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perfectly; there was a mirror on the opposite wall above a small writing desk that reflected their actions. Fitz had his back to her, was talking to Father Ross.
    Michelle Harris turned and grabbed onto her father, the words pouring out of her like a spigot left on during a summer drought. “Oh, Daddy. I don’t know if I am. I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of Corinne laying there on the floor all bloody, with Hayden next to her, out of my mind.”
    â€œI know, honey. It must have been horrible.” He pulled her in close, and Michelle melted into his arms. Taylor felt a pang of jealousy. Michelle’s father was her savior, her protector.
    â€œHaven’t you heard from Derek yet?”
    â€œHe’s in that infernal lab class until noon. I’m going to head over to Vanderbilt now, be waiting for him when he leaves. I don’t want him to hear this from an outsider. I’ll bring him back here with me. Will you be okay for a little while?”
    â€œI’ll be fine, Daddy. Once I talk to the detective, I’ll sit with Mom. You and Derek take your time. He’s going to be a mess.”
    â€œYes, he is. Thank you for understanding. You always were my good girl. I love you, Shelly. Take care of Nikki too. She’s not as strong as you and your mom.” He hugged her tight to his chest, and Taylor turned away. A grieving family. Why did that make her feel so empty?
    Â 
    Mrs. Manchini had led Taylor into her bedroom. Her chintz bedroom. Unlike the coolly decorated perfection of the Wolffs’ house, everything here smacked of homemade kitsch.
    The master was small, about half the size of the house next door. A four-poster bed with a canopy and frilly lace pillows took up much of the space. Cliché, Taylor thought, then mentally chided herself. The Manchini house did seem a caricature of itself, the woman who owned it a shadow of a real person, insubstantial. Carla Manchini could have been anywhere from forty-five to sixty-five, with outdated wire glasses, thinning blond hair in a partially grown-out perm and slightly crooked teeth. Her parents must have decided that they weren’t quite bad enough to invest the money into fixing. As a result, when she spoke, a snaggletooth incisor appeared on the right upper side, and her lips folded around it as if not sure what they were meant to do.
    Taylor realized Carla had been talking and focused.
    â€œI’m not sure what you want with me, Lieutenant. I didn’t know them next door very well, no, I didn’t. I mind my own business over here at Manchini’s casa, yes, I do. I’m not a spy, don’t go looking into my neighbors’ backyards, I truly don’t.”
    Taylor looked at the woman, wondering why she was so adamant. She wouldn’t meet Taylor’s eye, just sat on her bed, her gaze flitting about as she twisted her hands together.
    â€œActually, ma’am, I’m just wondering if you’ve noticed anything funny over the past few days.”
    The woman shook her head solemnly. “I surely didn’t.”
    â€œNothing?”
    Mrs. Manchini paused for a moment, shut her eyes, remembering. “The lights were on. Mrs. Wolff turns them off in the mornings, but they burned all weekend.”
    â€œAnd that was unusual?”
    â€œYes.”
    Ah, another item for the timeline. Perfect.
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw Mrs. Wolff?”
    â€œOh. Well, I can’t rightly recall. Today’s Monday, and Monday is my book club, yes, it is. I don’t remember seeing Corinne today, and I usually see her in the back, watering her begonias. Such a pretty garden she has, yes, she does. Just put it in this past weekend. It’s a little too early for those flowers, but what do I know? I did see her on Friday. Friday is my garden club, yes, it is.” Twist, twist, twist.
    The repetition tic was starting to bother Taylor. The woman was going to sprain a wrist if