Free Exhume (Dr. Schwartzman Series Book 1) by Danielle Girard Page B

competing to be the center of every darn thing. Davies was certainly playing the role.
    When Davies had settled into an upholstered chair in another shade of apricot, Harper sat on the cream-colored couch, grateful that at least she wasn’t cast in the glow of peach. She placed the small digital recorder down on the glass-top table and pressed the “Record” button.
    “Mrs. Davies, I’m going to record this conversation for the purposes of our investigation. Is that all right with you?”
    “Of course,” she responded, leaning out from her chair and yelling toward the table as though the recording device was as hard of hearing as her husband.
    “Can you please tell me exactly what happened this evening? Start with when you first heard the dog and continue until you called Mrs. Leighton.”
    Davies twisted her lips. “Mrs. Leighton?”
    “My mother,” Harper said.
    Kimberly Davies stared past her and waved her hand. “Please, do come in, Officer. Join us.”
    “I’m fine. Thank you, ma’am,” Sam responded from the foyer.
    “Oh no,” Davies said, rising from the chair. “I insist.”
    Sam sat at the far end of the couch.
    Davies spent a couple of moments watching Sam as though to ascertain whether he was truly comfortable. It reminded Harper that—at least in the South—a man in uniform commanded more respect than a woman. She wanted to blame Davies, but it happened way too often.
    “Mrs. Davies, when did you first hear the dog?” Harper asked.
    “I hear that dog every single day. That thing barks about absolutely everything—”
    “I mean, when did you first hear the dog this evening?” Harper was eager to identify a timeline and get on with the investigation.
    “My husband, Teddy, was heading upstairs, and I was straightening the kitchen. It was seven or thereabouts. We normally retire about eight to read or watch television unless we’re entertaining, which we do several times a week.”
    Harper noted the time. “And what time did you go over to Frances Pinckney’s home?”
    “Not for a while. You see, the barking stopped and started quite a bit.”
    “Is that normal?”
    Davies billowed her nightgown out beside her, smoothing the silk against the matching sofa. “Well, yes and no. There’s quite a bit of that kind of stop and start during the day, but thinking on it, the barking is slightly more unusual for the evening. Usually Frances can get the dog to quiet down.”
    “Can you be more specific about when you went over to Ms. Pinckney’s home?”
    She focused on her nightgown, running long French-manicured nails across the fabric.
    Harper tapped her foot on the floor, hoping to refocus Davies’s attention. This needed to move more quickly.
    “Just about eight.”
    “Eight,” Harper repeated.
    She nodded.
    “And you rang the bell?”
    “Several times.”
    “Was the dog barking then?”
    “Oddly, no.” Her eyes widened. “That is strange. The dog completely stopped barking when I rang.” She looked between Harper and Sam. “What do you suppose that means?”
    “I’m not certain,” Harper said as she wrote. But it did make her wonder, too. If the dog normally barked, why suddenly go quiet? “And about how many times did you ring the bell?”
    “Two, maybe three. But I waited some minutes for Frances to come to the door. Her hearing is quite good, considering her age. Not like Teddy’s at all,” she said loudly, with a wave toward the upstairs.
    “And when she didn’t come to the door, you looked inside?”
    Her lips formed a small O as she pressed her palm to her chest. “Of course, I would never look into someone else’s home under normal circumstances. But with the dog barking so insistently and Frances not coming to the door, I was concerned for her well-being. It was my civic responsibility to check.”
    “And at this point, the dog had stopped barking? He was quiet?” Harper clarified.
    “Yes. Definitely.” Davies shifted her attention to a loose