patio. “I don’t know. We must call the police.”
“Yes, of course.” Marcella wrapped her arms around herself and started to rock gently back and forth. “I hope he’s dead. I was absolutely terrified of him.”
Lyra pulled herself together, dropped the golf club, and hurried around the edge of the pool. She stopped close to Marcella. The woman was trembling violently.
“Please let him be dead,” Marcella whispered. “He was going to kill me. They said he was cured, but he intended to murder me. He said it would look like an accidental drowning. He said the police would assume I got drunk on martinis, fell into the pool, and died. He had it all planned out, you see.”
Lyra grabbed two thick towels from the stack on a nearby bench. A heavy object that had been tucked between the towels tumbled out and landed on the tiles with a clatter. Startled, she looked down and saw a pistol.
Marcella stiffened. “I bought it a while ago. I was so afraid of him. But in the end it didn’t do me any good. He caught me by surprise. Said he knew I was waiting for a private investigator. He realized I intended to try to find evidence to have him committed again.”
Lyra did not respond, for the simple reason that she could not sort out her own feelings. On the one hand, she hoped that Charles Adlington was never again going to be a threat. But the possibility that she might have killed a man, even in self-defense, was too much to deal with in that moment. She reminded herself that she was a professional. She had to remain calm, cool, and collected.
She wrapped a dry towel around Marcella’s shoulders. “Wait here.”
Skirting the pool, she went back across the patio and approached the body warily. The bleeding appeared to have slowed. She hoped that was a good sign. But when she got closer it occurred to her that it might indicate that Adlington’s heart had stopped beating.
She glanced at the golf club. There was blood and hair and possibly other matter on it. She did not want to examine it too closely. Adlington showed no obvious signs of life, but maybe he was faking unconsciousness. If she tried to check for a pulse, he might grab her and overpower her.
She turned to look at Marcella. “I’m going to call the police. Where’s the nearest phone?”
“What?” Marcella blinked a couple of times and jerked her attention away from the body. “Oh. The phone. Yes, of course. Inside the conservatory.”
“Keep an eye on him,” Lyra said. “I’ll be right back. Whatever you do, don’t get too close to him. He may still be conscious.”
“Wait.” Marcella sprang to her feet. “Don’t leave me out here with him. What if he’s not dead?”
“I have to call the police.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Marcella made her way around the pool. Lyra waited for her. Together they went into the glass-walled conservatory. The phone was on a small table. Lyra picked up the receiver and dialed the operator.
“Burning Cove police, please,” she said. “Homicide.” She tightened her grip on the phone to try to still the trembling in her fingers. She was a private investigator. She had to look good in front of the client. Competent.
“One moment, I’ll connect you,” the operator said.
A moment later a gruff, male voice came on the line. “Homicide. Brandon.”
“This is Lyra Brazier. I’m an investigator for Kirk Investigations.”
“Yeah? Didn’t know Miss Kirk had hired another investigator. Business is picking up, huh?”
Lyra decided this was not the time to explain that she was technically an apprentice investigator.
“I’m calling from the Adlington residence on Harborview Drive, Detective,” she said. “There’s been an incident involving Mrs. Adlington’s husband. We need the police and an ambulance.”
“Mrs. Adlington is hurt?” Brandon’s voice sharpened abruptly. “How bad?”
Lyra studied the unmoving figure on the patio. “Mrs. Adlington is fine. It’s Mr. Adlington who has been injured. I don’t know how badly. He appears to be . . . unconscious.” She cleared her throat. “Possibly dead.”
“Are you and Mrs. Adlington safe?”
“Yes.”
“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”
There was a click on the other end of the line. Brandon had hung up. Lyra dropped the receiver into the cradle and looked at Marcella, who was staring at her husband through the glass panes of the conservatory.
“I knew he was becoming increasingly unbalanced again,” she said. “But I also knew no one would believe me. When there were other people around he always managed to