All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [76]
She took a left turn and wound deeper into the neighborhood, pulling to a stop in front of a large red-brick house with white columns. Quinn Buckley stood on the porch, her arms wrapped around her body as if she was cold, her pretty face pinched and drawn. She looked terribly tired and uncomfortable. Of course, this house was a far cry from the palatial mansion Quinn was accustomed to, maybe she just felt out of her element.
Taylor chided herself silently. Now, that wasn’t a very nice thing to think. The woman just lost her sister, give her the benefit of the doubt. She got out of the car and walked across the grass to the front steps. She saw that Quinn had already picked up two copies of the Tennessean and was holding them in her left hand. She held them up, shaking the papers slightly, the plastic covers rustling in her hand.
“I guess I have to cancel her subscription. I guess I’m going to have to do a lot of things around here.” Quinn gave her a small smile that didn’t make it all the way to her cool blue eyes.
Taylor nodded. “It’s always hard to get things settled after someone passes. Is there anyone else who can help you? Did Whitney have a boyfriend, someone who was familiar with her everyday things?”
Quinn laughed, a bitter sound. “No, Whitney didn’t have time for a boyfriend. She didn’t have time for anyone but herself. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but my sister was one of the most selfish people you could ever meet. Everything revolved around her and her plans, her dreams. She couldn’t be bothered with anyone else.” She turned and stuck a key in the lock. “She left it under the mat for the cleaning lady. She told me that a while ago, I assumed it would still be there and it was. Here we go.”
The oak door swung open and Taylor was assailed by the smell of furniture polish and Clorox. Her heart sank. “Did the cleaning lady just come?” she asked Quinn.
“I believe she came once a week, but I’m not sure which day. Usually midweek, I think. Is that a problem?”
“No, not necessarily a problem. If I was investigating a crime here, it would be, but since this was ruled an accident, it shouldn’t make a difference. But if there was something here that your sister was basing her panicky phone calls to you on, I would want to see it. But maybe we’re grasping at straws. It doesn’t mean that there’s anything tangible. Let’s just look around.”
Quinn nodded and led the way through the foyer. The house was beautifully decorated to within an inch of its life. Parquet floors led to a spacious kitchen filled with the latest trends—black granite counters with an Italian-stone backsplash, whitewashed cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. An office area and breakfast nook split the kitchen from a large living room. Mullioned windows ran the length of the house along the back, and natural light flooded from the fenced-in backyard. Everything had a place, not a thing was disturbed. It was very homey, yet there was an antiseptic quality to it all. As if a decorator had decided what Whitney would like rather than Whitney herself deciding. Taylor supposed that if she was as busy as Whitney had obviously been, then she might have someone else do the decorating too.
Taylor moved slowly through the downstairs of the house. The maid had been thorough, there was nothing amiss. Damn, that just made things more difficult. As she turned to go into the living room, a briefcase and a laptop computer caught her eye. The brand-new computer was sitting on the desk of a built-in set of shelves, and the briefcase sat at the foot of the chair. Taylor carefully opened the briefcase but saw nothing that excited her. Whitney didn’t bring a lot of paperwork home.
She pulled out the chair and sat in front of the computer. She opened the top and was rewarded with a full screen of e-mails. Whitney Connolly hadn’t logged out of her computer when she took off like a bat out of hell for her sister