Page 2 of If She Stayed
The sound of a drill came from inside the house, where Allen was methodically replacing the smoke detectors.It was exactly the kind of practical, responsible task that exemplified why Kate had fallen in love with him.He was steady, reliable, the kind of man who remembered to change smoke detector batteries before they started chirping at three in the morning.He’d spent about six hours reading up on online publications as to when they were supposed to be changed out—not just the batteries but the entire systems.
Kate smiled and returned her attention to her laptop.The caterer had confirmed the final headcount, and the string quartet had sent their playlist for approval.She'd initially worried that planning a wedding at fifty-eight would feel ridiculous, but Allen had convinced her that they deserved to celebrate properly."We're not kids anymore," he'd said when they'd gotten engaged six months ago."We know what we want, and we know how rare it is to find it."
Michael's delighted giggle drew her attention back to the yard.He'd managed to balance a particularly large leaf on top of his truck and was now carefully pushing it across the grass, his face scrunched in concentration.Kate felt that familiar warmth in her chest, the same feeling she'd experienced when Melissa had been small and everything in the world seemed manageable and contained within their backyard.
This was the life she'd never imagined having at this stage of her life.When she'd retired from the FBI the first time, she'd thought her adventurous days were behind her.When she'd eventually gone back to work, she'd assumed she was choosing career over family.But somehow, through a series of events she still couldn't quite believe, she'd ended up with both.Michael's birth had been a shock, a medical miracle that the doctors still couldn't fully explain… even though they werestilltrying.Her return to consulting work with the FBI had given her the intellectual stimulation she craved without the constant travel and danger of full-time fieldwork.
She closed her laptop and stretched, enjoying the feeling of the sun on her face.The wedding dress hanging in her closet was a simple navy blue sheath, elegant without being fussy.Allen's suit was hanging beside it, and Kate had caught him trying it on twice in the past week, claiming he was just making sure it still fit properly.She suspected he was as nervous about the ceremony as she was, though neither of them would admit it.
Michael had abandoned his truck and was now attempting to climb onto the picnic table under the tree.Kate was about to stand up and help him when her cell phone rang.She glanced at the screen and saw Director Duran's name.Kate hesitated for a moment before answering.Since transitioning to consulting work, she received maybe one call every two weeks from Duran, usually for cases that required her specific expertise or experience.She'd been clear about her boundaries: no extended travel, no undercover work, and nothing that would take her away from Michael for more than a few days.
"Hi, Director," Kate answered."What's going on?"
"Kate, I'm sorry to bother you, but I've got something unusual here that I think you might find interesting."Duran's voice carried that particular tone he used when he was trying to sound casual about something that was clearly bothering him."We've got a murder scene not too far away from your house… about ten minutes away from you, I think.Local PD called us in because there are some...peculiar elements to the case."
Kate watched Michael successfully climb onto the picnic table bench and raise his arms in triumph.The thought of a killer striking so close by sent a little shiver of maternal fear into her heart."What kind of peculiar elements?"
"A woman found dead in her home library.Margaret Carlisle, sixty-two years old.The responding officer is convinced someone staged the scene to look like something out of an Agatha Christie novel.And I don’t use that as a metaphor.It’s legitimately what may have happened.The staging and all of it.Agent DeMarco is already on site with the local detective, but I thought you might want to take a look.Seems to be absolutely zero traces or clues left behind."
Kate felt a familiar stirring of curiosity.During her years with the FBI, she'd encountered killers who staged scenes before, usually to throw off investigations or to satisfy some psychological need.But referencing specific literature was relatively uncommon, and it suggested a killer with a particular type of education or obsession.
"What exactly makes them think it's Christie-related?"Kate asked.
"I don’t know the full details myself, but I do know that there was a copy of 'Murder on the Orient Express' on a chair, mid-read.And the cop in question says there were details at the scene that apparently mirror scenes from Christie novels.”
Kate stood up and walked to the edge of the deck.Michael had tottered away from the picnic table and was now examining something in the flower bed, probably one of the beetles that had seemed to fascinate him lately.The drilling sound from inside the house had stopped, and Kate could hear Allen's radio playing softly from the kitchen.
"Thatisstrange," Kate admitted."Someone who kills to replicate fictional murders is usually either making a statement about the books themselves or trying to prove they're smarter than the original detective."
"That's exactly what I was thinking.The question is whether we're dealing with someone who's obsessed with Christie specifically, or someone who's using the novels as a template for something else entirely.Or, of course, if we’re completely off base on this one already.Hence… me calling you."
Kate found herself genuinely intrigued.Literary-themed murders were rare enough to be professionally interesting, and the fact that the crime had occurred in Richmond meant she wouldn't have to travel far from home.Michael was content in the yard, Allen was busy with his home improvement project, and the wedding planning was essentially complete.
"You said DeMarco is already on the scene?"
"Yes, she arrived about an hour ago.I know you're trying to keep a light schedule, but this one feels like it might be right up your alley.And it's practically in your backyard."
Kate glanced at her watch.It was 10:35 in the morning.If she left now, she could be at the crime scene within fifteen minutes.She could take a look around, offer her initial impressions, and still be home in plenty of time to help Allen with dinner.Michael typically napped around two o'clock anyway, so the timing could work out perfectly.
"Can you text me the address?"Kate asked."I'll drive over and take a look, but this is just a consultation.I'm not taking on a full case right now."
"Understood.I'll send DeMarco a heads-up that you're coming.She'll be thrilled.Thanks, Kate.I really think this one is going to require your expertise."
Kate ended the call and slipped her phone into her pocket.She walked down the deck steps into the yard, where Michael was now crouched beside a small hole he'd apparently dug with his hands.
"What did you find, sweetheart?"Kate asked, kneeling beside him.
Michael looked up at her with dirt-streaked hands and a grin that displayed the few teeth he had."Bug!"he announced proudly, pointing at the flower bed.
Kate peered into the dirt and saw what appeared to be a beetle making its way across the loose soil."That's a very good bug," she agreed."But we need to go inside now so Mommy can go to work for a little while."
Michael considered this information seriously, then carefully replaced the small clod of dirt he'd removed."Bug house," he explained.
Kate lifted him from the grass, noting that his little jeans were now thoroughly stained with dirt and grass.Allen would probably change him into clean clothes before his nap anyway.Michael settled comfortably against her hip, one small hand tangling in her hair.
As Kate walked toward the house, she felt the familiar pull of professional curiosity balanced against her contentment with domestic life.A murder staged to look like an Agatha Christie novel was definitely unusual enough to warrant investigation.And if the killer was indeed using literature as inspiration, Kate's years of experience with psychological profiling could prove valuable.
She climbed the deck steps and opened the sliding door that led into their kitchen, where Allen's radio was playing classic rock and the smell of his morning coffee still lingered in the air.She knew he'd be fine with her taking this job on; he'd always been supportive.But at the same time, she wondered what she'd ever done to deserve this full, blessed life.
