Silent Rain Page 5

  “She said the Grangers sometimes invited her to events.”

  Cornelia sniffed. “That’s because she’d make them pay for it if she wasn’t included. Check with the city. That woman lodged noise complaints on a regular basis, contested every time they did so much as pick up a screw driver, and wasn’t afraid to bully everyone else on the street into signing petitions. The entire neighborhood lives in fear of her clipboard.”

  Macy took a few notes.

  “Were there any disputes that turned particularly nasty?” asked Macy.

  “No, Peter was a regular snake charmer when it came to Julia. He’d go over with a bottle of wine and an invitation to something or another. Julia was so in love with him it worked.”

  “What about Hannah?”

  Cornelia shook her head. “Hannah refused to play those kinds of games. She couldn’t stand Julia so she let Peter deal with her. They were quite a team, Peter and Hannah. So different and yet so perfectly matched.” She pressed a fresh tissue to her eyes. “I can’t believe someone would be so cruel … to murder them in their own bed. Do you think they suffered?”

  “Ms. Hart, we may not know for some time whether this is a homicide investigation. The building needs to be secured before we can access the scene.”

  Cornelia picked at the frayed cuff of her jacket. “I thought it was arson.”

  “Your confusion is understandable. There were several fires last night. All of them arson—but that was a car, a shed, and a Dumpster. This was a house. It could have been a candle, a cigarette, a gas leak. We can’t rule anything out yet.”

  Cornelia dug around in her bag again, this time coming up with a bundle of papers bound by a thick green rubber band. Many of the pages were marked with different colored Post-it notes. It only took her a few seconds to find the page she was looking for. She slid the whole pile toward Macy and pressed her finger to a few paragraphs of marked up text.

  “This is Peter’s latest manuscript,” she said. “One of his central characters is a writer. In the final chapter he dies in a fire at home in his bed. I just read this part last night. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence.”

  “May I,” said Macy, her eyes quickly scanning the page.

  The novel’s main character was a writer who lived in a sprawling ranch house located on a ridge of land overlooking the Gallatin Valley. The night sky was so clear, the fire was seen from airplanes passing overhead at 30,000 feet.

  “Other than being a writer, is this character similar to Peter Granger in any other ways?” asked Macy.

  Cornelia dabbed her eyes with the tail end of a tissue.

  “Their appearance is very different but I felt Peter was writing about himself. Peter was at a crossroads in his career. Like the character in the book, Peter was constantly fighting to stay relevant and then hating himself for caring.”

  “Why did you have access to his manuscript?”

  Cornelia looped the rubber band around her wrist. “It’s true that I normally only handled his and Hannah’s personal affairs as they related to work. Booking flights, paying bills, handling arrangements for the dinners and parties they often held at home. His writing life was kept very separate. I guess you could say this was the one exception. Peter trusts me with his work. He’s always given me a copy of his manuscript before passing it on to his editor.”

  Macy pointed out the comments that had been made in the margins. “Is this your handwriting?”

  “Yes, I’ve been editing his work for years now.”

  Macy flipped through the manuscript. Cornelia’s notes were extensive. She’d circled, underlined, and written out lines of text on the backs of some of the pages. Her handwriting was small and precise. From what Macy could tell, the style of the passages seemed to reflect what Peter Granger had written.

  “It looks like you’ve made a lot of notes. It must have taken a great deal of time.”

  “It was a privilege to work with Peter. I think I’ve come to know his writing better than anyone.” Cornelia neatened the pages so they lined up properly. “I’ve been a huge fan for years.”

  “Is that why he employed you?”

  Cornelia’s expression brightened.

  “I suppose it helped. Over the years I’d met him at various events back when he still did book tours. When he and his wife advertised a position for a personal assistant, I applied.”

  Cornelia bundled up the manuscript and slipped it back into her bag. She sighed.

  “I’m sorry if I wasted your time with this,” Cornelia said. “I suppose you need to figure out whether a crime has been committed in the first place.”

  “That’s generally how things happen, but given it may be some time before I have solid information on that front, I’ll continue interviewing anyone who was close to the Grangers. It would be very helpful if you could compile a list. I’d also like to know if they’ve had any recent disputes. The manuscript may yet become relevant.” Macy took a quick look at her notes. “Do you have keys to his offices at the Bridger Cultural Center?”

  “No, but the administrative office in the lobby is open during business hours. I’ll speak to them on your behalf if you like. It shouldn’t be a problem getting a spare key.”

  Macy had never before met someone who was so eager to smooth the way for the police.

  “Thank you,” said Macy. “That’s very thoughtful, but I’m sure we can handle making the proper arrangements.”

  “Really, it’s no trouble. One phone call to let them know you’re coming will make all the difference.”

  Macy thought about it for a second. It really wouldn’t make a difference if Cornelia made the call. Macy thanked her again for her help, but went on to caution her. She didn’t want Cornelia talking about the case.

  Cornelia sat up a little taller. “Don’t worry,” she promised. “I won’t say a word.”

  “What were things like inside the Granger’s home? Did they have a fixed routine?” asked Macy.

