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  From the crime scene photos, Miranda recalled the layout of the furniture. A dresser over here, nightstands there. And the bed. She imagined Charmaine’s body lying there, motionless.

  “The case for the snake was on a stand over here,” Wesson said from the corner.

  “Right.” That had been in the summary.

  “So the killer would have had to go over here, pick up the tongs, and open the case.” Wesson mimicked the movements.

  “After he’d screwed her.”

  “Yeah,” Wesson said darkly. “Then he’d have to lift Ozzie out and carry him back to the bed.” She pantomimed the action.

  Studying the space where the bed would have been, Miranda cocked her head. “Then what? Toss it on her?”

  “And what was she doing in the meantime?”

  “She couldn’t have been watching. According to Clarence, she was deathly afraid of snakes.”

  She wondered if there was more information about those details in the file. She wished she’d had more time to read it thoroughly.

  She crossed to the closet and peered inside. This was where Dr. Boudreaux claimed to have found Ozzie. The small space had been repainted and re-floored as well.

  Two raps sounded on the door. “Yoo-hoo! Everything all right in there?”

  The eager sales lady couldn’t stand waiting.

  Miranda turned to Wesson. “I think we’re done here.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. There isn’t any forensic evidence left. The place has been completely redone.”

  Miranda crossed to the door and opened it. “Thanks for your time, Jane,” she said to the woman in red. “If we’re interested, we’ll get back to you.”

  Stunned, the real estate agent blinked at her. It didn’t take her long to recover. “If this doesn’t suit you, we can go back to my office and look for other properties,” she offered sweetly as Miranda and Wesson headed for the front door. “I’m sure we can find something your mother would like.”

  “Maybe another time.” Miranda opened the door while Wesson gave the agent a bye-bye wave.

  Then they left the woman standing in the living room with her red-lipped mouth wide open.

  Chapter Ten

  “What do we do now?” Wesson hissed over Miranda’s shoulder as they hurried back down the uneven sidewalk to the Acura.

  “Talk to some of the neighbors.”

  “What about McAlister? If she sees us doing that, she might think we’re scam artists or something.”

  “Since when did you get so squeamish?”

  Reaching for the passenger door, Wesson scowled. “McAlister seemed like the squeamish type to me. I’m just trying to avoid problems. She might call the police, Steele.”

  Considering that possibility, Miranda slid into the driver’s seat. As fun as it might be to tangle with the cops and maybe call in Chambers to straighten them out, they didn’t have time for games.

  She glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw the pudgy sales lady starting to climb into her car behind them. Then she seemed to think better of that. She closed her door, trotted over to Miranda’s window, and gave it a persistent tap.

  Suppressing a groan, Miranda rolled it down halfway.

  “I forgot to give you this.” McAlister handed her a shiny business card, then gave Wesson one, too. “Be sure to call me if you want to see anything else.”

  Miranda nodded and smiled. “Will do. Thanks. Bye.”

  McAlister smiled sweetly. “Are you sure you don’t want to look at some other properties?”

  “We’re sure. Got a meeting. Gotta run.” She started the car.

  The stubborn woman wouldn’t move.

  “Gotta go now. Bye.”

  “Call me.”

  “Sure. Bye now.”

  It wasn’t until Miranda took her foot off the brake that McAlister decided to step back away from the Acura.

  Miranda was nearly to the curve at the top of the hill when she saw the woman finally get into her car. Unfortunately, she was heading in the same direction.

  Miranda started to curse under her breath.

  “Drive around the block,” Wesson hissed.

  Glancing up again, Miranda saw McAlister had her left blinker on. She waited until the last minute and turned right without signaling. With a grunt she headed back down the street they’d come from.

  After making sure Jane McAlister had turned off in the other direction, Miranda turned back into the neighborhood.

  Wesson fidgeted in the passenger seat. “Guess calling her wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

  “It was a great idea. We got a look at the crime scene, didn’t we? It wasn’t your fault old Jane was gunning for salesperson of the year.”

