Page 4 of If She Stayed
"What about the legal pad?"Kate asked, nodding to the table by the chair."Those look like discussion notes."
DeMarco nodded."According to a neighbor, Sandra Morrison, she took the book clubveryseriously.They meet the third Thursday of every month, which would be tomorrow.The notes appear to be questions she'd prepared for discussingMurder on the Orient Express."
Kate read some of the handwritten questions without touching the pad."How does Christie use the confined setting to build tension?""What role does social class play?""Do you think Poirot made the right decision?"The handwriting was neat but showed slight trembling, the kind that often develops with age or mere impatience.
"So she was preparing for a book club discussion when someone came to her door," Kate said."Someone she trusted enough to let inside, someone who knew enough about her reading habits to stage this specific scene."
"That's my reading of it,” DeMarco said.“The question is whether we're dealing with someone from her book club, someone else who knew about her reading preferences, or someone who's making a broader statement about Christie novels in general."
Kate continued her examination of the library.A small bar cart in the corner held a few bottles of wine and liquor, along with crystal glasses that matched the ones in the dining room cabinet.The Persian rug showed wear patterns that suggested this was where Margaret spent most of her time when she was home.Everything about the room spoke of quiet evenings spent reading, the kind of peaceful retirement that many people worked their entire lives to achieve.
"Have you spoken with any of the other book club members aside from Morrison?"Kate asked.
"Not yet.I was waiting for you to examine the scene first.Sandra Morrison gave me a list of the members, and I've got their contact information.Seven other women, all between forty-nine and sixty-seven."
Kate found herself drawn back to the victim's position in the chair.Margaret's hands were folded in her lap, her legs positioned parallel, her head tilted slightly to one side.It was the kind of arrangement that required time and care, suggesting the killer had remained in the house for several minutes after Margaret's death.
"Any idea about time of death?"Kate asked.
"Coroner estimates sometime between eight and ten p.m.last night.Margaret's car is in the garage, and according to Sandra Morrison, Margaret rarely went anywhere in the evenings except for book club meetings.Her husband got home around ten after eleven from his job at the grocery store.Neighbors said he usually works a few nights just to make some extra cash and stay busy.The call to 9-1-1 came at 11:12."
Kate studied the wine glass on the side table."Was she drinking alone, or did she offer wine to her visitor?"
"Good question.I found only one glass with wine residue.There's a clean glass in the kitchen sink, but it's unclear when it was last used.The wine bottle is in the library bar cart, about half empty."
The methodical staging bothered Kate more than the murder itself.In her experience, killers who took time to arrange their victims were either satisfying some deep psychological need or making a deliberate statement.The Christie connection suggested someone educated, someone familiar with classic detective fiction.But the specific choice ofMurder on the Orient Expresswas interesting, since that novel involved multiple killers working together to achieve justice that the legal system had failed to provide.
"This isn't random," Kate said finally."Someone planned this carefully.They knew Margaret's reading habits, they knew she'd be home alone last night up until a certain time, and they knew enough about Christie's work to recreate specific details from the novel."
"So we're looking for someone in her social circle," DeMarco said."Someone with access to her house and knowledge of her schedule."
Kate nodded, but something about the staging nagged at her.The precision of the candlestick placement, the careful positioning of Margaret's body, and the bookmark left at exactly the right page.It felt like a message, though she wasn't sure yet what that message might be.
"I want to see the rest of the house," Kate said."And then I think we need to talk to the book club members if possible.If this is connected to her reading group, one of them might know more than they realize."
As they left the library, Kate found herself thinking about the wine glass and the legal pad full of discussion questions.Margaret Carlisle had been preparing for a book club meeting, ready to discuss Hercule Poirot's most famous case.The irony wasn't lost on Kate that Margaret had been murdered while reading about a murder, killed by someone who understood Christie's work well enough to use it as inspiration.
To say it was intriguing was an understatement.And though it made her feel a little pang of guilt, she knew there was no way she could just stand on the sidelines for this one.
Kate glanced around the house one more time, noting the family photos and comfortable furnishings that spoke of a life well-lived.But someone had turned her peaceful retirement into the setting for a real-life murder mystery.The question now was whether they were dealing with a single killer making a literary statement, or whether Margaret's death was the first in a series of Christie-inspired murders.
CHAPTER THREE
Diana Vance adjusted the microfiber cloth in her hand and sprayed glass cleaner across the bedroom window of 428 Maple Street.From this second-floor vantage point, she had a perfect view into the backyard of 430 Maple Street, where Kate Wise sat on her deck with a laptop balanced on her knees, completely unaware that she was being watched.Her kid was pushing a little toy truck back and forth along the grass.
The irony wasn't lost on Diana that after nearly ten years in prison, the first legitimate work she'd found was cleaning houses.But "Diane Walsh" had excellent references, thanks to a carefully constructed identity that had taken her three months to establish after her release.The Hendersons, who owned this pristine suburban home, had hired her without question when she'd answered their ad two weeks ago.They traveled frequently for business and needed someone reliable to maintain their house while they were away.It felt like an opportunity that the universe had weaved together, specifically for her.
What they didn't know was that Diana had specifically sought out employment opportunities in this particular neighborhood.What they couldn't have guessed was that their house cleaner had spent months researching property records, studying satellite images, and timing the daily routines of the family next door.
Diana polished the window with methodical strokes, taking pride in leaving the glass spotless.Prison had taught her patience and attention to detail, skills that served her well in her new profession.She genuinely enjoyed the work, found satisfaction in transforming cluttered spaces into organized perfection.It was honest labor, something she hadn't experienced since before Allen Goldman's testimony destroyed her life.She knew it wasn’t work that anyone would reallywantto do, but she was glad to be doing it.
Through the clean glass, she watched twenty-two-month-old Michael push his red toy truck around the base of the oak tree.Diana had been observing the family for two weeks now, documenting their patterns with the same thoroughness she'd once applied to her accounting work.
Kate typically spent Wednesday mornings on the deck when the weather was nice, either reading or working on her laptop.Allen was usually inside during these sessions, handling household maintenance or preparing for his evening classes at the community college where he taught continuing education courses in business management.Michael napped every day between two and four, giving Diana a window of opportunity to observe the house when both adults were inside and the child was asleep.
She'd noted that their security system was basic, probably installed when they first moved in together.A simple alarm panel by the front door, motion sensors on the ground-floor windows, but nothing sophisticated.The kind of system that would deter opportunistic burglars but wouldn't stop someone with patience and planning.Diana wondered if federal agents didn't really spend a lot of money on security systems because they already felt confident in their ability to protect themselves and their homes.
Diana moved to the next window, spraying and wiping with the same careful attention.The Hendersons' master bedroom offered an even better angle into Kate's yard, and Diana had taken to saving this room for last during her Tuesday cleaning sessions.From here, she could see the sliding door that led from Kate's kitchen to the deck, the layout of their back porch, and the positioning of outdoor furniture that might provide cover for someone approaching the house after dark.
