short of wonderful, she bit her lip and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little…”
“…stressed,” he finished for her. “Understandable.”
“So, what did Bryson have to say?”
* * *
“I get the impression he was truly upset.” Ethan recalled the man’s red-rimmed eyes and genuine air of grief. “He said something about the fact that they’d been talking about getting back together.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“I asked him if he’d be willing to give us a DNA sample so the crime scene investigators could compare it with anything they found…if they find something. He said he’d go down first thing Monday morning.”
“I always liked Bryson. I’m not exactly sure why they broke up, but I think he was pressuring Suzanne to get married and she wanted some space. She never really talked about it, though, even with me.” She shrugged. “I didn’t push, figuring she’d tell me if she wanted to.”
Ethan watched her features, marveling once again at her physical beauty. And yet she was so much more than just a pretty package. In just the short time he’d known her and under the worst circumstances, she’d shown herself to be the epitome of…what? He searched his brain for the right adjective.
Class. The woman was pure class.
Shadowed dark brown eyes stared at him, and he realized he hadn’t responded to something she’d said. “Sorry, my mind went wandering.” No sense in telling her where.
Marianna flashed a dimpled smile, brief but sincere. “It’s fine. I was just saying that I needed to get…home.” She grimaced, and he knew she wasn’t excited about the idea. After a minuscule hesitation, she took his hand between hers and gave it a quick squeeze, her closeness and light, fruity perfume scrambling his senses. Biting her lip, she gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you for everything. I hope you’ll keep me updated on the case.”
“Absolutely.”
* * *
Marianna left the cemetery and began the short drive home. She dreaded going into her house alone, yet had turned down several offers of accompaniment. Not exactly sure why, she just knew she didn’t want to be around a bunch of people, including family. She knew she faced a lot of cleaning up and most likely more uncontrollable tears. Better to do that without an audience. Ethan had started to insist that he follow her but had gotten a call and had to leave. That had been fine with her.
She’d texted Joseph, asking him to bring Twister home so the dog would be there to greet her. He’d agreed against his better judgment, arguing she didn’t need to be by herself.
She pulled into the driveway and turned the car off. The house loomed, small and empty. It shouldn’t seem particularly scary, yet a tremor shook her at the thought of walking up the path to her porch. Memories almost overwhelmed her, tempting her to once again run home to her mom and dad.
At least the door was closed today. Please, God, take this fear away. I know it’s only natural after what’s happened, but I don’t want to be afraid. Help me trust You.
The curtain in the window to the right of the door moved; a black nose pressed against the glass. The familiar sight caused her to release a relieved breath.
Twister’s welcome home. He was waiting for her.
Marianna scrambled from the car, grabbing the overnight bag Joseph had packed for her the day of the murder, and headed for the door.
Climbing the steps, she paused, noticing the footprint had disappeared. Someone had scrubbed it away. Shuddering, unease still very much present, she unlocked the door and pushed it open.
And gaped.
Her house sparkled, from top to bottom. Someone had scrubbed, mopped, vacuumed and more.
How…what…who?
Ethan.
She frowned. Now why did she automatically assume it was him? It could have been Joseph or some other member of her family.
Someone had hired a professional to clean up the mess left by the criminal and the crime scene investigators. Her heart warmed at the thoughtfulness as grateful tears blurred her vision. A piece of paper lay on the table just inside the foyer. Picking it up, she read, “I didn’t want you to come home to a mess. Hope everything is better than when you left it. Ethan.”
“Thank you, Ethan,” she whispered.
Twister nudged her hand and whined. Absentmindedly, she scratched his head as she went from room to room, examining everything.
A lump clogged her throat as she moved, sensing Suzanne’s presence even though she was now with the Lord.
When she reached Suzanne’s room, the door stood open, inviting. Hitching her breath, she stepped in and looked around. It, too, had been scrupulously cleaned.
And stripped bare. Suzanne’s family had come and gone, leaving not even a trace of their presence. Or Suzanne’s. Unable to stop herself, she looked to the spot where her roommate had died.
Even the stain was gone. It was as if Suzanne had never been there. Marianna walked over and knelt, running her hand over the area, feeling the carpet spring back beneath her palm. Anger, fear and a troubled helplessness burned within her.
Help the police find her killer. And help me deal with this, Lord. Please give me peace.
Tired beyond belief, Marianna called to Twister and stepped from the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
Entering her bedroom next door, she stared at the familiar sight of her haven that was supposed to offer comfort and knew she couldn’t sleep here tonight. Her stomach rumbled, but she had no energy to fix anything to eat. Doing a one-eighty, she trod the short distance to the small living area and crashed on the couch. She pulled out her hearing aids and laid them on the end table beside her.
All sound ceased to exist for her, and all she wanted to do was snuggle into the silence.
Twister settled on the floor beside her and she let her hand dangle over the edge to rest on his back as she stared at the ceiling, thinking, praying, drifting….
With a start, Marianna’s eyes popped open, confusion holding her captive until her brain caught up. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. But something had awakened her. A vibration: Twister?
Darkness blanketed the room broken only by the glow of the night-light coming from the hall. The clock on the DVD player read 3:18 a.m.
What had awakened her? Rubbing her face, then running a hand through her tangled hair, she swung her feet to the floor, eyes probing the blackness. That was odd. Where was Twister?
Uneasiness swept over her. The hardwood floor beneath her trembled. No doubt the vibrations had awakened her. Fingers groped the table beside her, grabbed up her hearing aids and shoved them in her ears.
Still, mostly silence surrounded her.
Again the
