One Foot in the Grave (Carly Moore #3) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,84
out for Wyatt, we needed to move fast.
“The night before she was supposed to leave. When she went to her goin’-away party at Mitzi’s.”
“She didn’t come by to get her things?” Marco asked.
“I suppose she did, because they were gone. She must have grabbed them after the party and then just left without sayin’ goodbye.”
Marco’s chin lifted slightly. “Is it safe to say you’re not sure who picked up her things?”
She shuddered. “I guess you’re right. It gives me the creeps to think a murderer might have been in my home.”
“We don’t know that they were,” Marco assured her. “Heather could have picked up her belongings and then encountered the person who killed her.”
Hilde nodded.
“Did Heather feel threatened by Wyatt?” I asked.
She snorted. “No, and I told the detective that. She thought she was playin’ him. I heard her tellin’ someone on the phone right before Wyatt was arrested for drivin’ drunk and breakin’ into Earl Cartwright’s garage.”
“Do you know who she was talking to?” I asked.
She gave me a penetrating look, as if to determine why I was asking her, then said, “I told the detective I wasn’t sure, but after he left, I spent a good amount of time thinkin’ about it, and now I suspect it was her other boyfriend.”
“And you don’t remember his name?” I asked. “Maybe a nickname?”
“Sometimes she would call him Peep. But never a given name.”
I glance at Marco. I wasn’t sure whether that would help us or not, and judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t either.
“Did Heather leave anything behind?” Marco asked. “Anything we could look through?”
Her body stilled. “Are you trying to find who killed her?”
Neither one of us answered at first. Then Marco finally said, “The sheriff’s department is convinced that Wyatt killed her, but we think someone else is guilty. We’re trying to figure out who.”
I turned to him in surprise. He wasn’t supposed to be any part of this. He was only here because he’d insisted on offering his condolences.
He gave me a grim look. “I’m in this now.”
Chapter Twenty
Marco turned back to Hilde. “But I have to tell you that even though I’m a deputy, I’m not lookin’ into this in an official capacity. That means you’re under no obligation to tell us anything.”
“I’ve got nothin’ to hide,” she said. “And I’m not sold on the theory that Wyatt killed her either. I’ll help you however I can.”
I pushed out a sigh of relief.
“Did she leave anything behind that we can look over?” Marco asked.
“She took most everything—” she made a face, “—or at least someone did, but there’s still a box of odds and ends in the closet in her old room. You’re welcome to look through it.” She got out of the chair and led us to the first doorway of several down a long hall, flipping on an overhead light as she walked into the room—what appeared to be a guest room with no personal ornamentation. Just some framed cross-stitch samplers hanging on the walls.
“Let me just get it out of the closet,” Hilde said, crossing the room and opening a sliding closet door. She started to reach for a cardboard box over her head, but Marco made his way inside and pulled it down for her.
“Just put it on the bed,” she said, pointing to a solid peach comforter.
He set it down, and she opened the tucked flaps and rifled through a couple of items at the top before standing upright.
“Yep. That’s it. Mostly a bunch of papers and letters and such. Feel free to dig through it.” She walked back to the wall and leaned against it, giving Marco an expectant look.
Marco and I exchanged a glance, and then we both sat down on the bed, one on either side of the box. He reached in and pulled out a small framed photo. He glanced at it, then handed it over. It was a photo of a smiling younger Wyatt and a woman with brown hair that hung slightly past her shoulders. His arm was slung around her, and she was leaning into him in a way that spoke of possession. She was pretty—very pretty—and I tried to not let Emily’s comment about my own looks burn. Both of them seemed happy. They were standing at the overlook with the valley behind them.
As I stared at the photo, it occurred to me that I’d rarely seen Wyatt smile. Had he been happy back then? I knew from Ruth that