| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted October 14, 2024 | Chapters: |
-1- 
|
A childhood friend disappears
A chapter in the book The Empty Chair
The Empty Chair - Chap 1
by Begin Again
The sound of the crackling fire was soothing, yet her body felt dreadfully cold. Fiona pulled the crocheted Afghan across her legs, tucking it into the sides of her wheelchair.
Her fingers brushed over the cover of the leather-bound book on the table beside her chair, its pages worn from countless readings. The Tell-Tale Heart, Poe's tale of guilt and madness, seemed to call to her today. She opened the book, her eyes scanning the familiar words, though her mind was elsewhere — replaying the last time she'd seen Peyton, the charming man with the dreamy brown eyes and dazzling smile.
Her gaze turned to the window and the house next door — where Peyton had lived. A familiar gnawing coiled inside her, but one she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her eyes grew heavy, and her hands rested limply on her lap as she drifted deep into sleep and a dream.
Her mind carried her to a warm, sunny day. She and Peyton sat beneath the giant oak tree in her parents' backyard. They laughed and sipped imaginary tea from delicate cups. Sharice, Fiona's twin sister, joined them and immediately dominated the scene. Her giggles were infectious as she added a splash of sugar into her cup and then her sister's, noting that Fiona would need extra to sweeten her up.
Noting her sister's frown, Sharice stood up abruptly and pulled Peyton's hand. "Let's play something else. I'm tired of this silly game."
Fiona's heart sank, not wanting the moment to end. "We're having fun." Her voice was a whisper, but it didn't matter because no one was listening to her. Sharice's laughter faded as she and Peyton ran off together, leaving Fiona alone, unable to follow. She sat in her wheelchair, despising Sharice for stealing Peyton from her and leaving her behind.
In an instant, the tea party dissolved, and the laughter of her childhood was replaced by silence. Fiona was back in the library now, staring out the window at Peyton's house. Through the glass, she saw him — but he wasn't alone. A woman. Their bodies pressed together and kissed passionately, oblivious to her watching. Her chest tightened as she wanted to scream, to stop them, but no sound left her lips.
The dream shifted again to a darker, more sinister time. Shadows enveloped the house next door. She watched Peyton enter his living room. He stopped as if listening — there was someone behind him. She saw arms raised high, holding a candlestick from the mantel. As it descended toward Peyton's head — a sickening thud echoed through her mind as his body crumpled to the floor.
Moonlight barely pierced through the dusty window. The figure stood still, breathing heavily. The knife glinted in her hand. Peyton's voice faltered as he lay on the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice cracking, searching the figure's face for answers. His gaze fell to the knife, and realization flickered across his face.
"You love me —" He breathed, his words shaky.
For a moment, the figure hesitated. The blade hovered in the air. A trembling hand gripped the handle tighter, knuckles white. A sudden realization rushed through her thoughts, and she whispered, "You knew?" She hesitated as a tear trickled down her cheek. She sneered, "But you didn't care, did you? I wanted you to love me."
Then, swiftly, almost mechanically, the knife plunged forward. The sound was wet, a muffled gasp escaping from Peyton's lips as his hands flew to his chest, where the blade had buried itself.
His eyes locked onto the woman, pleading as if trying to understand the betrayal. Blood spread across his shirt, the crimson stain growing rapidly.
"Why?" he gasped, his voice barely audible. His body was motionless, except for the faintest twitch of his fingers. The figure stood over him, staring. A tremor passed through her body as the knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. "We — were meant to be together."
Then, everything went black.
Fiona's eyes flew open, and she gasped for air. Though the room was warm from the crackling fire, a cold chill ran down her spine. Her heart pounded as the dream's images lingered, torturing her.
She had seen it — the blood, the shiny blade, and Peyton's lifeless body on the floor.
Without thinking, she reached for the phone on the side table, her fingers fumbling over the numbers. Sharice's familiar voice crackled on the other end when the call connected. "Fiona? What's going on? It's late," Her voice was groggy.
"I did it," Fiona whispered, her voice barely audible before rising in panic. "I killed Peyton."
There was a long pause on the other end. "Fiona, that's nonsense. You've been dreaming again."
"No, Sharice. You need to call the police. I remember now. I stabbed him." Fiona's voice was shaky but insistent, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to make her sister understand.
