Here She Lies by Katia Lief

Author:Katia Lief [Lief, Katia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 1429534214
Google: xzGDZwEACAAJ
Amazon: B004Z1E0AQ
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2011-07-15T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The driver’s-side door slammed shut and I opened my eyes. It was eight in the morning and we were parked outside Julie’s big red barn-house with its wraparound lawn, pale salmon rhododendron bushes and neat curb—a picture postcard whose perfection seemed to distance it from the murder that had taken place right out front, on the street, now rain-washed clean of Zara Moklas. Bobby was halfway across the lawn to the kitchen door. My rental car, which Julie had been driving in my absence, was not in her usual spot in the driveway; in its place was a gardener’s pickup truck loaded with landscaping equipment. As I crossed to the house I caught the bright scent of freshly cut grass.

The buzz of a lawn mower I couldn’t see floated in the limpid morning air.

Bobby pulled open the outer screen door and waited for me. I dug into my purse for my key ring, a jangly amalgamation of keys from Lexington and Great Barrington that I had never taken the time to separate despite the growing bulk. When I reached the door I found him reading a note Julie had taped to the interior glass: Mica, I’ll be out all morning, so when you get here please get right to work on the lawn and the flower beds. If I’m not back by noon, I’ll pay you next week. Thanks, Julie.

I opened the door with my key. Immediately the alarm started its series of warning bleeps, the one-minute grace period before it went off. Ever since the malarm, the escalating bleeps had triggered anxiety and now, as I input the code Julie had taught me, my pulse hammered in my ears, the machine feeling again, turning me on for action. Then the red light turned green and my pulse slowed to normal. I pushed open the door and walked into the kitchen.

“Julie? I’m home!”

Bobby followed me in and disappeared up the back staircase. I could hear his footsteps upstairs as I walked through the dining room, sitting room and into the living room. The quiet—I could feel it. It was no surprise when Bobby came down the living room stairs alone.

“They’re not upstairs,” he said.

“I guess they went out somewhere.”

“This early in the morning? Where?”

“Anywhere—errands, playground, both. Who knows?”

“I wonder if she saw the gardener before she left.” And with that, he was out the door. In a moment he appeared in the backyard, framed in the living room window. Bobby must have called Mica’s name, because he too entered the frame and they stood together, talking.

Mica was a small, stocky Mexican man with a purple bandanna tied around his head. Julie had told me he came every other week, her only concession to hired help until her thwarted intention of asking Zara Moklas to take on the heavy housecleaning. Bobby was doing most of the talking while Mica listened and spoke just a little. Behind them a squad car drove past on Division Street, slowing as it reached Julie’s, then picking up speed and moving on—the last phase of our security detail, I guessed.

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