Morgan began, “Crystal Fox was sixty-two years old. She lived at her current address for the last thirty years. She married Warren Fox in 1983. There’s no divorce on record.”

Sharp made notes on the board. “What do we know about Mary?”

“She was twenty-one years old when she died in 1994. She dropped out of high school at the age of seventeen. She’d been arrested once at eighteen for shoplifting, and again at twenty for solicitation of prostitution. She plead guilty to both charges, paid a fine for the shoplifting offense, and received probation for soliciting.” Morgan scrolled. “She worked as a waitress at PJ’s and supplemented her income with prostitution.”

“We need to talk to someone who knew Crystal.” Sharp studied what was now their murder board.

“There was one house down the road, but it would be best to wait until tomorrow to knock on the door,” Morgan said. “The sheriff has had quite enough of us tonight. We’ll be seeing him again early tomorrow morning. At that time, I’d rather be able to honestly say that we haven’t tampered with his case.”

Sharp glanced at the clock. “After we’re done with the sheriff, then.”

Lance set down his cup. His face was drawn, and dark circles lay like bruises under his eyes. He needed a good meal and a full night’s sleep. But he wouldn’t allow himself either. “We need to know how Mary was connected to my father.”

“They knew each other from PJ’s,” Sharp said. “But you’re right. That isn’t enough. Your father wasn’t at PJ’s that night. Both your mother and the responding patrol officer verified that.”

“We need to know if Mary worked that night.” Morgan tapped her pen on her blotter. In the back of her mind, a much darker possibility had formed. If Vic had had a sexual relationship with Mary, could he have killed her?

“Putting a visit to PJ’s on the list, though I can’t imagine anyone on the current staff was working there all those years ago.” Sharp made a note on the board. He checked his laptop. “The pictures are downloaded.”

He and Lance shifted their chairs, and he angled the computer so they could all see the screen. Morgan flinched at the images.

“At first glance, this appears to be a suicide.” Sharp clicked through to the pictures of the knot. “The chair had been knocked over. She struggled a little, maybe her feet kicked.”

Sharp squinted at the screen. “In the few suicide hangings I’ve seen, the knot was on the side of the neck, typically rising behind the ear due to the weight of the body in suspension. This one is at the back of the neck. It’s atypical, but doesn’t necessarily imply anything sinister.”

“The rope looks like a common nylon type,” Morgan said. “I have some in my shed.”

The woman wore sweatpants and a worn sweater. Her feet were bare.

“What’s smeared around her eyes?” Lance straightened. He leaned closer to the computer. “Sharp, do we have a close-up?”

“We do.” Sharp tapped the touch pad mouse.

“It’s mascara. She’d been crying,” Morgan said in a soft voice. “That morning the sheriff had told her her daughter was dead. Let’s see the whole room.”

Sharp switched pictures.

“She went back to bed after the sheriff left. She drank, and she cried.” Morgan pointed at a box of tissues on the nightstand, next to a glass and a bottle of gin.

There wasn’t enough alcohol to numb that level of grief. Morgan had lost both of her parents and her husband, but she couldn’t fathom the depth of pain that came from losing a child.

“The bedding is half on the bed, half off.” Sharp leaned closer to the screen. “But the whole house was a mess, so it’s hard to say if there’s any sign of a struggle.”

Lance said, “If she was drunk, she wouldn’t have struggled much anyway.”

They reviewed the rest of the photos, but nothing else stood out.

“My eyes are crossing.” Sharp stood and stretched his back. “I think we should all go home and get some sleep. Nothing is happening tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll split up to interview Crystal’s neighbors and the staff at PJ’s.”

Morgan took her coffee mug to the kitchen and put it in the dishwasher. Then she returned to her office to collect her tote.

Lance took his keys from his pocket. “I have to go to my mother’s house. Sharp, could you follow Morgan home?”

“Of course. Give me five minutes.” Sharp walked into the hallway.

Morgan followed Lance into his office. He was stashing his laptop into a computer case.

“What about you?” She reached up and cupped his jaw. Buried under all that strength was a soul-deep vein of vulnerability.

He covered her hand with his. “I can’t even think about me right now.”

And she worried about that very fact. “Don’t shut me out. I’m here for you.”

“I know. Thank you.” He pulled free of her grasp. “I’ll be at your house by nine. We can drop Sophie and Gianna on the way to the sheriff’s office.”

“Goodnight.” She rose onto her toes and kissed him on the lips. “Call me anytime, even if you just need to talk.”

“I will.” He walked out of his office without looking back.

But would he?

Morgan collected the copy of the file she’d made earlier that day. On the way out of the building, she turned to Sharp. “Something occurred to me tonight. Do you think there’s any possibility that Vic killed Mary?”

Sharp sighed. “The same thing had occurred to me. Unfortunately, I don’t know. No one even remotely indicated that Vic had a temper or a violent side. In fact, everyone said just the opposite. Vic was a nice guy.”

“We haven’t established any close link between Vic and Mary, other than he frequented PJ’s and she worked there.”

Sharp stopped beside his car. “Let’s see what we can find out about Mary’s movements on the night of her death and go from there.”

But it was a possibility. One that would devastate Lance and his mother if it were true.

Sharp followed her back to the house. He waited at the end of the driveway until she’d unlocked the front door, opened it, and waved. Then he drove off.

She went into the house and was bombarded with small creatures, some furry, some not. Before she could take off her coat or put down her tote, they set on her. Her evening greeting could be more accurately described as an attack.

The dogs tangled around her legs. Ava took Morgan’s tote bag and dragged it to a nearby chair. As soon as Morgan’s hands were free, Sophie leaped into her arms. Expecting the jump, Morgan caught her. Not wanting her middle daughter to feel slighted, Morgan leaned over and kissed Mia on the head.

“Why are you all still up?” Morgan allowed herself to be pulled into the kitchen.

“We missed you.” Sophie smacked a kiss on Morgan’s cheek.

All three girls wore their pajamas, and the scent of No More Tangles wafted from their still-damp heads.

Gianna stood in the hallway, a towel tossed over her shoulder. “I hope it’s OK that they’re still awake. They wanted to see you.”

The young woman was all smiles, and Morgan was happy to see the tired look on her face was the healthy kind brought on by an active day nannying three little girls, not the sort that came from poor nutrition. She still needed dialysis three times a week, but Gianna had come a long way since she’d moved in with them last summer.