Sharice sighed. "Fiona, stop. You're in a wheelchair. You haven't left the house in months. How could you possibly —"
"I don't know! But I remember — the knife, the blood." Fiona's voice cracked, her mind swirling. The images from the dream were so vivid, so real. She could still feel the handle of the blade in her hand, slick with Peyton's blood.
Sharice paused, her voice softening, "You've been reading Poe again, haven't you? That's all this is. It's just your mind playing tricks on you, Fee. Please, calm down."
Fiona shook her head, denying anything her sister said. "No,ÂÂ no, you have to believe me. I need you to call Detective Harris. I have to confess."
Sharice hesitated. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious," Fiona whispered. "Please. Call him."
With a sigh of exasperation, Sharice caved. "Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes, and then, if you want, I'll call him. But this is just your imagination, Fiona. You're not a murderer."
Fiona said nothing, her hand clutching the armrest of her chair as she stared blankly at the leather-bound book on the table. The words on the page blurred as she waited.
Deep down, a gnawing doubt still twisted inside her, but she couldn't shake the certainty of what she had seen — what she had done.
*****
Still struggling with her dream, a firm knock on the door shattered Fiona's thoughts. If it were Sharice, she would use her key. For a fleeting moment, her hands pressed against the armrests of her wheelchair as if preparing to rise and greet whoever was at the door. Her shoulders sagged, and a sigh escaped her lips.
After a brief pause, she wheeled toward the door, trying to remain calm. "Who is it?" she asked, her voice steady but tense.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am. My name is Detective Harris, and I'd like to ask you a few questions about your neighbor."
Fiona's stomach twisted at the mention of his name. She reached forward and turned the lock. "Come in. Did my sister call you?"
The detective stepped inside as the door swung open, immediately presenting his badge. His keen gaze swept the room, noting how tightly she gripped the armrests. Was she nervous, or was it something else? "No, ma'am. I'm here regarding your neighbor."
Just then, the door opened again, and Sharice hurried in, a slight flush on her cheeks. "Fiona, is everything alright?" She looked at her sister and then the detective. "I noticed the Metropolitan Police Parking sticker on your car. Are you with the police?"
"Yes, ma'am. As I explained, I am Detective Harris, and my department received notification that Mr. Cummings was scheduled to return to work three days ago, and they are concerned since he has not contacted them."
Sharice nodded, "Yes, Peyton mentioned a vacation coming up. I wasn't aware of the exact dates."
"And you, ma'am?"
"It's Fiona. I don't get out much, so I only saw Peyton on Sundays. It's a tradition for us to have dinner together." Fiona paused, staring at Sharice for a moment. "But I'm sure Sharice would have more information than I do."
"Why would you say that, Fiona? You know I always work and rarely saw him except for the dinners."
"So, did he have a girlfriend? I'm told he is a very handsome man. Did either of you have any relationship with him other than neighbors?"
Fiona sighed heavily, dramatically almost. "My only close relationship is with this wheelchair. Now, Sharice is the lucky one. She gets out a lot. A regular at the Lazy Saloon, especially on dance night."
"Fiona! You'll have the detective thinking I'm a barfly." She glared at her sister and then turned to the detective. "Don't listen to her. Between work and trying to help Fiona around here, my time is limited for anything else."
"If you say so!" Fiona twisted the wheels on her chair and rolled into the library. "Detective Harris, please come in and sit down. It's much warmer in the library. I'm sure Sharice could make us some tea or, if you prefer, a pot of coffee."
"If you are sure, it's no bother." Sharice was already headed to the kitchen when he turned to ask her, so he followed Fiona. Once in the library, he gazed around the room, looking at the pictures on the mantel. "Quite a nice home you have."
"Thank you. It's my family's home. I grew up here. Peyton moved away and returned about a year ago."
"So, you and your sister knew him as a child?"
Fiona's face lit up. "Yes, we were very close. As a child, we were inseparable."
The three of you?"
"Well, more Peyton and me, but, of course, Sharice —"
Before Fiona could finish her sentence, Sharice entered the room and immediately spoke. "Detective Harris, I forgot that we have a key to Peyton's house." She produced it from her pocket. "If Peyton is missing, I thought you might need this."
Detective Harris took the key and scrutinized it as if it were evidence. "Thank you, but can I ask how you have this?"
"I — I borrowed it a while back," Sharice stammered, her eyes darting nervously. "He said I could use it anytime."
Fiona felt a surge of resentment as she watched her sister squirm under the detective's gaze. Why was she lying?