  Wesson laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Miranda had never realized how seriously Wesson took her job. She liked that. She was surprised they were working so well together.

  “Forget about McAlister,” she told Wesson. “We’ve got character witnesses to interview.”

  She decided to start with Dr. Boudreaux’s former next-door-neighbor.

  On the corner sat a rambling brick house edged by a three-tiered stone fence with a lot of trees and foliage in the yard. A silver Lexus was just pulling into the driveway.

  “Who lives here?” She asked Wesson, who had the case file back on her lap and was paging furiously through it.

  She held up a document. “Dr. Hisoka Kobayashi. He teaches Molecular Biology at Emory.”

  “Sounds like a good prospect.”

  Wesson shuffled through the pages. “I can’t read the trial transcript and all of Mr. Parker’s notes right now, but it looks like he thought well of Dr. Boudreaux.”

  “Let’s see if he’s changed his mind since our client’s conviction.”

  Once again Miranda pulled over to the curb, jumped out of the car and scrambled over the sidewalk. She hurried up another set of twenty cement steps to a pretty white house with black shutters and dormer windows. She caught the driver just as he was emerging from the car.

  He seemed to be in his early sixties, with average height and build, and a lot of gray in his short, neatly styled black hair. He had on jeans and a checked shirt that looked normal, but his glasses were dark, full rims. Nerd eyewear from a few decades ago.

  He came around the front of the car, head down, muttering something to himself.

  Miranda blocked his path. “Excuse me. Are you Dr. Kobayashi?”

  He stopped and studied at her a moment, then smiled slyly. “It’s an intriguing problem, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “How genotype is mapped to phenotype, of course.”

  Wesson caught up in time to hear the statement. She frowned at Miranda.

  Miranda frowned at the professor.

  The professor gestured in the air. “Behavioral phenotypes. Shifting interactions between genes. Does this sort of epistasis impact humans? As I said, it’s an intriguing problem.”

  “Huh?”

  “The problem of nature versus nurture.”

  Is that what he was talking about? “Dr. Kobayashi, my name is Miranda Steele and this is Janelle Wesson. We’re with the Parker Investigative Agency and we’re wondering if we could speak to you for a moment.”

  He blinked at her as if coming out of a trance. Then he blinked at Wesson. “The Parker Investigative Agency? Oh, my my. Then it’s I who must apologize. I thought you were two of my students.”

  Miranda felt flattered. “No, we’re here about a case involving one of your neighbors.”

  “One of my neighbors? Oh, dear. Is it something serious?”

  “Actually it happened about ten years ago. It concerns the couple who used to live over there.” Miranda gestured to the neighboring house. “Dr. Clarence Boudreaux and his wife, Dr. Charmaine Boudreaux.”

  He squinted in the direction and frowned as it came back to him. “Oh, yes. Terrible matter. Terrible. But it happened so long ago.”


  No sense pulling punches with this guy. He was too bright. “We’re reinvestigating the case. Dr. Boudreaux is scheduled for execution soon and we’re looking for anything that might get him a retrial.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m not sure I can be of much help.” He rubbed his head. “Parker Investigative Agency. Yes. Wade Parker came to see me a number of times over that matter.” He squinted at Miranda. “Miranda Steele. Haven’t you been on television lately? The nightly news?”

  “Yes, we solved a case recently in Jasper County.”

  “Yes. Dreadful circumstances.”

  She didn’t want to think about the Tannenburg case now. She got back on point. “How well did you know your neighbor, Doctor?”

  “That’s just it. Not well enough. I mean, I knew him fairly well, as neighbors do. We were cordial, saw each other coming and going, of course. Chatted about the weather or the traffic. But we didn’t see each other socially. He was away a lot. Traveling for his profession, searching the world for exotic amphibians and such to bring back to the zoo. He was Director of Herpetology there. I suppose you already know that.”

