Heart racing and with no expectation that he’d answer, Jake grabbed her cellphone and called Etienne Beaudette. She didn’t leave a message when she reached his voice mail. The Beaudette house was sure to be an off-limits crime scene, but on the odd chance that one of the officers at the scene might be chatty, she was out of the house in the time it took to grab her purse and keys.
Bathed in the blue and red strobe lights of the city’s emergency responders, the Beaudette’s columned, French colonial home was cordoned off by yellow crime-scene tape pulled taut, from the one of the columns to the mailbox where the gray brick circular drive met the tar-black asphalt of the street. It looked like every light in the house was on. Strobing light bars atop police cars and the ambulance, blinking red taillights, flashing headlights, and the sparkling of the crystal chandelier on the wide veranda gave the otherwise miserable scene a festive appearance. The number of police cars and officers milling about made her wonder if there was anyone left at the cop shop to answer the phone. Neighbors clotted in intimate groups. Curiosity seekers from around town swelled the numbers.
Jake shouldered her way through a cluster of onlookers conjecturing about the possible whys, hows, and who. She overheard someone say they’d heard a shot. She moved close to the shoulder of a young patrolman intent on watching the activity around the house while he kept gawkers at bay behind the tape.
“Evening, officer. That was a terrible thing that happened.”
Be sure to stop back by on Wednesday, July 20, as we welcome National best-selling and Agatha-nominated mystery author Kaye George as our guest.