Fiona looked innocently at Detective Harris and softly murmured, "Told you she had a closer relationship than me. I didn't know anything about a key."
The detective shifted his gaze from one sister to the other, sizing up what he was being told, and it wasn't adding up. "If it's not too much trouble, I think I'd like to take a look in Mr. Cummings house."
Fiona's eyes widened for a moment, and then she smiled. "That's a good idea. Make sure everything is alright over there. Sharice, you're familiar with the house. Why don't you walk over with the detective?"
"That's not necessary."
"No, Sharice would love to help you out, wouldn't you?" Fiona adjusted the blanket on her legs and added, "I'd do it, but unfortunately, my abilities are limited, unlike my sister's."
"I'd be happy to take you over there," Sharice replied, turning her attention to her sister. "Fiona, since Detective Harris is here, did you want to mention your dream?"
Fiona's eyes darted toward the detective and then to Sharice. "Don't be silly, Sharice. Detective Harris is busy and has more important things to do than hear about my crazy dream."
"Well, if you don't mind, I would like to check out Mr. Cummings' home and see if he might have left something that will tell us his whereabouts."
Sharice moved toward the door, opening it as he followed her. "I'll go along with you."
As the door closed, Fiona muttered, "Of course you will. He's a good-looking man, isn't he? One is never enough for you."
The sound of the crackling fire was soothing, yet her body felt dreadfully cold. Fiona pulled the crocheted Afghan across her legs, tucking it into the sides of her wheelchair.
Her fingers brushed over the cover of the leather-bound book on the table beside her chair, its pages worn from countless readings. The Tell-Tale Heart, Poe's tale of guilt and madness, seemed to call to her today. She opened the book, her eyes scanning the familiar words, though her mind was elsewhere — replaying the last time she'd seen Peyton, the charming man with the dreamy brown eyes and dazzling smile.
Her gaze turned to the window and the house next door — where Peyton had lived. A familiar gnawing coiled inside her, but one she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her eyes grew heavy, and her hands rested limply on her lap as she drifted deep into sleep and a dream.
Her mind carried her to a warm, sunny day. She and Peyton sat beneath the giant oak tree in her parents' backyard. They laughed and sipped imaginary tea from delicate cups. Sharice, Fiona's twin sister, joined them and immediately dominated the scene. Her giggles were infectious as she added a splash of sugar into her cup and then her sister's, noting that Fiona would need extra to sweeten her up.
Noting her sister's frown, Sharice stood up abruptly and pulled Peyton's hand. "Let's play something else. I'm tired of this silly game."
Fiona's heart sank, not wanting the moment to end. "We're having fun." Her voice was a whisper, but it didn't matter because no one was listening to her. Sharice's laughter faded as she and Peyton ran off together, leaving Fiona alone, unable to follow. She sat in her wheelchair, despising Sharice for stealing Peyton from her and leaving her behind.
In an instant, the tea party dissolved, and the laughter of her childhood was replaced by silence. Fiona was back in the library now, staring out the window at Peyton's house. Through the glass, she saw him — but he wasn't alone. A woman. Their bodies pressed together and kissed passionately, oblivious to her watching. Her chest tightened as she wanted to scream, to stop them, but no sound left her lips.
The dream shifted again to a darker, more sinister time. Shadows enveloped the house next door. She watched Peyton enter his living room. He stopped as if listening — there was someone behind him. She saw arms raised high, holding a candlestick from the mantel. As it descended toward Peyton's head — a sickening thud echoed through her mind as his body crumpled to the floor.
Moonlight barely pierced through the dusty window. The figure stood still, breathing heavily. The knife glinted in her hand. Peyton's voice faltered as he lay on the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice cracking, searching the figure's face for answers. His gaze fell to the knife, and realization flickered across his face.
"You love me —" He breathed, his words shaky.
For a moment, the figure hesitated. The blade hovered in the air. A trembling hand gripped the handle tighter, knuckles white. A sudden realization rushed through her thoughts, and she whispered, "You knew?" She hesitated as a tear trickled down her cheek. She sneered, "But you didn't care, did you? I wanted you to love me."
Then, swiftly, almost mechanically, the knife plunged forward. The sound was wet, a muffled gasp escaping from Peyton's lips as his hands flew to his chest, where the blade had buried itself.
His eyes locked onto the woman, pleading as if trying to understand the betrayal. Blood spread across his shirt, the crimson stain growing rapidly.
