Shakespeares Christmas Page 0,40

extreme lengths to conceal the original crime - the abduction - would even consider killing the girl. But on another level, it seemed obvious, even likely.

I knew nothing that could help solve this crime. What did I know how to do? I knew how to clean and how to fight.

I also knew where people were most likely to hide things. Cleaning had certainly taught me that. Objects could be mislaid anywhere (though I had a mental list of places I checked first, when employers asked me to keep my eyes open for some missing item) but hidden... that was a different matter.

So? I asked myself sarcastically. How was that going to help?

"Could you, sweetheart?" my mother was saying.

"What?" I asked, my voice sharp and quick. She'd startled me.

"I'm sorry," my mother said, her voice making it clear I should be saying that to her. "I asked if you would mind going over to Varena's place and finishing her packing?"

I wasn't sure why I was being asked to do this. Was Varena too scared to be there by herself? And it wasn't supposed to bother me? But maybe I'd been woolgathering while they'd spelled it out.

Varena certainly looked as if she needed sleep and a holiday. And this, right before the happiest time of her life.

"Of course," I said. "What about the wedding dress?"

"Oh, my heavens!" Mother exclaimed. "We've got to get that out right away!" Mother's pale face flushed. Somehow, the wedding dress was at risk in that apartment. Galvanized by this sudden urgency, Mother shooed me into my car and bundled herself up in record time.

She followed me over to Varena's and took the dress home personally, carrying it from the cottage to the car as though it were the crown and scepter of royalty.

I was left alone in Varena's place, an oddly unsettling feeling. It was like surreptitiously going through her drawers. I shrugged. I was here to do a job. That thought was very normal, very steadying, after all we'd seen lately.

I counted boxes, moved the ones already full out to my car trunk after labeling them with Varena's black marker. "Martha Stewart, that's me," I muttered and folded out the flaps on another box, placing it by the nearest closet. This was a little double closet with sliding doors in Varena's tiny hall. It held only a few linens and towels. I guessed Varena had already moved the others.

Just as I'd picked up the first handful, trying to restrain myself from shaking the sheets out and refolding them, there was a knock on the door. I looked through Varena's peephole. The knocker was a blond man, small, fair, with red-rimmed blue eyes. He looked mild and sad. I was sure I knew who it was.

"Emory Osborn," he said, when I opened the door. I shook his hand. His was that soft boneless handshake some men give a woman, as though they're scared if they squeeze with all their masculine power they'll break her delicate fingers. It felt like shaking hands with the Pillsbury Dough Boy. This was something Jess O'Shea and Emory Osborn had in common.

"Come in," I said. After all, he owned the cottage.

Emory Osborn stepped over the threshold. The widower was maybe 5' 7", not much taller than I. He was very fair and blue-eyed, handsome on a small scale, and he had the most flawless skin I'd ever seen on a man. Right at the moment, it was pink from the cold.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I told him.

He looked directly at me then. "You were here in the cottage last night?"

"Yes, I was."

"You saw her?"

"Yes."

"She was alive."

I shifted uneasily. "Yes," I told him reluctantly.

"Did she speak?"

"She asked after the children."

"The children?"

"That's all."

His eyes closed, and for one awful moment I thought he was going to cry.

"Have a seat," I said abruptly. I startled him into sitting down in the nearest chair, an armchair that must be Varena's favorite from the way she'd positioned it.

"Let me get you some hot chocolate." I went into the kitchen without waiting for an answer. I knew there would be some since Varena'd offered it to me the night before. There it was, on the counter where she'd set it, along with two mugs. Luckily, the microwave was built-in, so I was able to heat the water in it. I stirred in the powder. It wasn't very good, but it was hot and sweet, and he looked in need of both sugar and warmth.

"Where are the children?"