the tumultuous family situation could not be making this any easier on Jerry Hilyard. She didn’t think there was anything there worth digging into, though it might do some good to eventually speak with the daughter.
“Mr. Hilyard, would you have any objection to us taking a look around your house?” she asked.
“That’s fine. The sheriff and a few of his men have been in and out a few times. The code to get in is two-two-two-eight.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hilyard,” Moulton said. “Please contact us if you think of anything else. For now, I think we’ll speak with Mrs. Lovingston to see if she has any details to share.”
“She’s told the police everything she knows. She’s starting to get irritated, I think.”
“What about her husband? Did he know your wife well? Did the four of you frequently hang out together?”
“No. Claire’s husband works out of town quite a bit. I did FaceTime him to make sure he was okay with me staying here. And anyway, it was mainly just Claire and Lauren. They had a weekly thing where they’d drink wine on the front porch, switching houses every week.”
Claire stepped into the room slowly, apparently having put the baby she had been carrying down for a nap.
“And we’d do the predictable things that women do. Talk about our husbands, reminisce about the past. I’d tell her about the highs and lows of having a baby. And, more recently, we’d talk about what she was going through with her daughter.”
“What can you tell us about Lauren and what might have led someone to do such a thing to her?” Chloe asked.
“Lauren made some decisions during high school that her parents did not particularly agree about,” Claire replied. “Once Lauren graduated high school and had her daughter…well, college was out of the picture.”
“They were embarrassed,” Jerry added. “They got pissed and moved to New Hampshire. They feed our daughter these brutal lies about Lauren whenever they can.”
“Trying to make up for the mistakes and neglect from raising Lauren,” Claire said. “A couple of real assholes.”
Sensing the conversation headed to a bashing session, Chloe spoke up. “Mrs. Lovingston, would you happen to be able to think of any enemies or even strained relationships Lauren might have had?” Chloe asked.
“Not outside of her family. And while they are a couple of jerks, they certainly wouldn’t do this. This is…this is deplorable.”
Moulton reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a business card. He placed it on the coffee table and stepped back. “Please…if either of you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”
Both Claire and Jerry gave only curt nods. The conversation had been brief but it had taken its toll on them. Chloe and Moulton made their exit in an awkward silence.
When they were outside, heading for the car, Chloe paused for a moment on the sidewalk. She looked down the street, in the direction of the Hilyard house, and saw that it was just out of sight. Still, she was starting to agree with Moulton. Maybe it was a little too close. And if the bedroom still looked anything like what she had seen in the photographs Johnson had showed them, it seemed almost morbid that Jerry was staying so close.
“Ready to go check out the house?” Chloe asked.
“Not really,” Moulton said, the images he’d seen from that case file still clearly in his mind. “But I guess we’ve got to start somewhere.”
They got back into the car and headed back the way they had come. Right away, Chloe kept telling herself that it couldn’t be as bad as it had appeared in the pictures—all of that crimson red among the crisp white sheets.
It took all of twenty seconds to get to the Hilyard house. The fact that it closely resembled the Lovingston house—and most every other house on the block—was creepy as hell as far as Chloe was concerned. They entered through the front door with the code Jerry Hilyard had given them and stepped into an absolutely still and silent house.
Knowing exactly why they were there, they wasted no time and went directly upstairs. The master bedroom was easy to find, the room all the way at the end of the hallway. Through the opened door, Chloe could already see streaks of red on the carpet and the sheets.
She was relieved, however, to find that the scene truly didn’t look as bad as it had appeared in the pictures Director Johnson had showed them. First and foremost, the body had been removed. Secondly, the bloodstains had been sitting longer, making them paler in color.
They walked to the bed, careful to step over any blood splashes left on the carpet. She could see areas in the blood splatter where the coroner and initial investigators had accidentally stepped in it. Chloe looked to the other side of the room, toward a dresser and where a small flat-screen TV was mounted to the wall. She was probably watching TV when it happened, maybe purging her head of high school reunion memories…
Chloe then went downstairs and had a look around. She could see no signs of forced entry and no clear indications that anything had been stolen. She looked around the living room, the kitchen, and the guest bedroom. She evens stepped out on the back deck and had a look around. There was a small patio table in the corner. An ashtray sat in the center of it, under the shade umbrella.
Chloe made a hmm sound as she saw the ashtray’s contents. There were no cigarette butts in the tray, but some other kind of ash and paper. She leaned down to it and took a light whiff. The scent of marijuana was unmistakable. She sorted through some things in her head, trying to figure out if this could be relevant in any way.
Chloe jumped a bit when her phone rang. Moulton, stepping out onto the back porch to join her, caught her look of momentary shock and smiled. She rolled her eyes and answered the call, not recognizing the number.
“This is Agent Fine,” she answered.
“This is Claire Lovingston. I thought you might want to know that I just got a call from one of my friends, Tabby North. She was one of the close friends that Jerry was telling you about. She asked if anyone else from the police had come to speak with me. I told them the FBI had just visited and she’d like to speak with you.”
“Does she have information for us?”
“Honestly…I don’t know. Probably not. But this is a rather small community. I think they just want to get to the bottom of it. I’m sure you’ll find them incredibly helpful.”
“Great. Text me her number after this call.”
Chloe killed the call and filled Moulton in. “That was Claire. She said one of Lauren’s other friends called her to see if anything new had developed. She’d like to speak with us.”
“Good. I won’t lie…I’m pretty much done here. That bedroom is giving me the creeps.”
It was a good way to explain it. Chloe could still see the pictures in her head, so seeing the scene without the body was like looking into some old abandoned place she was not meant to see.
Still, they went back to the bedroom and took some time to check the place over, looking in the bathroom, the walk-in closet, even under the bed. After finding nothing of interest, they left the house and, moments later, the Farmington Acres neighborhood. Chloe again thought that it was incredibly quaint—a perfect neighborhood to grow a family and shape a future.
So long as you were okay knowing that, from time to time, there might be a murder to contend with.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tabby North was a redhead who had the kind of body that Chloe assumed saw the gym at least four days a week; it was also a body that, in Chloe’s humble opinion, could use a few more meals. She was gorgeous in a very obvious way, but she looked as if a strong wind might blow her away.
Chloe and Moulton met Tabby at her house and found that she had invited another close friend, a woman who apparently went to that very same gym with Tabby. This woman was Kaitlin St. John, who was crying when