Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [75]
In the next minute, she fell into a terrible sleep.
Chapter Fifty-four
The next morning, Ellen parked her car in the same spot on the main drag, perpendicular to Surfside Lane. It was another hot, tropical day, but she was dressed for it today. She’d stopped at the hotel’s overpriced gift shop and bought a pink visor, a pair of silver Oakley knockoffs, and a chrome yellow T-shirt that read SOUTH BEACH, which she’d paired with white shorts from home. Inside her pockets were a plastic glove and a folded brown paper bag.
She took a slug from a bottle of orange juice, still cold from the minibar. She felt weighed down by the news of Amy Martin’s death and couldn’t shake the fear that the overdose wasn’t accidental. She put aside her dark thoughts to tend to the task at hand, especially because she wanted to get back home in time for the funeral.
She set the bottle in the cup holder and scoped out the scene, which was quiet except for people exercising. Two older women power-walked around the block, carrying water bottles and yammering away, and a younger woman was running in a sports bra with a black bathing suit bottom. Yet a fourth woman walked her white toy poodle, her cell phone and pedometer clipped to her waist like so much suburban ammunition.
Ellen was trying a new tack, so she got out of the car, pocketed her keys, and started walking. She strolled ahead with purpose, scanning the houses on either side of the street. No one had any red flags up on their mailboxes, and she wondered what time the mail would be picked up. She hoped Carol would mail a letter, so she could get DNA from the envelope.
She picked up the pace, gaining on the two older women who motored ahead in their sneakers. They wore Bermuda shorts in pastel colors and patterned tank tops, and even at seventysomething, looked in terrific shape. Each had short silver hair, but the woman on the left wore a yellow terry-cloth visor, and the one on the right had a white baseball cap. Ellen fell into stride with them before the Bravermans’ house.
“Excuse me, ladies,” she began, and they both turned around. “Do you know what time the mail pickup is in this neighborhood? I’m house-sitting on Brightside Lane for my cousins, and I forgot to ask them before they left this morning.”
“Oh, who are your cousins?” Yellow Visor asked pleasantly.
“The Vaughns,” Ellen answered without hesitation. Earlier this morning, she had driven down Brightside, about eight blocks away, and picked a name from one of the mailboxes. “June and Tom Vaughn, do you know them?”
“No, sorry. Brightside’s a little too far over.” Yellow Visor cocked her head, eyeing Ellen with confusion. “So why are you walking here and not there?”
Uh. “There’s a big dog on that street, and I’m afraid of dogs.”
“I agree with you. We’re cat people.” Yellow Visor nodded. “Mail gets picked up around eleven o’clock in the morning. I’m Phyllis, and you’re welcome to walk with us, if you’re all alone.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Ellen hoped to pump them for information until Carol mailed a letter or her DNA otherwise fell out of the sky.
“Good, we like new faces. We’ve been walking every day, two miles for the past six years, and we’re sick of each other.” Phyllis laughed, and her friend in the baseball cap nudged her.
“Speak for yourself, Phyl. You’re not sick of me, I’m sick of you.” She looked at Ellen with a warm smile. “I’m Linda DiMarco. And you?”
“Sandy Claus,” Ellen answered, off the top of her head. They approached the Bravermans, where Carol’s car was in the driveway, but Bill’s was gone. She gestured casually to the memorial on the lawn. “What’s that sign all about, do you know? And all these yellow ribbons?”
“Oh my, yes,” Phyllis