“There was no hope for Annabel. I could see that. She was dead, and the fire had already reached her. And I knew who’d done it. I saw a figure sneaking away toward his house, and I was sure it was him. And I figured once he found out he’d killed the wrong cousin, he’d try again. So the first thing I did was run inside to get my partial plate from the medicine cabinet. By the time I got back out, the fire had spread so far I couldn’t get near where she was lying, so I just threw the plate in and hoped the police would assume it had fallen out when she fell or something.”
“And they did,” Dr. FFollett put in. “I knew as soon as I heard about the accident—”
“The non-accident,” Cordelia corrected. “The murder.”
“The fire, then—I knew it was a mistake. That it couldn’t possibly be Cordelia.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“I don’t wear the plate anymore,” she said. “Got an implant—how long has it been, Dwight—thirty years?”
“Thirty-two as of April,” he said. “I checked my records. I assumed the police would be requesting them. I came over to warn Cordelia that I wasn’t going to lie. That when the police questioned me, I’d tell them it couldn’t be her. That it was Annabel.”
“But the fools never asked,” Cordelia said. “So since Dwight promised to keep my secret until they did, for now I’m safe.”
“And my professional ethics are in tatters,” Dr. Ffollett said.
“It’s your ethics or my life,” Cordelia snapped. And then her face softened. “I understand that if you’re asked, you have to tell. And I’m as disappointed as you are that they never asked, because that would have meant they were taking the case seriously. Instead of hoping people would forget about it. Or maybe hoping I’d die and stop bothering them.”
“I’m surprised the medical examiner didn’t compare the plate they found with Annabel’s teeth,” I said. “Unless of course the two of you were missing precisely the same tooth or teeth—”
“We were,” she said. “It’s a genetic condition. Runs in the Lee family. It’s called—”
“Peg lateral,” I said.
They both stared at me.
“How do you know about that?” Dr. Ffollett asked.
“Dad has it, too,” I said. “He’s missing one of his lateral incisors. And while my brother, Rob, and I weren’t affected, my sister Pam is missing the same tooth.”
“Upper right side?” Cordelia asked.
I nodded.
“Fascinating!” Dr. Ffollett exclaimed. “Have you ever sent in your DNA to the National Geographic’s Genographic Project? You might have Native American ancestry. Peg lateral tends to be more common in certain Native American tribes. Although usually both upper lateral incisors are affected and the tooth is very small rather than completely missing. This could be a different mutation entirely! I’ve always thought it would be a fascinating subject for a paper, and now with two more subjects—”
“If you had an implant over thirty years ago, why did you still have your partial plate lying around?” I asked Cordelia.
She shook her head.
“Beats me,” she said. “Why do we have kerosene lanterns and butter churns lying around? Seemed a waste just to throw it out. Or maybe I had a premonition that someday the old plate would be useful.”
“A pity you didn’t also have a premonition that the old kerosene lantern in the shed would cause problems,” Dr. Ffollett said.
“I’m not even sure that was our kerosene lantern,” Cordelia snapped. “I think someone planted it. Weaver. Or whoever killed Annabel.”
“Did you really think you’d get away with it?” My voice was perhaps a little sharper than it needed to be. I wasn’t completely past the anger. “Didn’t you realize that sooner or later someone would find out?”
“I didn’t think I needed to get away with it,” she said. “Not for long. I thought the police would investigate, get the goods on Weaver, and arrest him. With him locked up, I’d be safe, and I could come out of hiding. If I’d known the whole thing would still be dragging on six months later, maybe I’d have taken my chances.”
“Chief Heedles said you’d given her a statement right after the murder,” I said. “Didn’t she suspect anything?”
“One little old lady looks pretty much like another to most people,” Cordelia said.
“Then there’s the fact that you pretended to be so overcome with grief that you had taken to your bed with a cold compress over your eyes,” Dr. Ffollett said. “One little old lady with a washcloth covering her whole face does look pretty much like another, I’ll give you that.”