wondered if they would struggle to keep the relationship on a strictly professional level.
She shifted her gaze toward Max. “You still think it could be a woman?”
“I don’t want to discount it.”
“But what’s the motive?”
“What’s the motive if it’s a man?” he countered.
They’d been over this several times, and Max had been digging into the backgrounds of the victims. So far, he hadn’t come up with anything that connected them besides being in the same graduating class and sharing some classes and activities. Olivia knew he was hoping she could supply a connection—if she thought back about the relationships. Or if she was honest with him about her high school years. But wasn’t that asking too much? Who wanted to look back at the fears and insecurities of high school?
They drove in silence toward her parents’ house, past a couple of small, well-lit shopping centers that hadn’t been in existence when she’d lived in the county.
“The area’s changed,” she murmured, voicing her thoughts aloud as she took in the signs of civilization encroaching on what had been open fields.
“For better or worse?” Max asked.
“Depends on whether you think strip malls and housing developments are better than farms.”
He nodded. “But there are some advantages to civilization. You can run out for a pizza without driving twenty minutes each way.”
“Right. You can even have that pizza delivered,” she agreed, thinking that when she’d been little, the county services out here had been minimal. They didn’t even have garbage collection back then. Mom would carefully gather the vegetable scraps at the sink, then take them outside and toss them over one of the fields near the house. The health department probably would cite you for doing something like that now. You had to use an approved composting container.
There was no light at the end of the entrance road, and Max slowed as he looked for the driveway.
“There’s a redbud tree next to the mailbox,” Olivia said.
“Sorry. I guess I never got into tree identification.”
“The ones with the gorgeous little pink flowers in spring. Two weeks of eye-popping glory. Then just big leaves shaped like shields.”
“Okay. Yeah. I think I know what they look like when they’re blooming. They’re all over the woods, right?”
“Yes.”
“But I never noticed the leaves.”
He spotted the tree and turned at the lane that led to her old house. As he bumped up the gravel road, a couple of floodlights went on, and she took a good look at the house where she’d grown up. It was vintage farm property like a thousand others in this part of Maryland. The hundred-year-old house was dwarfed by the barn that stood thirty yards to the right. Generations of Winterses had lived here, and she understood why Dad had stayed on, even when he’d gotten too old to farm. The thought of breaking her ties with this place made her chest tighten. She might have struggled hard to escape her background, but it seemed it would always be in her soul.