“No, not at all,” she said sweetly.
She opened the doors into Sara’s bedroom and went into the little library.
Heather was sitting beside a box full of folded papers. Everyone who was there today had some connection to the victims and they were supposed to have written down their memories.
“Anything?” Kate asked.
“Cheryl was pretty and Verna kept to herself,” Heather said. “The same thing over and over. When I was married to Roy, we lived near them, but I don’t remember them at all.”
Kate sat down. “Did you get anything to eat and drink?”
“Lots. Ivy went out to talk to some of the people Cheryl went to school with. Not many people who knew Verna came.”
Kate closed her eyes and put her head back. “No husband who committed adultery with her? No furious wife with an ax in her hand? What about Roy? Did he ever say anything about either of them?”
When Heather didn’t answer, Kate opened her eyes. Jack’s mother was standing by the receptacle that he’d built and was looking at a piece of paper with wide eyes. “What is it?”
She read the note aloud. “‘I know someone who hated Cheryl Morris enough to kill her.’ It’s signed Elaine Pendal, then it says ‘If anyone does read this, I’m wearing a red scarf.’”
“Red...?” Kate said. “I gotta go.” She nearly ran out of the room. Jack was still pinned against the wall—not that he was making an effort to be released. Kate made her way through the girls, practically pushing them out of the way.
“Excuse me. Excuse me.” She grabbed his forearm. “Come with me.”
“Sorry, girls. I have to go.” As soon as they were away, he said, “Thank you. With all my life, I thank you.”
She handed him the note. “Go find the red-scarf lady and take her to your room—if she’ll go. If not—”
“She will.”
“What is it with you and women?”
“I don’t know. They like me. Actually, they think I’m hot. As in sexually desirable.”
“How strange. Anyway, I’ll go get Aunt Sara and meet you.”
They separated and Kate hurried into the family room. The line at Sara’s table was still long, and there were many books left.
The next woman up spoke. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask an author—where do you get your ideas?”
“She steals them,” Kate said. “From her Facebook ladies. Sorry, but we have to go now. She’ll be back later. Maybe.”
A man stepped out of the line. “But I have a question I want to ask her. It’s important. I’m going to be a writer and I need to know where she—?”
“Albuquerque,” Kate said loudly. “She gets all her ideas from Albuquerque. Very spiritual place.” She took Sara’s arm and they hurried down the hall toward Jack’s room. When a woman started to follow them, Ivy stepped out of the crowd and blocked her.
“Love you,” Sara said as she ran to keep up with Kate.
Inside Jack’s room, he was smiling at a woman who was sitting in his big easy chair and holding what looked to be a gin and tonic. She had on a gray, soft-shouldered suit that looked vaguely familiar. A red scarf was draped around her neck.
“Elaine was in school with Cheryl.” He said it with pride, as though she’d accomplished some great feat.
Kate couldn’t help staring. This was the girl whose photo they’d seen in the yearbook? With the frizzy hair and the “woe is me” look? There was no resemblance. This woman was exquisitely made-up, and her clothing, even her demeanor, was so perfect that she was a bit intimidating. She looked like what every woman hoped her “after” photo would look like.
They sat down on the couch across from her, Jack in the middle. It was a bit tight for all of them, but they presented a unified front, as though they were one being.
“Excuse me if I’m a little jet-lagged. I just got off a plane from New York.” Elaine looked at Jack. “Although I did get here in time to hear you sing. Ever think of doing anything with that?”
None of them answered her. Jack’s singing wasn’t what was on their minds.