  “Yes, we do,” Wesson supplied.

  Miranda noticed she was taking notes on her phone. Good thinking.

  “Actually, I knew his wife better. She was a student of mine.”

  “Oh?”

  His face grew wistful. “Charmaine took several of my classes when she was a graduate student. She was brilliant. Her research was groundbreaking. I was proud of her. Though she was busy, too, thoroughly engrossed in her work. She’d always take time to help me find my cat when he got out, though.” He chuckled sadly. “It was a tragedy, her loss. A real tragedy.”

  “Weren’t you a character witness for Dr. Boudreaux at the trial?” Miranda asked.

  “I was. I told them in my opinion he was a fine upstanding citizen. I didn’t believe him capable of what he was accused of.”

  “But you also told them you didn’t know him very well.”

  He raised his palms. “I had no choice. When the prosecuting attorney asked me, I told him what I said to you just now. We were little more than neighbors.”

  “I see.” No wonder Dr. Boudreaux was convicted.

  “I know it was a long time ago, but do you remember seeing anything unusual at the house the day Charmaine was killed?” She arched her neck. “You’ve got a good view of her backyard.

  His gaze followed hers. “If you mean anyone prowling around out there, I’m afraid not. I thought it was just another day, like any other. I didn’t know anything had happened until I heard the sirens that night and came out to see what was the matter. I spoke to the police then. I suppose you have that on file.”

  “Yes, we do.” It must be in the folder, though she hadn’t seen that part yet. There wasn’t anything this man could say to help them. “Thank you for your time, Doctor. If you happen to think of anything else, please give me call.” She handed him a card.

  He slipped it into his front pocket. “You’re welcome. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come inside and discuss how much our genes determine our personalities?”

  “Maybe another time. We’re under a time constraint.”

  “Oh, of course. I wish you luck.”

  “Thanks again.” She turned and headed down the drive.

  “That was a bust,” Wesson muttered under her breath as the shade of a big willow tree turned the walkway dark with its shadow.

  “Yeah, but we’re just getting started.” She was bolstering her own sagging confidence as well as Wesson’s. Glancing down the street she saw another car pulling into a drive. “Is that another character witness?”

  “Yes. Dr. Rivera.” Wesson didn’t have her file with her now, but apparently she’d made a note in her phone.

  “Let’s go.”

  She led Wesson down the grassy slope and cut across the street. They caught up with the woman just as she was reaching her front door.

  “Excuse me,” Miranda called out. “May we talk to you for a moment?”

  The neighbor turned to her with narrowed eyes.

  She was a tall, thin woman in tailored tan slacks and a starchy-looking sky-blue shirt. She looked to be in her early forties. Her thick dark hair was pulled back in a plain clasp. Her skin was dark, and her face featured a long nose and angle-less cheeks. She carried a plastic bag that looked like it might have a salad in it for her dinner.

  “I’m sorry,” she snapped. “I’ve just spent twelve hours in surgery transplanting the liver of a five-year-old boy. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”

  Wow. Miranda was too impressed to be insulted. This lady saved the lives of sick kids. “Is he going to be okay, your patient?”

  The doctor’s face softened a bit. “We saved him, yes. He’s going to make it.”

  “That’s great,” Wesson said softly, obviously as impressed as Miranda.

  “I apologize for disturbing you, Doctor.”

  “If you’re with that new church in the next street, I already attend St. Simon’s Episcopal.”

  Lucky coincidence. “Then you may know my husband, Wade Parker.”

  “Wade Parker, the detective?”

  “Yes.” St. Simon’s was his church. They were married there.

  Dr. Rivera’s shoulders seemed to relax. “I’ve met him at a few fundraisers, and he—Are you—?” She looked at Miranda closely, then at Wesson. “Is this about the Boudreaux case?”

  She was a sharp lady. “Yes. I’m Miranda Steele and this is Janelle Wesson. We’re reinvestigating Dr. Boudreaux’s case.”

