Still Lake - Anne Stuart [30]
It had taken another couple of years, but Bill Cragen had taken to the case with enthusiasm, and taken Griffin under his wing when he got out, supporting him through law school and his fledgling career. Anyone as smart as he was shouldn’t waste his life as a ski bum, Bill had said. Besides, why not put those years of study to good use? And by the time Bill died of cancer, Griffin had earned his degree, joined Bill’s practice and become engaged to Bill’s daughter, Annelise. Stalwart, upstanding, with a snake tattooed across his hip and a dark night hidden deep in his soul.
Grace cackled. “She’s probably called the police by now. Or at least that nice doctor. Maybe I should go back by myself. We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
He was half tempted to let her. The thought of walking up to that house to a crowd of police brought back too many ugly memories, and not the ones he was searching for. But he couldn’t let the old lady wander alone at night down that overgrown path so near the lake—he was a ruthless shit, but he still had that much decency left in him. He wasn’t convinced she was as loony as she appeared to be, but he couldn’t really take any chances.
“A gentleman always sees a lady to her door,” he said. Not that anyone ever taught him that. Griffin had pretty much raised himself, and he’d picked up manners from reading, not from example. “And we don’t want to worry your daughter, now do we?” he said.
Grace tucked her arm in his and gave him a companionable smile as they started out onto the porch. “You didn’t kill her, did you?” she asked in her sweet voice.
She must have felt the involuntary jerk in his body, a dead giveaway. “Who?”
“I don’t remember. I just know someone was killed. I don’t think it was Sophie, but I can’t be sure. You didn’t kill Sophie, did you, young man?”
He didn’t answer. There was nothing he could say, even if he knew the truth.
But Grace wasn’t waiting for an answer that would never come. “Of course you didn’t, love,” she said, patting his arm in a vague, soothing manner. “Do you think I’d be wandering around in the night with you if you were a murderer?”
He looked down at her. He still wasn’t sure what to make of her—whether she was pulling an elaborate prank with her dotty-old-lady act, or whether she was really senile. She couldn’t be that old if she was Sophie’s mother, but she was so frail. He wasn’t in the habit of taking things at face value. Maybe she was playing a game, or maybe not. Maybe her mind was so addled she just picked up on things other people didn’t. Or maybe she asked everyone if they were murderers.
She’d run into trouble if she did, he thought coolly. Because someone had killed the three girls. And unless that someone was him, the killer might strike again.
His vain hope that Sophie might be unaware of her mother’s wanderings was dashed when they came through the end of the pathway. The main building of the old Niles homestead was ablaze with lights, and he thought he could see her standing on the porch, peering out into the darkness. At least there were no police cars parked there. No cars at all except for the late-model Subaru that belonged to Sophie.
“Yoo-hoo, dearie, I’m back!” Grace called out in a cheerful voice. “And wait till you see who I’ve brought with me.”
“I’ll head back now,” Griffin said, trying to disentangle his arm from her surprisingly strong grip. “Your daughter will take it from here.”
“I’m not sure I can make it to the house,” Grace said in a quavering voice,