"Why?" he gasped, his voice barely audible. His body was motionless, except for the faintest twitch of his fingers. The figure stood over him, staring. A tremor passed through her body as the knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. "We — were meant to be together."
Then, everything went black.
Fiona's eyes flew open, and she gasped for air. Though the room was warm from the crackling fire, a cold chill ran down her spine. Her heart pounded as the dream's images lingered, torturing her.
She had seen it — the blood, the shiny blade, and Peyton's lifeless body on the floor.
Without thinking, she reached for the phone on the side table, her fingers fumbling over the numbers. Sharice's familiar voice crackled on the other end when the call connected. "Fiona? What's going on? It's late," Her voice was groggy.
"I did it," Fiona whispered, her voice barely audible before rising in panic. "I killed Peyton."
There was a long pause on the other end. "Fiona, that's nonsense. You've been dreaming again."
"No, Sharice. You need to call the police. I remember now. I stabbed him." Fiona's voice was shaky but insistent, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to make her sister understand.
Sharice sighed. "Fiona, stop. You're in a wheelchair. You haven't left the house in months. How could you possibly —"
"I don't know! But I remember — the knife, the blood." Fiona's voice cracked, her mind swirling. The images from the dream were so vivid, so real. She could still feel the handle of the blade in her hand, slick with Peyton's blood.
Sharice paused, her voice softening, "You've been reading Poe again, haven't you? That's all this is. It's just your mind playing tricks on you, Fee. Please, calm down."
Fiona shook her head, denying anything her sister said. "No,ÂÂ no, you have to believe me. I need you to call Detective Harris. I have to confess."
Sharice hesitated. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious," Fiona whispered. "Please. Call him."
With a sigh of exasperation, Sharice caved. "Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes, and then, if you want, I'll call him. But this is just your imagination, Fiona. You're not a murderer."
Fiona said nothing, her hand clutching the armrest of her chair as she stared blankly at the leather-bound book on the table. The words on the page blurred as she waited.
Deep down, a gnawing doubt still twisted inside her, but she couldn't shake the certainty of what she had seen — what she had done.
*****
Still struggling with her dream, a firm knock on the door shattered Fiona's thoughts. If it were Sharice, she would use her key. For a fleeting moment, her hands pressed against the armrests of her wheelchair as if preparing to rise and greet whoever was at the door. Her shoulders sagged, and a sigh escaped her lips.
After a brief pause, she wheeled toward the door, trying to remain calm. "Who is it?" she asked, her voice steady but tense.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am. My name is Detective Harris, and I'd like to ask you a few questions about your neighbor."
Fiona's stomach twisted at the mention of his name. She reached forward and turned the lock. "Come in. Did my sister call you?"
The detective stepped inside as the door swung open, immediately presenting his badge. His keen gaze swept the room, noting how tightly she gripped the armrests. Was she nervous, or was it something else? "No, ma'am. I'm here regarding your neighbor."
Just then, the door opened again, and Sharice hurried in, a slight flush on her cheeks. "Fiona, is everything alright?" She looked at her sister and then the detective. "I noticed the Metropolitan Police Parking sticker on your car. Are you with the police?"
"Yes, ma'am. As I explained, I am Detective Harris, and my department received notification that Mr. Cummings was scheduled to return to work three days ago, and they are concerned since he has not contacted them."
Her fingers brushed over the cover of the leather-bound book on the table beside her chair, its pages worn from countless readings. The Tell-Tale Heart, Poe's tale of guilt and madness, seemed to call to her today. She opened the book, her eyes scanning the familiar words, though her mind was elsewhere — replaying the last time she'd seen Peyton, the charming man with the dreamy brown eyes and dazzling smile.
Her gaze turned to the window and the house next door — where Peyton had lived. A familiar gnawing coiled inside her, but one she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her eyes grew heavy, and her hands rested limply on her lap as she drifted deep into sleep and a dream.
Her mind carried her to a warm, sunny day. She and Peyton sat beneath the giant oak tree in her parents' backyard. They laughed and sipped imaginary tea from delicate cups. Sharice, Fiona's twin sister, joined them and immediately dominated the scene. Her giggles were infectious as she added a splash of sugar into her cup and then her sister's, noting that Fiona would need extra to sweeten her up.
Noting her sister's frown, Sharice stood up abruptly and pulled Peyton's hand. "Let's play something else. I'm tired of this silly game."
