The Glass Forest by Cynthia Swanson

Author:Cynthia Swanson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Touchstone

38

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Angie

The knock on the front door was so insistent that I was sure Paul and Ruby, who were both still sleeping, would awaken. PJ had had an atypically fussy night, and at six-thirty in the morning, I rose for the third time, put on my dressing gown, and fetched the baby from his makeshift crib in the guest room. I warmed a bottle and sat with PJ in one of the low-slung easy chairs by the hearth, the blue and green shawl wrapped around my shoulders. With my back to the front windows, I watched dawn break on the trees behind the house.

When I heard the knock, I turned my head and stood. I shrugged off the shawl, pulled my robe tightly around my middle, and stepped to the front door, babe in arms. I peered through the big glass windows. Over the expanse of lawn, I spotted two police cars, both with New York State Troopers emblems on their side doors, parked in the driveway.

Silja, I thought instantly. They’ve found Silja.

My heart creeping into my throat, I opened the door. Two officers stood on the flagstone step. “We’re sorry to bother you so early, miss,” one of them said. “Is there a grown-up at home?”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “I’m a grown-up.” They were the first words I’d uttered since rising from bed; much to my dismay, they came out as squeaky as if Minnie Mouse had spoken. I cleared my throat and added, “I’m twenty-one.”

The officer nodded. “Okay. Can we come inside?”

“What’s this about?” I snuggled the baby closer to my chest. “Have you found Mrs. Glass?”

The officer shifted uncomfortably. His gold name tag was etched B. HILL. “That’s not why we’re here.” He paused, then went on, “We’re here to bring in Miss Ruby Glass. We want to question her about the death of her father.”

“Ruby . . . ? What?” I shook my head. “I’m sorry; I don’t understand.”

“Miss, could we come in?”

I eyed Officer Hill. “It’s Missus,” I told him. “Mrs. Paul Glass.”

He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, his lips making a thin, firm line across the horizon of his face.

The other officer—younger, appearing not much older than me—stepped forward. “Please understand, Mrs. Glass,” he said gently. “Miss Glass is not being accused of anything. We just want to ask her some questions.”

I glanced at his name tag, too: R. BRENNAN. “Didn’t you question her right away?” I asked. “When Henry died, didn’t you talk to her then?”

Officer Brennan nodded. “We did,” he said. “But circumstances . . . the situation . . . has been altered.” He looked upward, then back at me. “Further information has come to light, and we’d like to talk to Miss Glass about it.”

“You have found Silja!” I heard the relief in my own voice. “Thank God.”

Hill glared, and Brennan turned red. “Ma’am, we can’t say anything more,” Brennan stammered. “Would you let us in, and let Miss Glass know we’re here?”

I stood still for a moment, and then I stepped aside and let the officers into the house.

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