  “For the most part they led very solitary lives.”

  “That’s surprising. Everyone else is saying that there was a constant stream of guests and they liked to entertain.”

  “Oh, they did, but they only socialized a couple of evenings a week and on the weekends. During the day they were completely focused on their work. When she wasn’t at the college Hannah spent a lot of time in her studio at the house, but she was too disorganized for Peter’s taste. Her music was always playing too loud and she’d not bother with anything remotely domestic when she was working. It drove Peter nuts, which is why he rented an office.”

  “Was there any tension between them?”

  “They argued all the time but they seemed to enjoy it.”

  “What did they argue about?”

  “Authors, artists, creativity … nothing that touched on the everyday.”

  “That was your job.”

  “Pardon?”

  Macy made some notes. “You took care of their everyday lives so they didn’t have to argue about it.”

  “I guess I did shield them a bit, but they needed that freedom so they could create. I think they would have been a little lost without me around to run things.”

  “Have you always been a personal assistant?”

  “No, I worked as a nurse practitioner in a critical-care unit for years. My ex-husband was the main partner in a corporate law firm in New York. It was only after the marriage broke down that I realized I was never more than his executive assistant. He’d even joked about hiring me after the divorce papers were signed.” She shrugged. “He was trying to be funny, but it gave me an idea. I was burned out from nursing and I needed to make a change. I started working for friends but slowly took on other clients. This was my first full-time job. Hannah and Peter wanted the arrangement to be exclusive.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I really haven’t thought about it. It will take some time to settle their affairs. I’m hoping the lawyers will want me on board to s
ee it through to the end. I feel I owe so much to them for the past ten years. Then I’ll move back to New York. Montana is nice but it’s not my home.”

  “Tell me about the parties they held. Were they well attended?”

  “Very. In summer the crowds spilled out onto the back garden. There were always a lot of students and faculty from the university. Famous authors, actors, and artists would come to stay. Hannah and Peter were very generous. The wine, champagne, and catering were always of the best quality. I sometimes questioned the expense, but they didn’t seem to worry.”

  “Were there money problems?”

  Cornelia hesitated for the first time. “It feels wrong to discuss their finances,” she said.

  “I really need to know if there were problems.”

  “It wasn’t just the parties,” offered Cornelia. “It was also dinners out, the clothes, and the travel. They weren’t the type of people who believed in flying economy.”

  “Do you think that’s what they should have been doing?”

  “Yes, but flying first class isn’t what killed them. A fire did. I’m not sure why it’s relevant.”

  Macy put her hand on the stack of files Cornelia had brought with her.

  “Do you know who stands to benefit in the event they both died?”

  “Their will was reviewed about six months ago. Peter and Hannah were planning to leave the bulk of their estate to various arts foundations. As far as I know there were no changes made. I’ve included the name of the executor in my list of contacts. He should be able to help you.”

  “I’m sorry, this may seem indelicate, but it’s routine in an investigation to ask all those closest to the victims about their whereabouts at the time of the incident.”

  Cornelia started crying again. “There’s no need to apologize. I volunteer at the Norwood Pines Home for the Elderly. As a former nurse, they rely on my help. I sometimes stay late if a patient is feeling unwell or lonely. It’s a big facility so they don’t always have staff to spare.”

  “You were there all evening?”

  “From six in the evening onward. I finally went home at around three in the morning. There’s a sheet at the reception desk where we sign in and out.”

  “Thank you, Cornelia. I appreciate how hard this is for you. I will do my best to keep you up to date.” Macy handed her a card. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  3

  Tuesday

  Grace stood next to the window with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She tucked her jet-black hair behind her ears and took another sip of tea. Her warm breath steamed over the glass. She rubbed it away with her pale fingers so she could watch the sparrows dart through the trees in the park across the street. Overhead, dark clouds lumbered across a fading sky. Weather warnings ran in a constant ribbon beneath the news reports about the town’s recent crime wave. Snow was falling heavily in the surrounding mountains. It was only a matter of time before Bolton suffered the same fate. Grace tilted her face up as a lost ray of sunshine slipped through the clouds. For a few seconds it was as bright as summer. It was the first time she’d felt warm all day.

  Her third-floor apartment overlooked the full length of Spruce Street, the road that ran in front of the building. At the moment it was empty save for a woman jogging alongside a yellow Labrador, but Grace had caught sight of Clare’s car a few minutes earlier as she circled the block looking for a parking space. Grace turned away from the window. Lara was sprawled out on the sofa staring at her cell phone, a position she’d held since they’d returned to the apartment two hours earlier.

  “Any word from Taylor?” asked Grace. “I’m really worried about what she’s going to do when she hears what’s happened.”

  “No one has heard from her since Thursday. Bet she’s with her boyfriend,” said Lara.

  “You’d think she’d call.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “Nope, but then again I didn’t get the impression that he wanted to know who we were either.”

  “That’s because we were behaving like a bunch of degenerates.”