  She let out a sympathetic breath. “I heard on the news Clarence—his time is coming up.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say the word “execution.”

  “That’s right,” Miranda said. “We’re talking to people who were interviewed then, hoping to find something the attorney can use to get an appeal.”

  “I see.” She stared down at her feet. “I went to school with Charmaine. She and I used to bet who could make the highest grade on the Calculus quiz. She usually beat me, though it was close.” She smiled sadly. “I met Clarence when they started dating. We double dated a few times. I was with my first husband then.”

  Miranda’s hopes began to rise. “Did your husband know Clarence well?”

  “He did. They used to go to the woods together to hunt snakes for some of Clarence’s projects.”

  “Did your husband testify at the trial?”

  “No. He passed away before all that happened. Just before, in fact. I’m afraid I was too distraught to pay much attention. Poor Charmaine. What a sad case.”

  Miranda paused a moment, then asked the money question, using Parker’s words. “Do you think Clarence caused her death?”

  The doctor seemed surprised at her bluntness. But she answered right away. “No, I don’t. I said so at the trial.”

  “You were a character witness?”

  “Yes. The trial was about a year later. I told them I’d never believe Clarence Boudreaux could do such a thing. He was always so kind and gentle. He and Charmaine were very much in love. But obviously, my testimony didn’t do much good.”

  Not without any facts to go with her good opinion of the doctor. “Do you remember anything from the day Charmaine was killed? Did you see Clarence that night?”

  “No. I wish I had, but I was too wrapped up in my own sorrow. I didn’t even notice the police at his house. I didn’t know anything about it until I heard it on the news the next morning. When they said Clarence had been arrested, I was stunned. I contacted your husband and he put me in touch with Clarence’s attorney. I was deposed, I testified at the trial, and then they sentenced him. Dreadful.” She put a hand to her face.

  Miranda’s heart went out to this noble woman, but it was clear she had nothing that could help them.

  Still, she handed her a card. “I’m sorry for your loss, Dr. Rivera. If you think of anything else, if you remember any detail from that day, no matter how small
, give me a call.”

  Taking the card, Dr. Rivera smiled. “You sound just like your husband.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “This case gets sadder and sadder.” Wesson stood beside Miranda on the sidewalk as once more they eyed the former Boudreaux home.

  “Yeah,” Miranda sighed.

  “Clarence Boudreaux had friends. He was a respected professional. Why would he kill his wife?”

  “Good question.”

  “Okay. Where do we go next?”

  Miranda thought about the damning evidence Parker had given her that morning and nodded toward the house next to Dr. Rivera’s. The one directly across the street from their client’s former home. She’d been avoiding that one, but it was time to pay the piper.

  “Let’s go check out that place.”

  They headed around the curve of the sidewalk and this time descended the downward slope of the drive to a large two-story dwelling in the style of an English cottage. There were no cars in the drive and the garage door was shut, but maybe someone was home.

  She stepped onto a quaint country porch and dodged several green leafy plants hanging from hooks overhead. They seemed to be well-cared for, indicating someone who paid attention to details and who was home a lot, she noted. Miranda had given up plants long ago. Any living thing she’d had ever brought home had died within a week.

  “Who lives here?” she whispered to Wesson, pausing at the front door. Parker hadn’t told her the name of the neighbor who’d seen Dr. Boudreaux’s car in his drive the day of the murder.

  Wesson scrolled through her phone. “Um, Fairchild. Yes. That’s the name.”

  Good enough. She rang the bell.

  No answer.

  Wesson gave her a worried look.

  She rang again.

  Suddenly a dog’s bark rang out from inside.

  “Someone’s home,” Wesson smirked.

  The dog was. Miranda rang again.

  More barking.

  She tapped her foot. Sounded like the owner was out. They’d probably have to come back later. She was just about to give up when the door opened.

  “Now you just stop that, Kudzu,” chided a female voice with a thick Southern drawl.