Page 32 of Crossroads Magic
“I’m supposed to just trust you on that?”
“As we’re virtually strangers, that would be a tall ask,” Benedit admitted.
“Then…?”
He gave me a rueful smile and shook his head.
I sighed. “What time in the night did my mother die?”
“I can’t say precisely.” His tone shifted. So did his posture. He was in doctor mode. “Somewhere between eleven pm and five am. I can’t be more precise because of a dozen different factors, including not having a kidney thermometer.”
“But you did have a handy carving knife.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Where were you, during those hours?”
He looked even more amazed. “What is this? An interrogation?”
“An idle question,” I lied. “There’s nine people in this town. I figure any one of you could have done this to my mother. The only guests in the inn left earlier in the night, long before she died, so that comes back again to one of the nine of you.”
“Are you going to ask everyone else this insulting question?”
“Yes.”
He blew out a long breath. “Anna, let the authorities do their job. You said you wanted to go back to Los Angeles…perhaps you should. Today.”
“But the authorities don’t appear to want to do their jobs, and someone must. My mother did not kill herself, Benedict. I know I didn’t know her very well, but I knew her fundamental character well enough. She wasn’t the type of person to even entertain suicide as a possibility. She just wouldn’t do it. That leaves death at the hands of someone else. So I must repeat my question. Where were you between eleven pm and five am, two mornings ago, on the twenty-first?”
He considered me for a long moment. “In bed. Asleep.”
He was lying.
I didn’t know how I could be so certain of it. It wasn’t as though he had a bad poker face. He’d spoken with utter sincerity, and anyone else would have believed him.
But I knew he was lying.
I have a pretty good poker face, too. I nodded. “Thank you,” I told him and turned back to the front door.
He got there before me and opened it. “By the way, Olivia has a car.”
I had to lift my chin a little to look him in the eye, which was a nice change. “She does?” Why was he telling me this?
“I thought you should know.”
“…because…?”
He looked surprised. “To returnyourcar.” His tone said it should have been obvious to me. “She can follow you to Syracuse, and bring you back.”
I’m not staying. The words were right there, hovering behind my teeth. Instead, I said, “I see.” I hurried out of the house and out to the footpath, as swiftly as possible.
?
Ghaliya was not in the long, narrow, photo-filled sitting room when I got back there, which suited my mood. Either she was still asleep, or she had gone in search of food, which seemed the more likely of the two possibilities. I’d told her about the kitchen, last night.
I paced the long room, juggling worries that refused to be ignored. What was Benedict Marcus hiding? Who had killed my mother? When was anyone going to care enough to deal with her remains? Who would investigate the highly suspicious circumstances surrounding her death?
I came to halt by the stove, which was still pumping out warmth, even though the flames from this morning were already dead. The question repeated itself in my mind.Who cared enough to look into my mother’s death?
