Free Love Is Murder by Allison Brennan Page B

it. She went to the room that was obviously Grace’s and immediately searched her drawers.
    At first she found only clothing. She went to the closet, which was packed with thick winter clothes. The floor was a mess of clothes that had fallen off hangers and shoes and folded blankets.
    If Lucy needed to hide something, where would she hide it? Not under the bed—though she checked there quickly. Grace wouldn’t have wanted Steve to find it, even accidentally.
    She thought back to her brothers and how they never liked to talk about “girl stuff”—namely menstruation. Carina had once told her that she used to hide her chocolate in a Tampax box so Patrick wouldn’t steal it.
    “He never looked there, didn’t even consider it.”
    Lucy went to the bathroom. The bottom drawer was filled with feminine hygiene products. She opened every box and there it was.
    Maybe she didn’t know what she was looking for specifically, but she had certainly found it.
    A box full of pill bottles. Prescriptions for Thyrolar, made out to Grace Marie Holbrook, and several prescriptions made out to Leonardo Delarosa. She put them out by date—first a basic diuretic, common for high blood pressure. Then lisinopril, which was a stronger medication. That started after his heart attack three years ago. Then six months before his death, the doctor increased the dosage.
    There were pills in some of the bottles. She opened one up and it was coated in a fine powder—more powder than would naturally rub off the pills from friction. Lucy looked in the drawer and found a small mortar and pestle—a classic tool used for hand grinding. Such as to grind pills into a fine powder that would more easily dissolve in liquid. And the bitter taste would be masked by a strong drink. Like orange juice.
    The front door opened and Lucy quickly put everything back and closed the drawer.
    “Angie and I wanted to use the snowmobiles this afternoon if the snow lets up,” Kyle was saying.
    “I think tomorrow.”
    Lucy breathed in relief. It was Steve. But she didn’t want him to know about Grace, not yet. Not until the police arrived.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes. Look, Kyle, I’m sorry, I’m just really tired. It’s been a long couple days and I need to check the barn, the wood—”
    “Let me help. Please, I’m going to go insane in that house without anything to do.”
    “Okay. Fine. I’m just need to get my parka.”
    Two minutes later, they were gone.
    Lucy didn’t want to tempt fate. She watched out the window until she saw Kyle and Steve go into the barn, then she left the cottage and retrieved her snowshoes from where she had stashed them on the side. She crossed over to the lodge, retracing Steve’s and Kyle’s tracks.
    She saw something odd to her right where the root cellar entrance came out of the ground on the side of the house. The doors were open.
    Who had gone down there? Trevor? The killer? Patrick had the key—but he was in no condition to check on the body.
    She needed someone to investigate with her—she wasn’t going to go down in the cellar alone, especially when no one knew she was checking it out. She stepped toward the lodge, but movement on her left startled her. She turned and saw Grace Delarosa skiing rapidly toward her. Before she could move, Grace had rammed into her, sending Lucy sprawling into the snow.
    She struggled to get up, the snowshoes making it nearly impossible, and Grace grabbed her arm. Lucy opened her mouth to call for help, and Grace backhanded her with a gloved hand. Lucy tasted blood and spit into the snow.
    She felt a pinprick in her neck and hit at it. Something warm trickled down into her shirt.
    “You’re too late,” Grace said and she pushed Lucy back down. Lucy tried to talk, but her muscles weren’t working right. She tried to stand, then crawl, but couldn’t control her limbs.
    Grace dragged her to the root cellar. Darkness ate at the edges of her vision.
    “I’ll be long gone before anyone