“They have to disprove you to do that.” Maureen reached over for Abra’s hand. “They’re going to question you again, aren’t they?”
“I’m pretty sure of it. Maybe you and Mike, too.”
“We’ll handle it. And we’ll all handle gossips like Heather, too. I wonder if she’ll come to your next class here, at the cottage.”
“If she does, no bitch-slapping.”
“Spoilsport. Just for that, I’m taking a brownie for the road. If you need me, you call me. I’ll be home for the rest of the day. I’ve got to get some paperwork done before the kids get home.”
“Thanks.” Abra moved in for a hug as they rose. “For being just the right antidote to the idiot.”
When Maureen left, she went to her bedroom to change. Two brownies before noon made her feel just a little bit sick, but she’d get over it. And once she finished work for the day, she was going to Eli. For better or worse.
It took hours. When they’d cleared his office, Eli retreated to it while cops swarmed the house. Once he’d put his things back in order, he’d busied himself with calls, e-mails, neglected paperwork.
He’d hated calling his father, but trouble had a way of leaking. Better the family hear directly than through other means. He didn’t bother playing it down, his father was too smart for that. But at least he could reassure him and, through him, the rest of the family.
The cops would find nothing because there was nothing to find.
He couldn’t bring himself to write, not with the police, metaphorically at least, breathing down his neck. He shifted into research instead, eating away at the day by shifting from book research to research on Esmeralda’s Dowry.
He turned at the rap on the doorjamb. He acknowledged Corbett by swiveling the chair around, but didn’t get up, didn’t speak.
“We’re wrapping it up.”
“All right.”
“About that digging in the basement.”
“What about it?”
“That’s a hell of a trench down there.” Corbett waited a beat, but Eli didn’t respond. “No clue who’s responsible?”
“If I had a clue I’d have told Deputy Hanson.”
“It’s his theory and, I’m told, yours, that whoever broke in the night Duncan was killed dug it. And since he sure as hell didn’t do all that in one night, it wasn’t the first time he’d gotten in.”
“It’s a theory.”
Irritation flicked over Corbett’s face before he stepped in, closed the door at his back. “Look, Wolfe’s on his way back to Boston. If he comes back, unless he comes back with conclusive evidence against you, he’s on his own. There’s nothing tying you to Duncan’s murder at this time. The only connection is, person or persons unknown hired him to report on your movements. I don’t see you for it, for all the reasons discussed in our last meeting. Added to it, I’ve got no reason to doubt Abra Walsh’s word, even though my investigative powers tell me she’s spent a few nights here since, and not on the sofa downstairs.”
“Last I checked sex between consenting adults was still legal in Massachusetts.”
“And thank God for that. What I’m telling you is you’re not on my radar for this. The problem is nobody’s on my radar for this. Yet. What I’ve got is a break-in, an assault and a murder, in the same night. That makes me wonder. So if you do get a clue who’s been digging down there, it’d be in your best interest to let me know.”
He turned for the door, paused, turned back to face Eli. “I’d be pissed off if I had a bunch of cops going through my house all day. I’m going to tell you I handpicked them. If we didn’t find anything, there’s nothing to find. And I should further add that even though they were careful, this is a damn big house with a hell of a lot of stuff. Some of it may not be back in place.”
Eli hesitated as Corbett opened the door, then took the leap. “I think whoever dug that trench either pushed my grandmother on the stairs or caused her to fall. Then left her there.”
Corbett stepped back, shut the door again. “I’ve given that some thought myself.” Without waiting for the invitation, he crossed over, sat down. “She doesn’t remember anything?”
“No. She can’t even remember getting up, coming downstairs. The head trauma . . . the doctors say it’s not unusual. Maybe she’ll remember, maybe not. Maybe parts, maybe all, maybe none. She could’ve died, and probably would have if Abra hadn’t found her. Shooting a PI’s not a far reach from pushing an old lady down the stairs and leaving her to die. This is her place, her heart’s here, and she may never be able to live here, at least not on her own, again. I want to know who’s responsible for that.”