The Nightingale Before Christmas(77)

“If you’re interested in seeing what the designers have done to the house, drop by,” I said. “I’ll leave a ticket for you.”

“Thank you, dear.” Emily’s eyes gleamed with real enthusiasm. “I do love house and garden tours—nothing more fun than peeking in on how other people live.”

She ushered me out and waved a cheerful good-bye from the doorway.

I headed back to the house with an interesting new theory. And I knew the minute I walked back into the house, I’d get caught up in the madness. So I stopped by my car, leaned against the bumper, and called the chief.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Something right, I hope,” I said. “I have an idea who Jessica, the fake reporter, really is.”

“I’m listening.”

And listening rather irritably, by the sound of it.

“You know the people who used to own the house before the bank foreclosed on it? The Greens?”

A small pause.

“I know of them,” he said. “I never met them, and I understand they’re no longer living in town. Haven’t been here for six years. Do you think they had something to do with the murder?”

“I talked to a little old lady across the street. Emily Warren.”

“The one-woman neighborhood watch,” he said. “I know Mrs. Warren.”

“She didn’t know the Greens that well,” I said. “But did remember that they had a daughter born shortly after they moved in. A redheaded daughter named Jessica. She remembered the name particularly because of Jessica Tandy.”

“Jessica Tan—oh. Driving Miss Daisy. One of Morgan Freeman’s finer roles. The fact that that he didn’t win an Academy Award for that role—but I digress. So you think the Jessica who pretended to be a student reporter was Jessica Green?”

“It makes sense,” I said. “And I remember something—Jessica was very upset when she saw what Vermillion was doing. I thought she was creeped out by all the Goth stuff, but maybe that wasn’t it. She talked about it being a perfectly nice bedroom and Vermillion was turning it into something out of the Addams Family. What if she was upset because Vermillion had done such a drastic remodel to her childhood bedroom?”

“I don’t think you need to have grown up in the house to find Miss Vermillion’s décor peculiar,” the chief said. “But go on.”

“And she was there at the house when Violet lost her key again—Violet was always losing keys. What if Violet didn’t lose her key that day? If Jessica picked it up, she’d have a perfect way to get back into the house that night. And she was also there when we were all dragging stuff out of Sarah’s room. She helped. She could have picked up the hidden gun.”

The chief said nothing for rather a long time. I was sure he was about to weigh in and demolish my suspicions with some bit of evidence he hadn’t shared with the public. Or announce that one of the Grangers had already confessed.

“I was already eager to talk to the missing Jessica,” he said. “She has just risen to the top of my priority list. I’m going to see what’s taking that sketch artist so long. I’ll call you as soon as he gets here.”

“I’m going to have Randall arrange to have the house rekeyed,” I said. “The designers have been strewing keys around like confetti for weeks now. I’ll feel a lot better if we know that Jessica can’t just waltz in with her own key.”

“Good thinking,” he said. “And read the riot act to everyone in the house about locking up.”

“Will do.”

Randall was still in the living room with Mother, helping Tomás and Mateo with something.

“Mother, I hate to interrupt, but we have an urgent project. Randall, the chief thinks it’s a good idea for us to rekey all the locks here, in case whoever killed Clay has a key to the house.”

“Does he have some reason for thinking that’s likely?” Randall asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Long story. I’ll fill you in later. Just get those locks rekeyed as soon as you can.”

“I’m on it.”

I went back to the hall and looked for Ivy. She wasn’t downstairs in the foyer. Or in the upstairs hall. I was opening the broom closet and peeking in, to see if she might be hiding there. No. Maybe in the basement—

“Meg?”

I started, and turned to find Ivy behind me.

“Do you need something?”

“Yes,” I said. “You.”

She looked startled.

“Look, I know you’re very busy,” I said. “I hate to interrupt your work, but could you do a quick sketch for me? It’s really important.”