Page 18 of A Deeper Darkness

“But that’s Mrs. Emerson’s place. She’s in France for the spring and summer.”

“So the house was vacant?” Fletcher asked.

“It’s supposed to be. She travels quite a bit. A widow. A merry widow. George Emerson, that’s her husband, died three years ago. She’s been lonely, says travel helps.”

Fletcher shifted and she realized she sounded like an idiot. That wouldn’t do.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m babbling. Maybe this man was a friend of hers. She’s had a string of boyfriends. Amazing, really, a woman of her age keeping that pace.”

“He might have been a bit young for her,” Hart said dryly. “Do you have contact information for Mrs. Emerson?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. She has a housekeeper, though. She’d probably have all that.”

“Regular housekeeper?”

“Yes. Daily when she’s home, weekly when she’s out of town.” She smiled apologetically. “Sure would be nice. I work full-time, trying to make partner, and with the three kids, and Roy… Well, things are a bit of a mess.”

“You know when the maid was here last?”

“Um.” Maggie thought about it. “Yesterday morning, maybe.”

“This is a nice neighborhood,” Fletcher said.

“Yeah, it is. I’ve lived here my whole life—my parents left me the place when they passed. But it’s not the kind you’d expect people to be murdered in.”

The detectives were silent for a minute, just watching her. She hated how cops made her feel guilty, even when she hadn’t done anything wrong. Maggie heard the kids’ screaming laughter, the decibels leaking out through the closed door.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. It’s my daughter’s birthday, we’re having cake. Is there anything else?”

Fletcher shook his head. “No, ma’am. Here’s my info. If you remember anything, please give us a call. Thanks for your time.”

She took his card and went back inside. Shut the door, then turned the dead bolt. Debated telling the kids, decided against it. Keep them in the kitchen, away from the scene. They’d be fascinated and horrified, wanting all the details, then would have nightmares. Like Jen had last night. She really needed to smack Bobby for giving her that book. But they may be more cooperative… No. Better to keep them in the dark.

She dropped Fletcher’s card on the table by the door and steeled herself for what she had to do next.

She never even thought about what Jen had said to her, that small, scared voice in the dark. All she knew was as soon as they had their cake, she had to get them all out.

She’d read about Donovan’s death. A carjacking. On the surface, a senseless act. But now, three days later, Croswell had been murdered in a house right across the street from her very own?

The message was clear. One could be chalked up to a mishap. But two?

The tiniest frisson of fear cruised down her spine. She shook it off. Pulled open the hall closet door and grabbed her bug-out bag, plus the smaller pack she had for the kids.

Fucking past. She was never going to escape it, was she?

Chapter Ten

Washington, D.C.

Detective Darren Fletcher

The door to the house closed behind them, and the sun popped from behind the clouds, dumping warmth and brightness on their shoulders. Fletcher slid his sunglasses out of his breast pocket, put them on against the sudden glare.

Hart put his notebook away and sighed. “So. Make that thirty people who didn’t see a thing. Either they’re all telling the truth, and this killer’s a ghost, or someone’s lying.”

“Or they didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, which means we need to be looking at suspects that fit into this neighborhood’s profile in particular.”

They walked out to the street.