Fiona's heart sank, not wanting the moment to end. "We're having fun." Her voice was a whisper, but it didn't matter because no one was listening to her. Sharice's laughter faded as she and Peyton ran off together, leaving Fiona alone, unable to follow. She sat in her wheelchair, despising Sharice for stealing Peyton from her and leaving her behind.
In an instant, the tea party dissolved, and the laughter of her childhood was replaced by silence. Fiona was back in the library now, staring out the window at Peyton's house. Through the glass, she saw him — but he wasn't alone. A woman. Their bodies pressed together and kissed passionately, oblivious to her watching. Her chest tightened as she wanted to scream, to stop them, but no sound left her lips.
The dream shifted again to a darker, more sinister time. Shadows enveloped the house next door. She watched Peyton enter his living room. He stopped as if listening — there was someone behind him. She saw arms raised high, holding a candlestick from the mantel. As it descended toward Peyton's head — a sickening thud echoed through her mind as his body crumpled to the floor.
Moonlight barely pierced through the dusty window. The figure stood still, breathing heavily. The knife glinted in her hand. Peyton's voice faltered as he lay on the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice cracking, searching the figure's face for answers. His gaze fell to the knife, and realization flickered across his face.
"You love me —" He breathed, his words shaky.
For a moment, the figure hesitated. The blade hovered in the air. A trembling hand gripped the handle tighter, knuckles white. A sudden realization rushed through her thoughts, and she whispered, "You knew?" She hesitated as a tear trickled down her cheek. She sneered, "But you didn't care, did you? I wanted you to love me."
Then, swiftly, almost mechanically, the knife plunged forward. The sound was wet, a muffled gasp escaping from Peyton's lips as his hands flew to his chest, where the blade had buried itself.
His eyes locked onto the woman, pleading as if trying to understand the betrayal. Blood spread across his shirt, the crimson stain growing rapidly.
"Why?" he gasped, his voice barely audible. His body was motionless, except for the faintest twitch of his fingers. The figure stood over him, staring. A tremor passed through her body as the knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. "We — were meant to be together."
Then, everything went black.
Fiona's eyes flew open, and she gasped for air. Though the room was warm from the crackling fire, a cold chill ran down her spine. Her heart pounded as the dream's images lingered, torturing her.
She had seen it — the blood, the shiny blade, and Peyton's lifeless body on the floor.
Without thinking, she reached for the phone on the side table, her fingers fumbling over the numbers. Sharice's familiar voice crackled on the other end when the call connected. "Fiona? What's going on? It's late," Her voice was groggy.
"I did it," Fiona whispered, her voice barely audible before rising in panic. "I killed Peyton."
There was a long pause on the other end. "Fiona, that's nonsense. You've been dreaming again."
"No, Sharice. You need to call the police. I remember now. I stabbed him." Fiona's voice was shaky but insistent, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to make her sister understand.
Sharice sighed. "Fiona, stop. You're in a wheelchair. You haven't left the house in months. How could you possibly —"
"I don't know! But I remember — the knife, the blood." Fiona's voice cracked, her mind swirling. The images from the dream were so vivid, so real. She could still feel the handle of the blade in her hand, slick with Peyton's blood.
Sharice paused, her voice softening, "You've been reading Poe again, haven't you? That's all this is. It's just your mind playing tricks on you, Fee. Please, calm down."
Fiona shook her head, denying anything her sister said. "No,ÂÂ no, you have to believe me. I need you to call Detective Harris. I have to confess."
Sharice hesitated. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious," Fiona whispered. "Please. Call him."
With a sigh of exasperation, Sharice caved. "Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes, and then, if you want, I'll call him. But this is just your imagination, Fiona. You're not a murderer."
Fiona said nothing, her hand clutching the armrest of her chair as she stared blankly at the leather-bound book on the table. The words on the page blurred as she waited.
Deep down, a gnawing doubt still twisted inside her, but she couldn't shake the certainty of what she had seen — what she had done.
*****
Still struggling with her dream, a firm knock on the door shattered Fiona's thoughts. If it were Sharice, she would use her key. For a fleeting moment, her hands pressed against the armrests of her wheelchair as if preparing to rise and greet whoever was at the door. Her shoulders sagged, and a sigh escaped her lips.
After a brief pause, she wheeled toward the door, trying to remain calm. "Who is it?" she asked, her voice steady but tense.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am. My name is Detective Harris, and I'd like to ask you a few questions about your neighbor."
Fiona's stomach twisted at the mention of his name. She reached forward and turned the lock. "Come in. Did my sister call you?"
