“Yes. He went up to see about a broken window. I told you that.”

“When was the last time he was there before that?”

She blinks her eyes. “Um, well. I think it was October. He and Scott Westmore spent a couple days up there fishing.”

“You didn’t go?”

“No. I was working that weekend, and”—she shivers—“I don’t like fishing. Blood sports.”

I arch my eyebrows.

“I grew up in a small town,” she explains, “a rural area, and a lot of people hunted and fished. I never liked it.”

“Thought you were from Graybridge.”

She pulls on the neck of her sweater, her thin fingers worrying the yarn. “We moved here when I was seven, so it feels like home. It is home.”

“Okay. Anyway, before that, when was your husband up at the house?”

“What does this have to do with anything?” She blinks her red-rimmed eyes, lets go a sigh.

“We’ll get there. Please just answer the question.”

She sniffs and meets my eyes. “We actually didn’t get up there too much last fall, so I guess the time before that would be the Fourth of July. We went up for a week and had our friends up to celebrate my birthday and the holiday.”

My heartbeat kicks up. I clear my throat and tap my pencil against my open notebook. “Who else was up there besides you and your husband? What friends?”

“The same ones who were at Jay’s birthday party.”

“The Westmores, Ferrises, and Pearsons? Anybody else?”

“Hayes Branch and his daughter.”

“That’s a lot of people.”

“It’s a big house.”

This is getting interesting. “So you had a houseful that week?”

“Yes.”

I lean back, blow out a breath. Now we have a job in front of us: reconstructing a week with ten people in one house and a missing woman in the vicinity. This is going to take some time and planning. “Mrs. Bradley, anything unusual happen that week? Anything happen that seemed odd or out of place?”

“No. What does this have to do with anything?”

“When did everyone leave?”

“The fifth. That Friday.”

“Huh.” I place my pencil on my notebook and tap my fingers on the table. “The necklace in your husband’s filing cabinet we believe belonged to a woman from Mountclair.”

Her mouth drops open. “That’s strange. I have no idea . . .”

She doesn’t either. I can tell by the look on her face that she’s totally stumped and probably didn’t hear anything about the disappearance of Annelise Robb.

“The woman is missing, Mrs. Bradley. She hasn’t been seen since the night of July Fourth.”

CHAPTER 25 - Molly

CHAPTER 25

Molly