  Grace’s dog, Jack, was stretched out on a rug in front of the television. The black mongrel lifted his wide head a fraction and tracked Grace’s progress across the living room. In the past few months his muzzle had gone gray. Grace had adopted him from the shelter so had no idea how old he was, and that bothered her. In the past few years she’d grown attached. Grace bent down and scratched him behind his ears.

  “Don’t worry, Jack. I know things are a little weird right now but everything is going to be okay.”

  Lara mumbled something Grace didn’t catch.

  “Pardon,” said Grace.

  “It’s not going to be okay,” said Lara.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “There’s no way you can put a positive spin on what’s happened, so please stop trying.”

  Jack let out a low growl as the front door swung open. Clare stepped inside the two-bedroom apartment, smelling of cigarette smoke. She set two bags of groceries on the kitchen counter before peeling off her scarf and jacket. The hat stayed on. She was out of breath from climbing the stairs.

  “Sorry I took so long. I stopped by my place to change clothes and take a shower,” said Clare.

  Grace leaned against the counter where the stack of unopened mail was six inches high. Clare didn’t live with Lara and Grace, but that didn’t stop her from taking over their kitchen anytime she was given the chance.

  “You guys owe me eighteen dollars each for food.” Clare tilted her head toward Lara. “I take it you’ll be giving me another IOU.”

  “I’ll pay Lara’s share,” said Grace.

  Clare kept her voice low. “You need to stop doing that.”

  Grace changed the subject. “We were just talking about Taylor.”

  “I went by her house,” said Clare. “No one came to the door so I let myself in. Taylor’s room was as tidy as ever, so there’s no way of knowing whether she’s slept there recently.”

  “Is she still seeing that grad student?” asked Grace. “We could call him.”

  Clare shrugged. “I don’t know his name or anything about him.”

  “Taylor’s housemates will know,” said Lara.

  “I would have asked but they weren’t home.” Clare opened the refrigerator and frowned. The leftovers from the last meal she’d prepared were still on the shelf. “Don’t you guys ever eat at home?”

  “Only when you cook,” answered Lara.

  “I’m worried about Taylor,” said Grace. “She’s close to Hannah and Peter. We really should be with her when she hears the news.”

  “Grace, you need to stop rewriting history. It was always Peter she was close to, or rather dreamed of being close to. Hannah never really figured into her fantasies.” Clare put a pot full of water on the stove. “I’m making some pasta. Do you guys want any?”

  Lara rolled over so her face was buried in the back of the sofa. “Not hungry,” she said.

  Grace didn’t agree but she didn’t have the energy to argue with Clare and Lara. They’d both been bitching about Taylor ever since Peter declared that she was his most gifted student a few months earlier. Grace no longer attended the Tuesday evening sessions, so she got to hear about Taylor’s ascension to the throne when Lara came home in a particularly nasty mood. Clare and Lara had ganged up on Taylor the last time they’d gone out together. Grace had tried to defend Taylor but the argument had escalated too quickly. Once Clare, Lara, and Taylor started shouting at each other, Grace had no chance of being heard. Now that Grace had a little distance from the situation, she saw Peter Granger for who he really was.

  One by one, he’d used them all. As an added bonus, he’d broken up their friendships.

  “Thank you. Pasta sounds great,” said Grace.

  Clare’s face was flushed pink from the heat. The blue beanie she wore was pulled down tight enough to cover what little remained of her hair. When it first started
falling out her parents were convinced there was a medical explanation. One visit to a doctor eliminated that as a possibility. He instead referred Clare to a therapist. Sometimes Clare pulled her hair so hard it made her scalp bleed. She wasn’t even safe while she was sleeping. In the morning there were always clumps of hair on her pillow. Her therapist had prescribed Xanax and told her to buy a nice hat. The blue beanie was part of a growing collection.

  “Has your hair started to grow back?” asked Grace.

  “The therapist told me it was just a matter of time. I’m trying not to worry, as that’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”

  “You can take your hat off when you’re here. We’re not going to judge you.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you judge me or not. I’m doing that all on my own.”

  Grace rubbed her eyes so Clare couldn’t see how frustrated she felt. Discussions with Clare were often like this. For all of Clare’s supposedly high emotional intelligence, she couldn’t tell the difference between empathy and pity. Grace changed the subject. It was getting late and she still had a lot of schoolwork to do.

  “I’ve got to get back in the studio and finish up a few more paintings,” said Grace.

  “When does the student exhibition open?”

  “Next week.”

  “You could do a few hours this evening.”

  “I thought of that but I’m too tired. I’ll go up to campus tomorrow and stay the whole day. The head of the art department sent all the students an e-mail. Classes are cancelled until Monday next week, so there should be plenty of time.”

  “Why were classes cancelled?”

  “I suppose it has to do with Hannah. I imagine everyone in the art department is freaking out as much as we are.”

  “That would take a lot of freaking out. Sometimes I think we’re all seconds away from losing it completely,” said Clare.

  “We’re doing okay.”

  Clare spoke sharply. “Grace, we are not doing okay. Lara doesn’t eat, when Taylor is self-harming she goes off the radar for days at a time, Pippa is back in her childhood home eating happy pills, and I’ve pulled out most of my hair.”