The detective stepped inside as the door swung open, immediately presenting his badge. His keen gaze swept the room, noting how tightly she gripped the armrests. Was she nervous, or was it something else? "No, ma'am. I'm here regarding your neighbor."
Just then, the door opened again, and Sharice hurried in, a slight flush on her cheeks. "Fiona, is everything alright?" She looked at her sister and then the detective. "I noticed the Metropolitan Police Parking sticker on your car. Are you with the police?"
"Yes, ma'am. As I explained, I am Detective Harris, and my department received notification that Mr. Cummings was scheduled to return to work three days ago, and they are concerned since he has not contacted them."
Sharice nodded, "Yes, Peyton mentioned a vacation coming up. I wasn't aware of the exact dates."
"And you, ma'am?"
"It's Fiona. I don't get out much, so I only saw Peyton on Sundays. It's a tradition for us to have dinner together." Fiona paused, staring at Sharice for a moment. "But I'm sure Sharice would have more information than I do."
"Why would you say that, Fiona? You know I always work and rarely saw him except for the dinners."
"So, did he have a girlfriend? I'm told he is a very handsome man. Did either of you have any relationship with him other than neighbors?"
Fiona sighed heavily, dramatically almost. "My only close relationship is with this wheelchair. Now, Sharice is the lucky one. She gets out a lot. A regular at the Lazy Saloon, especially on dance night."
"Fiona! You'll have the detective thinking I'm a barfly." She glared at her sister and then turned to the detective. "Don't listen to her. Between work and trying to help Fiona around here, my time is limited for anything else."
"If you say so!" Fiona twisted the wheels on her chair and rolled into the library. "Detective Harris, please come in and sit down. It's much warmer in the library. I'm sure Sharice could make us some tea or, if you prefer, a pot of coffee."
"If you are sure, it's no bother." Sharice was already headed to the kitchen when he turned to ask her, so he followed Fiona. Once in the library, he gazed around the room, looking at the pictures on the mantel. "Quite a nice home you have."
"Thank you. It's my family's home. I grew up here. Peyton moved away and returned about a year ago."
"So, you and your sister knew him as a child?"
Fiona's face lit up. "Yes, we were very close. As a child, we were inseparable."
The three of you?"
"Well, more Peyton and me, but, of course, Sharice —"
Before Fiona could finish her sentence, Sharice entered the room and immediately spoke. "Detective Harris, I forgot that we have a key to Peyton's house." She produced it from her pocket. "If Peyton is missing, I thought you might need this."
Detective Harris took the key and scrutinized it as if it were evidence. "Thank you, but can I ask how you have this?"
"I — I borrowed it a while back," Sharice stammered, her eyes darting nervously. "He said I could use it anytime."
Fiona felt a surge of resentment as she watched her sister squirm under the detective's gaze. Why was she lying?
Fiona looked innocently at Detective Harris and softly murmured, "Told you she had a closer relationship than me. I didn't know anything about a key."
The detective shifted his gaze from one sister to the other, sizing up what he was being told, and it wasn't adding up. "If it's not too much trouble, I think I'd like to take a look in Mr. Cummings house."
Fiona's eyes widened for a moment, and then she smiled. "That's a good idea. Make sure everything is alright over there. Sharice, you're familiar with the house. Why don't you walk over with the detective?"
"That's not necessary."
"No, Sharice would love to help you out, wouldn't you?" Fiona adjusted the blanket on her legs and added, "I'd do it, but unfortunately, my abilities are limited, unlike my sister's."
"I'd be happy to take you over there," Sharice replied, turning her attention to her sister. "Fiona, since Detective Harris is here, did you want to mention your dream?"
Fiona's eyes darted toward the detective and then to Sharice. "Don't be silly, Sharice. Detective Harris is busy and has more important things to do than hear about my crazy dream."
"Well, if you don't mind, I would like to check out Mr. Cummings' home and see if he might have left something that will tell us his whereabouts."
Sharice moved toward the door, opening it as he followed her. "I'll go along with you."
As the door closed, Fiona muttered, "Of course you will. He's a good-looking man, isn't he? One is never enough for you."
Fiona - sister
Sharice - sister
Peyton Cummings - a childhood friend
Detective Slade Harris - crime investigator
Pays
10 points
and 92 member cents. Sharice - sister
Peyton Cummings - a childhood friend
Detective Slade Harris - crime investigator
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