Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [93]
As they walked through the foyer on the way to the front door, Lee glanced at a table of magazines in the hallway. On top of the pile was a copy of Better Homes and Gardens—the same magazine from which Ana’s threatening note had been constructed. But Chuck had said only her prints had been found on it. And yet … he couldn’t help wonder if there was a connection.
As Lee and Butts drove up the hill toward Fiona Campbell’s house, Lee reflected upon how neatly Perkins had managed to gain the upper hand once again. Just when they were closing in on him, he wriggled out of the net. It was frustrating, though Lee suspected Butts had plenty of experience with slippery suspects. But without more forensic evidence, their hands were tied.
He glanced over at Butts, who was slumped down in the seat staring out the window. His body language said it all: Perkins had managed to evade them twice now. From the determined set of the detective’s jaw, though, Lee knew it would not happen a third time.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Lee had promised his mother he would stop by briefly, and it was a short drive up the hill to her house. When Lee and Butts stepped out of the car, they were greeted by a chorus of giggles. But when they looked around, they couldn’t see the source of all the merriment. The woods lay lush around them, in shameless summer fullness, with the deep green decadence of late August. The leaves clung to the trees as if they knew that in just a few weeks they would be parting forever, in the eternal seasonal cycle of death and renewal.
The giggles sounded again, and Lee heard rustling in the bushes next to the toolshed. There was no garage on the property, only an old wooden toolshed at the foot of the driveway. Fiona always claimed to like it that way, saying that she didn’t see any reason cars had to be “put to bed at night, as though they were children.” Lee suspected she just didn’t want to spend the money. Cars meant nothing to her—she drove a battered old blue Pontiac. She preferred to lavish her time and money on antiques and expensive home furnishings. Her house looked like something out of an upscale decorating magazine, with English hunting prints, medieval armoires, and handwoven Persian carpets.
Lee peered into the thicket surrounding the shed and saw a flash of yellow hair, then red. “I see two little birds hiding in the bushes,” he said, coming closer.
The giggles resumed again, growing more hysterical, as two small figures tumbled out of the bushes onto the lawn—his niece Kylie and her friend Meredith. The girls rolled around on their backs, laughing and clutching at each other, until Kylie got to her knees, panting.
“Did we scare you, Uncle Lee?”
“Well, I was certainly surprised,” he said.
Meredith got to her feet and brushed the grass from her clothes. She wore green pedal pushers and a yellow T-shirt, while Kylie had on a white cotton dress with purple flowers. Meredith’s bright red hair was in a thick braid down her back, and if not exactly pretty, at least she looked less odd than she had on Kylie’s birthday.
“Who’s that?” Meredith said, squinting up at Detective Butts, who was fishing a cigar out of his jacket pocket.
“That’s Detective Butts,” Lee replied.
“No way!” Meredith said. “That is so cool!”
“Uncle Lee works with detectives all the time,” Kylie said airily, pulling twigs and leaves from her hair. Her bare knees had grass stains, and her fingertips were stained purple.
“You’re a real detective?” Meredith said, walking over to Butts. She was only a few inches shorter than he was.
“Yup,” he said, placing the cigar between his teeth. “For instance, I know you’ve been berry picking.”
“Hey,” said Kylie.