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shuffle some things.”
    I heard him tapping keys on his computer, and I knew he was changing appointments as we spoke. “I’ll text you the address,” I said. “There’s really no reason for you to do this.”
    The key tapping continued. “It’s okay. I want to do it. Just a second . . . here. You don’t need to text me. I already got her address from my directory. The map’s coming up. I can be there in thirty to thirty-five minutes.”
    I couldn’t resist. “You’d better make that thirty to thirty-seven minutes, in case there’s traffic.”
    He didn’t seem to get it. “I assume you’ll be there a while,” he said. “Have the cops talked to you yet?”
    “Not much. I’m sure it’s coming.” The siren on the ambulance rose to a screech then abruptly died as the paramedics pulled into the driveway. “The paramedics are here, I’ve got to go.”
    “I’ll be there soon.” The call clicked off.
    I stuck the phone back in my purse just as two med techs jumped out of the ambulance. One ran to the back of the truck and pulled out an oxygen canister and mask while the other approached us.
    “Is she in the garage?”
    The man with the oxygen trotted up behind him, and Sandra pointed at the canister. “You can put that away. She’s been dead for hours—carbon monoxide.”
    “Suicide?”
    “Looks like it.”
    The med tech took a deep breath, walked into the middle of the garage, and held up something that looked like a pocket calculator. He watched it for a few seconds, then walked to another part of the garage and did the same thing. After repeating it on the other side of the car, he exhaled and shoved the device into his pocket. “Air’s okay.”
    Officer Ferrell, Sandra, and the other med tech walked into the garage, leaving Kacey and me standing in the driveway. I walked to the edge of the garage. “Do you need us for anything?”
    Ferrell was reaching into the driver’s side of the car near the floorboard. He pulled the lever to pop the trunk. The lid thunked. He stood up straight. “We’ll have some questions. We’ll get to you as quickly as we can.” He walked around the door and lifted the trunk lid.
    “It’s okay. Take your time.” I nudged Kacey and whispered, “Let’s take a look in the house.”
    “Do you think we should?” She inclined her head toward the garage.
    I knew the police wouldn’t want us rummaging around in Elise’s house, but there was nothing but boredom and a chilly wind out there in the driveway. Besides, I was curious to see the final surroundings of a woman who had somehow convinced herself to leap into an abyss that most of us scratch and kick and claw to avoid. So I looked Kacey in the eye and said four words that nearly always lead to trouble: “Nobody said we couldn’t.”

CHAPTER
    FOUR
    WITH ONE EYE ON the garage, I edged across the driveway toward the gate. I raised the latch and we sidestepped as quietly as possible into the backyard. Once I had eased the gate shut, we crossed the short expanse of lawn to the deck and the back door. When we reached the door, we tiptoed to minimize any crunching on the broken glass. Swinging the door open, we stepped into the house.
    The family room was large and high-ceilinged, and stretched seamlessly into the kitchen on our right. A person standing at the kitchen sink could look directly across the family room to the stone mantle of the fireplace on our left. A blue-and-white checked couch faced the fireplace, with red upholstered wing chairs on each side. In the middle was an oak coffee table.
    Looking around, it was easy to understand Elise’s sparkling garage. She must have been a clean freak. The room smelled of pine needles, but with three weeks until Christmas, there was no tree in sight. Everything was in perfect order, with not so much as a magazine or newspaper lying around. The Spanish-tile floor was spotless, and even the cream-colored throw pillows sat fat, happy, and perfectly positioned on the