She didn’t understand the suburbs with their regimental order and boxy yards and useless fences. Nor did she understand why so many considered a house in the ’burbs as a kind of mecca they would someday reach.
In her mind, everyone would someday reach a coffin, too.
She rang the bell and heard the three chimes that echoed inside. When the door opened and she said what needed to be said, nothing would ever be the same in this house again.
The woman who answered was pretty and blonde. It was the woman from the dresser photograph. Must be the mother. Eve saw the resemblance immediately.
“Mrs. Lutz?”
“Yes.” Though she smiled, it was a quick reflex action, and her eyes were both puzzled and distracted. “May I help you?”
“I’m Lieutenant Dallas.” Eve offered her badge. “NYPSD. This is my aide, Officer Peabody. May we come in?”
“What’s this about?” The woman lifted a hand to brush at her hair, and the first sign of nerves showed in the faint tremor.
“It’s about your daughter, Mrs. Lutz. It’s about Grace. May we come in?”
“Gracie? She’s not in any trouble, is she?” The smile tried to spread, but only fell away from her face. “My Gracie’s never in trouble.”
So it had to be done in the doorway, with the bright flowers a soldier’s guard. “Mrs. Lutz, I’m sorry to tell you Grace is dead.”
Her eyes went blank. “She is not.” There was a crack of irritation in her voice. “Of course she’s not. What a terrible thing to say. I want you to go away right now. I want you to go away from here.”
Eve braced a hand on the door before it closed in her face. “Mrs. Lutz, Grace was killed last night. I’m the primary investigator, and I’m very sorry for your loss. You need to let us in now.”
“My Grace? My baby?”
Eve said nothing now, but slid an arm around the woman’s waist. The door opened into the living area with a plump blue sofa and two sturdy chairs. Eve led her to the sofa, sat beside her.
“Is there someone we can call for you, Mrs. Lutz? Your husband?”
“George. George is at school. He teaches at the high school. Grace.” She looked around blindly as though her daughter might walk into the room.
“Peabody, make the call.”
“You’ve made a mistake, haven’t you?” Mrs. Lutz gripped Eve’s hand with frozen fingers. “That’s all. You’ve just made a mistake. Grace works in the city, at the library on Fifth Avenue. I’ll just call her and we’ll all feel much better.”
“Mrs. Lutz. There’s no mistake.”
“There has to be. George and I went into the city only Sunday and took her to dinner. She was fine.” The anger and shock were breaking down so tears flooded through them. “She was fine.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“What happened to my baby? Was there an accident?”
“There wasn’t an accident. Grace was murdered.”
“It’s just not possible.” Her head shook, as if gently tugged side-to-side with invisible strings. “It’s just not possible.”
Eve let her weep. She knew that first roll of grief flattened everything else.
“He’s on his way,” Peabody murmured.
“Good. Get her some water or something.”
She sat beside the sobbing woman, scanning the living area. There were books here, displayed like treasures on shelves. There was a quiet order to everything, and the sturdiness of solid middle-class living. A framed hologram of Grace stood on a table.
“What happened to my baby?”