“Where’s your mother this morning?”
Listless shrug. “I don’t know. She had stuff to do, I guess.”
“Do you spend a lot of time here alone?” Seemed strange to Finley that her mother would leave her alone if she were so unstable.
“Sometimes. Mother has a lot of social obligations. I’ve lost count of the charity projects she supports.”
“You never go with her?”
Her eyes did meet Finley’s now. “I haven’t left this house in like four years.” She stared at her hands once more. “I can’t do it.”
Her words were sincere, but she averted eye contact as she said them. Then she squirmed a little as if she couldn’t get comfortable.
Finley moved on to the reason she was here. “Olivia is worried that you’re feeling overly upset about this Holmes situation.”
Another vague shrug. “I don’t like it. He’s lying and making everyone think I did something wrong, and I didn’t.”
“I hate when people do that.” Finley made a face, not that Cecelia would notice since she kept her attention cast downward. “We’ll find the truth, and this time it will be over for good.”
Cecelia lifted her gaze, locked it with Finley’s. “Do you really think you can? The truth is hidden sometimes. Finding it isn’t always easy.”
“I’m very good at finding things,” Finley assured her.
“But you don’t always find what you’re looking for, do you?”
This was the longest they’d held eye contact. Cecelia wanted to see Finley’s reaction. Her mother was away, so she felt more confident.
“What do you mean?” Finley prodded. “We don’t really know each other.”
“I read about your husband’s murder.” She shifted her attention to her hands once more. “You still don’t know who killed him.”
Oh, Finley knew rightly enough. It was proving it that she couldn’t do.
“The detectives are still working on his case.”
“I’ll bet you’ve kept everything just like it was when he was alive. At your house, I mean.”
Finley felt the first prick of uneasiness. “I have. I suppose I’m not ready to let anything go yet.”
“My mom had my dad’s stuff packed up and taken away practically before he was in the ground.” She met Finley’s gaze again. “What do you think of someone who would do that? Cold, wouldn’t you say?”
“Everyone grieves differently.” Finley watched Cecelia’s face closely as she asked the next question. “Do you know where I live?”
She nodded. “I did some research on you.”
“You can visit me if you like,” Finley suggested.
Her gaze narrowed. “I told you I don’t leave the house. How could I visit you?”
“Then what difference did it make where I live?”
“I was curious.” She studied her fingers, picked at her cuticles. “Olivia said something about being surprised you lived in such a dump.”
Finley laughed, a dry sound. “It definitely qualifies as a dump. My husband was remodeling it, and I just haven’t followed through. I’ll get around to it.”
“Do you have a therapist since the breakdown?”
Apparently, she was the one being interviewed. “I do. How about you?”
Cecelia nodded. “Mother likes her because she makes house calls. In my opinion, she’s worthless. Wants to keep me medicated all the time. I hate it.”
“I hated the medication too. But it was necessary for a while.”
“We’re alike, you know.” Cecelia stared at Finley with a smugness she made no attempt to conceal.
“How so?”
“Neither of us wants anyone to know everything we think.”
“What are you thinking, Cecelia?”
Tension mounted in the ensuing silence.
“That you have no idea what’s coming.”
Before Finley could ask what she meant, Cecelia stood. “I’ll tell my mother you stopped by when she returns. Please lock the door when you leave.”
She rushed out of the room without a backward glance. Finley took her time, wandered around the room, noting nothing of significance. Eventually she wandered out, locking the door behind her. She couldn’t lock the dead bolt, but she was able to engage the knob lock.
Finley sat in her car for a while after the meeting, just staring at the massive house. More likely than not Cecelia was watching her.