“My sister is—” The man at my gate stumbled over the words. “My sister was Gloria Sutter.”
My cigarette fell to the ground. “Gloria is missing?”
“Gloria is dead.”
My vision blurred, black circles overlapping black circles.
“She got herself murdered,” he said. “But before it happened, she left me a note. It said, Tell Ellie Winter to find me. Now what do you think that means?”
But I couldn’t answer. I was lowering slowly to the paving stones in my garden, my knees giving way almost gracefully, the wineglass clicking to the ground and rolling away. George Sutter said something else, but I didn’t hear it. I had raised my arms and locked my hands behind my head, squeezing my arms over my ears, blocking out the world and everything in it. I closed my eyes and felt the cool silk of my dressing gown against my cheek, and I never wanted to get up and feel anything else again.