“From the time your father had his last heart attack ― the day the dog came ― until his death, did he leave his bedroom?”
“No. Itchie and I took turns nursing him. Night and day the entire week.”
“Bedroom indicated. Lead the way.”
An hour and a half later, Ellery opened the door of Leander Hill’s room. Laurel was curled up in a window niche on the landing, head resting against the wall.
“I suppose you think I’m an awful sissy,” she said, without turning. “But all I can see when I’m in there is his marbly face and blue lips and the crooked way his mouth hung open... not my daddy at all. Nothing, I suppose.”
“Come here, Laurel.”
She jerked about. Then she jumped of! the ledge and ran to him.
Ellery shut the bedroom door.
Laurel’s eyes hunted wildly. But aside from the four-poster bed, which was disarranged, she could see nothing unusual. The spread, sheets, and quilt were peeled back, revealing the side walls of the box spring and mattress.
“What―?”