mother in residence felt odd. She’d always taken complete command of her home, even when his father was alive. She’d been such a dominant presence for so long, it was easy to forget Grandpa Coldiron had lived here first.
At the sound of his approach, his sister swallowed the bite she’d just taken and looked up. “Morning.”
“Same to you,” he said.
“You sleep okay?”
Her skeptical expression told him he didn’t look rested. “Not really. You?”
“Sort of.”
“Where’s my niece and my nephew? Are the kids with Rafe?”
“They’re at his mother’s. He’s repairing the vestibule of that old church near the marina today.”
“Will you bring the family over later?”
“Of course.” She lowered her voice. “I’d rather Laney didn’t hear us talking about her grandmother the way we need to this morning. Laney might be one of the few people who’s never felt conflicted when it comes to Grandma Josephine. And, oddly enough, Mother loved her. Inexplicably. Diligently. Even kindly.”
“That’s somewhat redeeming.” He helped himself to a biscuit without bothering to sit down or get a plate—something his mother would never have tolerated. “Have you heard anything new?”
“I stopped the autopsy.”
He’d received her text last night, which was why he hadn’t set an alarm to get up early this morning. “I saw that.”
“And just a few minutes ago I got permission to call in our own pathologist. I also made an appointment with the new chief of police. I guessed you’d want to talk to her.”
“Old Man Reuben finally retired?” Keith was fairly certain Maisey had mentioned it. She’d kept him abreast of the more noteworthy changes on the island. But he’d had no particular reason to remember that. He’d rarely had to deal with Chief Reuben himself. His mother had interceded whenever he got into trouble. She’d exacted her own retribution afterward, which was arguably worse than what he would’ve received had he been remanded to the police. But she would not allow scandal to befall the Coldiron name—another reason he couldn’t accept that she’d kill herself. What could be more scandalous than suicide? That had been her primary complaint when, in desperation, he’d felt it was his only escape.
“Yeah. We have a woman now. The city council’s showing how progressive they can be.”
“A woman, huh? How old is she?”
“Can’t be more than forty-one. Attractive, too. Really attractive.”
“Any good at her job?”
“Seems to be. There was a big write-up in the paper when they hired her. The article made her sound like a solid candidate. She’s from Chicago.”
“She have a family?”
“No. Her husband was in the military. Died in Afghanistan before they could have kids. They’d grown up two blocks from each other. Gone to high school together. I suspect that was part of the reason she was willing to leave the big city behind. Too many memories.”
“I can see wanting to leave, but what brought her here, of all places?”
“A kinder, gentler existence. Lots of sun and sand. Less violence. And there was a job for her, I guess.”
“What time do we meet with her?”
She checked her phone. “Yikes! We’ve only got twenty minutes—barely enough time for you to shower.”
“So that’s why you’ve been trying to get hold of me!”
“Yes.”
He broke off part of his biscuit, popped it in his mouth and slipped the rest onto her plate. “I’ll be down in fifteen.”
He was halfway up the stairs when Pippa stopped him. “Mr. Lazarow?”
The tone of her voice seemed uncertain, which made him curious. He turned to face her. “Yes?”
She opened her mouth, then seemed to reconsider. “Never mind.”
“What is it, Pippa?” he pressed.
“I...I was wondering what you’d like for dinner, that’s all.”
He could tell that wasn’t what she’d had on her mind, but Maisey had come out of the drawing room, and Pippa seemed hesitant to speak in front of her. “What’re my options?”
“Salmon? Steak? Chicken? Pasta?”
“I’ll have salmon.”
“Will you be dining alone?”
He looked over at Maisey. “Do you and Rafe and the kids want to join me?”
“That’d be fun,” Maisey said.
“Is salmon okay?” Keith asked. “Will Laney eat it?”
“Sure. We all like salmon.”
Pippa acknowledged this with a nod. “Then I’ll plan for five.” She began to scurry off, but Maisey stopped her.
“Are you enjoying Mom’s Yorkie, Pippa? Or would you like to bring her to me?”
“I’d be happy to keep her—unless you have other plans.”
Maisey smiled. “No, Athena doesn’t do well with the cat we rescued. She’ll be much better off with you, but I’m happy to cover her expenses.”
“No, that’s fine. If she’s going to be my dog, I’ll take care of her.” Pippa cast Keith one final glance, reminding him of that moment a few seconds earlier when he’d been positive she had something to say. He was tempted to go after her, to ask what she had on her mind. He had the impression it was important. But he was also fairly certain she didn’t want Maisey to hear.
Question was...why?
THE NEW CHIEF of police at Keys Crossing was every bit as attractive as Maisey had said. About five foot six, 125 pounds, she didn’t look particularly strong, but she had a no-nonsense, direct approach, which Keith liked, and clear, intelligent blue eyes. Once he’d met her, he was glad the old chief had retired. Reuben had had a great deal of experience with minor infractions such as traffic violations, breaking and entering, petty theft and drunk and disorderlies during the summer, when the tourists arrived. But to Keith’s knowledge, he’d never investigated a homicide.
Since Chief Underwood—she hadn’t offered her first name—hailed from Chicago, he was hoping she’d have more familiarity with violent crime. But once he met her, he didn’t feel that was going to be the benefit he’d anticipated. She was fully convinced his mother had committed suicide and nothing he said seemed to sway her.
“There’s no reason to assume she’d take her own life,” he argued when she refused to change her mind.
“I hear what you’re saying,” she responded. “I noticed the suitcases myself. But there was no sign of anyone else having been in the house and no indication that she was sexually assaulted, for instance. That’ll have to be confirmed when the autopsy is performed, of course—we’re not jumping to conclusions there—but so far all signs point away from it.”
“There’s heart attack, stroke.”
“Which will also have to be considered and addressed during the autopsy. But the coroner said she didn’t have a flushed face. Her carotid artery wasn’t swollen. There was no bluish tinge to her nose, eyes or fingertips—all typical signs of cardiac arrest. I’m afraid the preponderance of evidence, at this point, suggests suicide.”
“Even