She blinked, her eyes still dry from the smoke. “What are you doing here?” she asked Anderson as she sat up in the bed.

“I wanted to see how you were and update you on a few things.”

He pulled up a chair and sat. “There was something about all those nursery rhymes that kept niggling at me. No one that we were looking at as a suspect struck me as someone who would take the time to make all those twisted poems up. I had picked up one of Ms. Barrington’s books and did some research on her, looked into her background. I found a short story that she wrote under her maiden name—Blaire Norris. It was published more than ten years ago in the Strand Magazine. I got a copy of it, and guess what? The killer sends nursery rhymes to his victim.”

Kate felt conflicting emotions flood through her. “I guess we have proof now.”

“I’ve spoken to her. She denies everything. And anyone could have read the story. We also tracked the prepaid credit card used to send those roses to a CVS on York Road. We’ve looked through hours of video. We have someone on tape that could be Ms. Barrington, but we can’t definitively identify her. It was enough to convince me you were in danger, though, so I sent a unit over to check on you, and that’s when they saw the fire.”

“You saved my life.” She reached out for his hand, and he squeezed it. For the first time, his eyes looked warm to her. “Thank you. Do you think Blaire killed my mother? She denied it, but . . .”

He released her hand as he continued. “No. She was definitely in New York the night your mother died.”

“She claims she bought another bracelet like my mother’s. But I don’t know.”

“The bracelet we found in your husband’s study was different from your mother’s. Not the same carat weight.”

Kate digested this news. It was a relief to know that Blaire really hadn’t been the one to take her mother’s life. But if it wasn’t Blaire, then who was it? “Are we ever going to find who did this?”

Anderson’s phone rang, and he looked at the screen. He stood. “Excuse me a minute. Have to take this.”

Kate leaned back and closed her eyes again as he left the curtained area and went into the hallway. A few minutes later she heard him walk back in the room. She opened her eyes.

“We’ve had a break in the case! Another witness has come forward.”

Kate pushed herself up in bed. “Who?”

“Randolph Sterling, Georgina Hathaway’s driver. He drove her to your mother’s house the night she was killed.”

“What? Georgina was there?” She was suddenly alert. “What else did he say?”