You Don't Want To Know - By Lisa Jackson Page 0,182

Jewel-Anne’s corpse was being checked over. The thought made her shudder.

“This way,” Snyder said as she turned at the top of the steps to head toward the wing her cousin had occupied. Instead, he led her to her own bedroom.

Why?

Then she knew. She was the primary suspect, the person who had found the body, the family member with a very sharp ax to grind. Her heart beat a little faster.

The room was disheveled, black fingerprint powder on all the surfaces, the bed pulled apart, bedding removed, the box springs and mattress separated, the mattress standing on its side near one wall.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, heart drumming. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“We wanted to ask you about this.” Snyder pointed to her bed where a reddish brown stain was visible on the box springs. Seven or eight inches long, an inch wide . . .

Dear God, what . . . ?

Her gaze moved to the mattress propped on its side, and of course it, too, held a similar stain. Obviously an object had been pushed between the two. Her pulse jumped. “What?” she murmured, a new panic surging through her blood as she got it. The stain had to be dried blood, and it was formed into the distinctive shape of a long-bladed knife. Her stomach convulsed. “God in heaven,” she whispered, and glanced back at Snyder, who was holding a plastic bag.

Inside the bag was the missing knife. Its serrated blade was sharp and deadly, smeared with blood.

Jewel-Anne’s blood!

Her knees threatened to buckle, and she had to steady herself by leaning against her dresser. Obviously the cops thought this was the weapon used to slice Jewel-Anne’s throat. Her stomach roiled, nausea bubbling up at the thought of the ugly blade carving into her cousin’s flesh. She ran into the bathroom and heaved over the toilet. Once. Twice. Her stomach cramped and tears burned in her eyes as images of her handicapped cousin being attacked tore through her mind. She retched again, her stomach empty, only foul bile spewing into the toilet bowl. Had Jewel-Anne known her attacker? Obviously the killer understood about her attachment to the stupid dolls. But who . . . ? She felt time passing as she clutched the rim of the toilet, saw beads of sweat drip from her nose into the murky water.

“Mrs. Garrison?” Snyder again. Sounding as if he were miles away when he was standing in the doorway.

Finally, her stomach calmed. After flushing the toilet, she paused at the sink, rinsed her mouth, and caught her reflection in the mirror. Ashen. Hair a mess. Eyes haunted.

Too bad.

She wasn’t guilty!

Her legs still shaky, she made her way into the bedroom and saw that Snyder’s serious partner had joined him.

“Sorry.” Ava focused on the bag he was still holding, the bloody knife visible through the plastic. “That”—she pointed to the bag—“it’s not mine. That knife . . . I don’t know how it got here, in my room.”

Lyons was obviously skeptical. “We have a few more questions for you, Mrs. Garrison. But they might be better answered at the station.”

What? No! “Wait. I . . . I can’t leave. Not now. The search party is out looking for Lester Reece and my son . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized no one was asking her permission. They actually thought she might have killed Jewel-Anne and probably the other women as well. It was all ridiculous. Why would she do such a horrid thing? Commit such gruesome, malicious murders?

Because they think you’re nuts. Homicidal. Probably suicidal as well and any other -idal there is.

Remember, Cheryl Reynolds and Evelyn McPherson knew all of your secrets. Didn’t you accuse good old Doc McPherson of having an affair with your husband? Didn’t you try to fire her? Yeah, that’s right, you did. Everyone knew how you felt about her. Weren’t you the last one to see Cheryl Reynolds alive? Maybe you said something you regretted . . . hmmm? And then there’s that sticky little matter of nearly tossing your dear cousin over the railing the night before. Everyone here at Neptune’s Gate knows how you despised her, how deep the rift between you ran, and then you found out she was Noah’s biological mother. You snapped, Ava. That’s what they all think. You lost it and became a murderous beast. And now they have the knife, the murder weapon. Face it, Ava, you’re screwed. Whoever did this was pretty clever and made