to work.”
Nate pulled his cell phone out. “I’ll start with a call to Elias and go from there.
You sure you’re all right?”
Lucky nodded. Nate led her to the door that gave access to the street. He pulled a
white handkerchief from his pocket and carefully turned the lock, holding the door
open for her. She stumbled out into the hot summer morning, blinded at first by the
bright sunlight. Soon everyone would know about Harry—another murder in their midst.
Chapter 10
E LIZABETH CLIMBED THE steps of Maggie’s house carefully, fearful that the damaged wood might give way beneath
her feet. She held tightly to the shaky railing. One or two boards had nearly rotted
away leaving only a jagged edge still nailed to its support. The house was in terrible
repair. So much paint had peeled from the clapboards that layers of brown and gray
were exposed. This wasn’t the cheerful cottage Elizabeth remembered from years ago.
No one had cared for or maintained this place for a long time.
When Elizabeth was still teaching, and both she and Maggie were young women, the house
had been yellow, with white shutters. Now several of those shutters had fallen away.
The window boxes were still in place, but the white paint had worn off, eroded by
harsh weather. Any semblance of plant life had long since disappeared. She hated to
think it, but Cordelia might be correct. Maggie really shouldn’t be on her own.
She reached the front door and took a deep breath. Fearful of what she might find
inside, she knocked. The door swung slowly open. It was unlatched. Elizabeth stood
quietly, looking into the entry hall of the cottage. She called Maggie’s name, hesitant
to enter without permission. There was no response.
She called again. “Maggie? Are you here?” She stepped across the threshold. The door
listed slightly, as though not hung properly on its frame. She wondered if it shut
tight during the long winters. Then she wondered if Maggie had any source of heat.
She looked through an archway into the small parlor. The floor was bare. A couch was
pushed against the wall, several springs sticking up from one of the cushions. There
was no other furniture in the room—no bookcases or small end tables. Surprisingly,
there was no dust. Every surface appeared clean. A stairway to the right led to a
second story where Elizabeth knew there were three small bedrooms. Many of the rungs
in the banister were missing. Had Maggie been burning interior wood to keep warm in
winter? The thought horrified her. She needed to make sure someone was delivering
oil for the furnace. Elizabeth walked slowly into the living room and called out again.
“Maggie? It’s Elizabeth. I was just driving past and thought I’d stop in.” She waited.
There was a stillness in the air, but the house didn’t feel empty. It felt as if someone
were watching and waiting, holding their breath. “Maggie, are you here?” Finally,
Elizabeth heard a quavering voice. It came from the entry hall.
Elizabeth returned to the hallway and approached the cellar door tucked under the
stairway. She pulled the door open. Was Maggie down there? She heard rustling sounds
at the bottom of the stairs. A breeze of damp and moldy air arose. “Maggie, are you
down in the cellar? Where are you?”
“Help.” The voice was weak.
Elizabeth shuddered. The poor woman must have fallen down the stairs. “I’m coming,”
she answered. Elizabeth grasped a splintered wooden railing and descended the narrow
stairs carefully. A spiderweb brushed her cheek. The stairwell was dark but a tiny
amount of light filtered through an opening high in the wall of the cellar. “Maggie,
where are you? I can’t see a thing. Is there a light switch?”
She heard no further sound. Elizabeth descended the rest of the way very slowly, still
clinging to the railing. There had to be a light source down here. She felt along
the wall and