Free Die Smiling by Linda Ladd

take time to put it in the garage. I pulled up beside it in the graveled semicircle driveway and killed my engine.
    I sat there a couple of minutes, listening to the motor tick and watching leaves on the hedge along the house rustle in a gentle April breeze, not exactly eager to barge inside and torture Brianna some more, which pretty much was what I was going to do. It was imperative to interview her, however, and better me to question her than Bud. Let him hold her hand, put his arm around her, and be the good guy. Actually, he was the good guy. I climbed out, beeped my door locked, and walked up the L-shaped sidewalk to the front door, which was painted a cerulean blue. I knocked softly, ignoring the brass doorbell. Brianna’s nerves were probably jangled enough. Seconds later, Bud opened the door, looking a little worse for wear. Actually, a lot worse for wear.
    â€œStill okay to come in?”
    â€œYeah, she took a Darvocet a while ago. She wants to talk to you.”
    I followed him down a short entry hall, painted beige and hung with a black-and-white photograph of an old barn framed in white and then out into a living area that faced the back of the house. The whole place smelled good, like oranges and lemons. I wondered how Bri got it to do that. My house sure never smelled this good. A kitchen was visible off to the left with a short bar and ceiling-hung cabinets separating it from the living room. A pair of multipaned white French doors revealed an exceptional view of the wooded hills around Camdenton, but not quite as breathtaking a panorama as the one from Hilde’s bungalow. I could just barely glimpse a little half-moon sliver of the lake on the distant horizon.
    Brianna sat on a red-and-blue plaid couch facing a white brick fireplace alive with gas logs. They were dancing around and warming the room. Her face was unnaturally flushed, her eyes swollen from several hours of crying. She still looked beautiful, believe it or not. She was sniffling into a wadded-up pink Kleenex, almost as if she couldn’t quite summon up the strength to wail any more.
    I put down my leather handbag and squatted in front of her. I put my hand over hers. “Brianna, I am so sorry about your sister.”
    She nodded, and more tears leaked down her cheeks. She dabbed at them with the same soggy tissue that she nervously squeezed in her hand. I glanced at Bud, and he motioned with his head for me to sit down in the matching plaid chair that directly faced her. I did so while he took a seat on the couch close beside her and held her hand.
    â€œBrianna, I really hate to put you through this right now, but we’ve got to ask you some questions, okay? I wish we didn’t, I wish it could wait, but it really can’t, not if you’re up to it at all.”
    Brianna nodded, looked at Bud, and welled up again when he squeezed her shoulders. I waited a second or two, then started out as gently as I knew how. This was not going to be easy. I wondered if Bud had told her the grisly details yet. I had a feeling he hadn’t. I wasn’t going to, either.
    â€œDo you have any idea why somebody might’ve done this to Hilde?”
    Brianna sobbed aloud, jerked a fresh Kleenex from the box in front of her, and shook her head. She had pinned her long blond hair up into a bun like the one Hilde wore at the time of her death. Some strands had fallen around her face, too, just like Hilde’s had, and she kept pushing them behind her ears. She licked her lips, and I made the mistake of thinking of Hilde’s lips. I swallowed hard, tried not to show my revulsion at that image.
    â€œNo, oh, God, no, Hilde’s really nice, you know, kind to people, just a good person, really. Even the other girls, the ones she competed against, didn’t seem too awfully jealous that she won so much.” She stopped talking, swallowed hard, dabbed some more tears, but all that mascara and eyeliner was not running in