Page 46 of A Hidden Past

I get out of the car and head to her porch. I knock, and as usual, part of me hopes she won’t answer.

As usual, my hopes matter jack-all. She answers almost immediately, and smiles at me with a mixture of tenderness and cunning that I think I’m going to start calling the Autumn Downs Grin.

“Nate! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you here?”

I realize that I have no idea what I’m going to say to her. Hi, Mrs. Winslow, I almost assaulted a neighbor of yours, and the neighbor I’ve been screwing until my hip blows out had to pull me away. Can we talk?

Fortunately, what ends up leaving my mouth is a little more coherent. “I think I know what happened to Lila.”

Mrs. Winslow doesn’t look the least bit surprised to hear that. “You’d better come in,” she says. “I’ll make some coffee.”

She leads me inside, and I look around at all the decorations. I focus particularly on the pictures. There are pictures of dogs, pictures of cats, pictures of goldfish. There are images of breathtaking mountain vistas, peaceful ocean views, panoramas of snow-capped forests and vast canyons.

But there aren’t any pictures of people. No husband, no children, no grandchildren. No nieces or nephews or kindergarten classes. Mrs. Winslow seems to have been a hermit her whole life.

“I’m going to make yours with cream and sugar this time. I know you usually take it black, but I think you need some balance today.”

Balance. That’s an odd thing to say about coffee. She said something last time too that I thought was odd. What was it? Something about being manly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Winslow,” I remember to say after a moment.

“Of course, dear. Have a seat in the kitchen.”

I sit on a chair that’s upholstered almost as much as the couch, and a moment later, she hands me a steaming cup of coffee with a generous helping of cream and a less generous but still noticeable helping of sugar.

She’s right. This is the perfect cup of coffee for me right now. “Thank you, Mrs. Winslow. This is delicious.”

“Edith.”

“What?”

“Call me Edith. You’ve come to visit me again, and you’re asking for my help. That must mean we’re friends now.”

I lift my gaze to meet hers. She smiles sweetly at me, but her eyes are hard as diamonds. That’s another peculiarity of the lovely folk of Autumn Downs. “Yeah,” I say. “Sure. Thank you, Edith.”

“Of course, dear. Now. You say you know what happened to Lila Kensington. What do you know?”

“Her father killed her. Julian.”

Edith lifted an eyebrow. “Not her mother?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. She’s coked out of her mind half the time. I don’t think she’s aware of what’s going on around her anymore.”

“Oh. Oh, dear. I mean, I knew she was addled by drugs, but I didn’t suspect it had gone so far.”

“Yeah, well, believe it.” I take another sip of my coffee, then say, “I guess she’s probably involved. She at least helped him cover it up. Hell, she might even have—”

“Watch your language, dear.”

“Right. Sorry. I was saying she might have been the one to do the deed, but Julian was the one who organized it.”

“You’re sure of this?”

I nod and sip more coffee. “I read Lila’s diary.”

“You read Lila’s diary? How?”

“I broke in.”

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