me to send her back out into that weather with nowhere else to stay in town.”
“Of course. I understand.” Mark gave Mrs. Wilcox a pleasant smile, which she returned, her shoulders dropping as if she was worried he’d disapprove of her lack of following protocol. “Did you happen to see if someone dropped her off?” There hadn’t been a vehicle left in the parking lot, which meant the woman had either walked, or been driven by someone else.
Mrs. Wilcox shook her head. “I didn’t even hear her come in. I was watching a show when I heard the bell ring at the front desk. Took me completely by surprise.”
“What can you tell me about that night?”
Mrs. Wilcox had ceased wringing the towel, but at the reference to that night, she started up again. Mark wondered if it would tear in half. “I heard yelling,” she whispered, glancing back down the hall over Mark’s shoulder as if someone might suddenly appear and overhear her say something she shouldn’t. “I couldn’t hear everything, but I did hear him yell, ‘How could you? How could you? You ruined everything.’”
“And it was definitely a man’s voice?”
“Oh yes. No mistaking that. I thought about coming up here. Guests aren’t allowed to have other people stay in their room without paying for double occupancy, you know? And there was the fighting . . . that was concerning. But then the yelling stopped, and I decided to address it in the morning.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I did the wrong thing, didn’t I?”
“No, ma’am. It’s understandable. There’s no way you could have known it was anything more than a couple’s spat.”
“Nothing like this has ever happened in Helena Springs.” Her hands stopped working the towel as she leaned forward. “There have been accidents where people lost their lives. The Ward family comes to mind, of course.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “That poor girl, Harper, losing both her parents that way. Well,” she said, drawing her shoulders back and seeming to catch herself talking of things she hadn’t been asked about. Mark was used to that, though. It was a thing people did—they looked to fill the silence, so he made sure to leave plenty of it available. Because often, that uninhibited chatter contained useful information. Having worked the job for almost thirty years, he’d learned to wait, listen, and store information away, just in case.
He handed Mrs. Wilcox his card. “If you think of anything else. Anything at all—no detail is too small—give me a call.”
She took his card, slipping it into the pocket of her apron and nodding. “I absolutely will.” She began to turn. “I’d better get back to those pies. I bake when I’m nervous. It helps—” She waved her hand around. “Anyway, Agent Gallagher, I’ll call if I think of anything.”
He tipped his head. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She gave him a nervous smile and then turned, heading back toward the stairs to the kitchen where he could smell the sweet and tart aroma of cherry pie baking.
Laurie used to make cherry pie—the crust woven together like a basket so the little spaces in between bubbled red and gooey when the pie was hot. That smell made him yearn, made the empty spots inside him throb with the reminder of what had been. He shook it off, concentrating on things he’d jotted in his notebook, turning his mind back to the two murdered people deserving of justice.
He needed to get to that second scene. He wanted to look at it as soon as possible after examining the first—see if something about them seemed familiar in a way he might not recognize if the timing was further apart. Tomorrow morning wouldn’t be good enough. He’d told Laurie he’d be home for dinner, but she’d understand that with a new job, he had to give it his all. Not that he’d do less regardless. It wasn’t in his nature to half-ass anything, never had been. Although he wondered distantly if he was doing everything he could where his marriage was concerned. He pushed those thoughts aside for the moment. That would take time. He hoped. God, he hoped.
It felt like he’d been hoping for a long time. Too long maybe.
As he walked to his truck, snow was falling again, the icy air burning his skin. The sky was gray and low, as though at any moment it might descend lower and crush everyone beneath it. It made him feel depressed and claustrophobic.