Judas Kiss. J.T. Ellison
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woman shook her head solemnly. “I surely didn’t.”
“Nothing?”
Mrs. Manchini paused for a moment, shut her eyes, remembering. “The lights were on. Mrs. Wolff turns them off in the mornings, but they burned all weekend.”
“And that was unusual?”
“Yes.”
Ah, another item for the timeline. Perfect.
“When was the last time you saw Mrs. Wolff?”
“Oh. Well, I can’t rightly recall. Today’s Monday, and Monday is my book club, yes, it is. I don’t remember seeing Corinne today, and I usually see her in the back, watering her begonias. Such a pretty garden she has, yes, she does. Just put it in this past weekend. It’s a little too early for those flowers, but what do I know? I did see her on Friday. Friday is my garden club, yes, it is.” Twist, twist, twist.
The repetition tic was starting to bother Taylor. The woman was going to sprain a wrist if she didn’t lay off her hands. “Friday at what time, ma’am?”
“Oh, well, I couldn’t be exact. Something around three-twenty in the afternoon, if I had to push myself to remember, but I wouldn’t want to be misleading by not being one hundred percent right, no, I wouldn’t.”
“You’re doing just fine.”
The woman bobbed her head, a shy smile crossing her face at the compliment. Taylor got the feeling the woman didn’t get many and softened her tone.
“What was Corinne doing at three-twenty, Mrs. Manchini?”
“Playing with little Hayden. Such a beautiful child, yes, she is.”
“Backyard, front yard?”
“Oh, yes, of course. They were in the side yard, actually. I believe Mrs. Wolff was putting down some wildflower mix, trying to pretty up the area where their trash cans go, yes, she was.”
Didn’t keep an eye on her neighbors. Yeah, right. “Did you see anyone with her?”
“Other than Hayden? No, I didn’t.”
“What about Mr. Wolff?”
This earned Taylor a direct, but fleeting, glance. She was rubbing her hands together now. The conversation was making her nervous. Nervous was always interesting.
“Oh, I don’t know him very well. A handsome man, yes, he is, but not very open with the likes of me, no, he isn’t.”
“Did they have any problems that you were aware of?”
“Why, no. No. None at all. They seemed to be very happy. Very content, yes, they were.”
“And you didn’t see anyone else near the house. What about Saturday?”
“No, I didn’t see anyone there Saturday, no, I didn’t. I’d like to get back to my guests now, if I could?”
“Just a few more questions, Mrs. Manchini. Are you here in the house during the day?”
“Yes, yes, I am. I retired from the post office a ways back, yes, I did. I keep pretty much to myself nowadays, yes, I do. I read, and watch television, and go to my book club and do some gardening. I have lots of friends, yes, I do.”
“That’s good, Mrs. Manchini. Do the Wolffs entertain often?”
“Well, of course. They’re young and popular, they are indeed. But no more so than anyone else on this street. I’ve lived here for forty years, yes, I have, and I’ve seen neighbors come and go. Everyone seems very happy here, yes, they do.” She stopped wringing her hands, set them in her lap. The knuckles were red and gnarled. Combined with the wistful statement, her true age showed through. A lonely old woman, Mrs. Manchini.
“Okay, ma’am, let’s get you back with the others. You’re very kind to allow your house to be overrun like this. I’m sure the Harrises appreciate your help. I may want to talk to you again. Would that be okay?”
The woman lifted herself slowly off the bed, making the springs squeak in protest.
“Certainly, of course. Any time you need me, I’ll be right here, yes, I will.”
Taylor followed the mousy Mrs. Manchini back to the great room. The scene hadn’t changed much, except Michelle Harris now sat in a flowered chintz-covered armchair, holding a blond cherub in her arms. The little girl had china-blue eyes, a soft rosebud mouth, ivory skin with red apple cheeks. This must be Hayden. The child caught her eye, an unfathomable darkness shifting behind the cornflower depths. She spied Taylor’s gun, fixated on it for a moment, then started to cry, burying her face in her aunt’s shoulder.
Taylor and Michelle Harris sat at the kitchen table in Mrs. Manchini’s house, afternoon sunlight streaming hard through the southerly facing windows. Michelle was handling herself as well as could be expected, considering Taylor was pumping her again about her traumatic morning.
The father of the victim had returned with the younger brother, who wasn’t taking the news of his sister’s murder well. Fitz had Derek Harris out on the back deck, talking with an avuncular tilt to his head. Taylor could see the two men over the top of Michelle Harris’s shoulder, out the bay windows that were framed with a short, fringed chintz curtain. Taylor couldn’t imagine looking at all the busy mishmashed floral patterns and colors day in and day out.
At least she’d identified the unknown scent in the Wolffs’ house. It was the perfume Corinne’s sister wore, a heady scent overlaid with iris and jasmine. Cloyingly sweet, and too heavily applied, as if Michelle had used soap, lotion and perfume all from the same line.
Nose twitching, she continued the interview. “Okay. Run me through it again. Start with the last time you talked to your sister.”
Michelle was pale, looking drained and torn. She kept glancing over her shoulder at her little brother, obviously wanting to comfort him.
“Michelle?” Taylor asked.
“Sorry, Lieutenant. You know how it is with siblings. Sometimes you want to protect them from hurting.”
“No, actually, I’m an only child. I wouldn’t know. So please, run through it again. You and Corinne had a tennis date?” She sat back in the wooden chair, crossed her arms across her chest and waited patiently.
Michelle toyed with her ponytail, wrapping it around her neck in what Taylor thought was a compulsive gesture. “That’s right. We play at Richland. We’ve been making a run at the championship flight for the past few weeks. We’re doubles partners, have been for years. I thought about playing singles once, but Corinne wouldn’t hear of it. We are, were, such a great team. Something happens to us on the court, we can just sense each other’s movements, I guess.”
“And your sister played even though she was pregnant?”
“That’s right. She played up until the week before Hayden was born, only stopped when Todd begged her. This time, she’s had such an easy pregnancy that she swore she would go from a match straight to the delivery room. She would have, too, I bet. Corinne could always make her body work to her specifications. Give her a sprain, she’d manage to mend in time for the next event and never lose a step. She’s a wonder woman.”
“When was the baby due?”
Michelle’s voice grew thick. “Eight weeks.”
“Wow. She wasn’t very big for someone seven months along.”
“She didn’t get big with Hayden either. Only gained eight pounds, and Hayden was seven pounds, six ounces. Her body snapped right back. She was on that road this time, too. The poor baby. What will they do with him?”
Tears sprang to Michelle’s eyes. Taylor looked away while Michelle recovered her composure. She didn’t especially want to think about fetal death certificates right now.
“Let’s