When Keegan was finished with his questions, he thanked me for my cooperation.

“Of course, I’m sure we’ll be speaking with you again,” he said as he swung the door open. “So you’ll understand why we have to ask you to remain in the area, at least for the next few days.”

I had known it would be coming, but that still didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“I live near DC,” I said, feeling guilty and selfish even as I pleaded with him to let me leave. “Surely I can go on home and then come back up here if necessary.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Keegan replied. “For the time being, I’m afraid I must insist that you remain nearby.”

“But I don’t have any clothes, I don’t have anywhere to stay, I don’t—”

“Excuse me, Detective,” a woman interrupted, suddenly standing before us. “Mrs. Webber will stay with me. There’s plenty of room.”

I looked at the woman, wondering why she seemed familiar to me. She was petite and attractive in a well-preserved sort of way, with expensive hair and clothes, a meticulous manicure, and a rock the size of Gibraltar on the ring finger of her left hand.

“I’m Mrs. Wendell Smythe,” she said to me, holding out her hand. “Marion.”

Of course. The portrait on the wall in Wendell’s office. She had been striking in her 20s and was now an elegant beauty in what I guessed to be her late 60s.

“Thank you, Mrs. Smythe—” I said, shaking her hand.

“Call me Marion, please.”

“Marion. But I couldn’t possibly impose. I’ll get a hotel room—”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted. “My house is huge, with tons of empty bedrooms. Sticking you in a hotel after what you’ve been through today would be unspeakable. I won’t take no for an answer. And Wendell wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

I had a feeling she was right about that. I studied the woman in front of me, wondering how she could be so strong. Then I noticed the shaking of her fingers and the pale face beneath her carefully applied makeup. Something told me to accept her gracious offer, that the kindest thing I could do under the circumstances was to become a temporary guest in her home.

I thought about that as we drove through the city. She had a large beautiful Cadillac with a driver, and I followed behind in my Saturn, wondering if I could be of particular comfort to her because I was a widow, too. Though it wasn’t a condition I would wish on anyone, I did have to admit that it gave me a certain empathy. Bryan had been dead for three years, and I still found myself sometimes awakening in the middle of the night, then gasping with pain when I became fully awake and realized he wasn’t there next to me—and wouldn’t ever be again.

Now I tagged along as Marion’s Caddy sped westward out of the city under a gray cloudy sky. We drove for about half an hour before turning onto local roads that wound through suburbs dense with new housing developments. Once we reached a more rural area, I realized that the terrain itself was lovely, with rolling hills and thick trees bursting with the colors of autumn. We finally began passing what could only be called “estates”—gorgeous properties with beautiful stone houses and acres of fence-lined pastures. We slowed and then turned into a long winding driveway that led to one of the most beautiful estates of all. From what I could see as I parked the car, there was a huge main house, several other smaller buildings, a pool, a greenhouse, and, around back, what looked like a barn and some pastures.