Page 81 of Concealed in Death

“Mavis.” She said it out loud. “Crap, crap. I forgot.” She glanced at the time, winced, then grabbed her file bag.

If they were already here, Summerset would have something snide to say. Hell, he’d have something snide to say anyway, but she’d deserve it—a little—if they were already here.

And she needed a few minutes to get upstairs, update her board. A few minutes to just sit and think.

She stopped herself from dashing inside—it would look as if she knew she ran late—that she cared she ran late. Instead, she sauntered in.

He stood there, of course, looming in black—but she didn’t hear voices.

“Fortunately for you, your guests are running a bit late,” Summerset told her. “And had the courtesy to contact me to let me know.”

“Not a guest.” She shrugged out of her coat, tossed it over the newel post so he could scowl at it. “Don’t answer to you.”

Grateful they were later than she was, she saved any insults on cadaverous looks for another time, and jogged up the stairs with the cat on her heels.

She went straight to her office, hit the house search. “Where’s Roarke?”

Roarke has not yet arrived.

“Even better.”

With some luck she’d get her board updated, get one hit of coffee while she studied it, and let her brain circle around.

She tried a new system, live girls front, remains back.

On the front she pinned parents, guardians, the staff of The Sanctuary.

She connected Shelby and Linh, Shelby and Mikki. Shelby, Mikki, and Lupa, as they’d all been in residence together whether or not they’d interacted.

She pinned Seraphim as a girl, and as an adult. Another connection.

She got the coffee, sipped while she circled, changed photos, took another hard look at the tubs, the bathroom areas where she believed the girls had died.

She sat at her desk, propped up her boots, and studied some more.

Mikki went looking for Shelby, that played for her. Had Shelby already been dead? They didn’t die together or they’d have been hidden together. No, Shelby and Linh, they’d died together, and very likely on the night, or near to it, they’d stopped in the market next door.

Lupa, Carlie Bowen, LaRue Freeman. Next group, stacked together. Had he killed them all in one night? Why the rush? And a lot to take on.

But it’s his sanctuary now, so there is no rush.

Time line again. Three days between Lupa going missing and Carlie Bowen. Not killed together, concealed together. With LaRue possibly between. She was listed as Victim Four. After Lupa, she thought, before Carlie.

But no other connection between them yet come to light.

What did he—

She glanced over as the cat jumped off her desk, and watched him pad his pudgy way over to Roarke.

“You’re later than me.”

“So I’ve been told.” He studied her face as he crossed to her, then stroked a fingertip gently down her bruised cheek. “As I was told about this?”

“Huh? How? Oh, your security guy?”

“Yes. One of Frester’s private security, was it?”

“She objected to my presence. I objected when she put hands on me and actually tried to pull her stunner. She objected when I pushed her face to the wall—and she got in one lucky backfist—just caught the cheekbone.”