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demands. “But it’s imperative that we all stay as calm as possible.” Thankfully the whole frazzled entourage fell silent. “My name is Deputy Chief Jess Harris. At this time it won’t be necessary to take any fingerprints, but I will be interviewing each of you, along with your daughters.”
    Evidently finding her announcement utterly disagreeable or somehow debatable, the women launched more questions.
    “As I said,” Jess cut them off firmly, “I know this is very difficult, but I need your patience and your cooperation. Ms. Chandler is counting on us to do this right.”
    The suggestion seemed to calm the mothers. Unfortunately it had a different effect on the daughters. A fresh wave of tears commenced. Jess cringed inwardly at the idea that she’d made the little girls cry again. She really was no good at this.
    “Lieutenant Prescott, if you would keep these ladies comfortable while they wait for their turns, we’ll get this done.”
    “Whatever you say,
Chief
.”
    Prescott’s tone was pleasant enough but the irritation simmering in her gaze didn’t quite rise to the challenge. She was not any happier now than she’d been a week ago when word that Jess had gotten the position of deputy chief had flowed along the BPD grapevine like a bad Chianti.
    Prescott’s subsequent assignment to Jess’s unit just seemed like bad karma for them both. Case in point, Prescott had wanted to start the interviews with the daughters before Jess even arrived at the scene.
    No, the woman was not happy.
    Jess shifted her attention to Andrea, the chief’s stepdaughter and the assistant teacher at this ballet school while she was home from college for the summer. “Andrea, if you would come with me to the conservatory, please.”
    Relieved to escape the mayhem that would no doubt descend as soon as she was out of hearing range, Jess marched toward the conservatory. Andrea followed, still dressed in her black leotard and dance slippers.
    The conservatory was a massive addition to the back of the house that had likely been used at one time as a sunroom and a place for entertaining. For the past thirty or so years it had served as a dance studio. First by Darcy Chandler’s nationally celebrated grandmother, then, more recently, by her and her famous husband whose name Jess still couldn’t pronounce properly no matter that Harper had repeated it to her three times.
    When the door was closed, Jess took a moment to survey the space. Gleaming wood floors had replaced what had likely once been tile or stone. A soaring ceiling was surrounded by towering glass walls that allowed sunlight to fill the room. The view of the gardens was nothing short of spectacular. Talk about living like royalty.
    With a gesture toward the one table surrounded by chairs near the garden entrance, Jess asked, “Why don’t we sit here?”
    Visibly shaken, Andrea wilted into a chair. The nineteen-year-old dragged in a halting breath. “I can’t believe Ms. Darcy is dead.” She shook her head. “Every time I try to get on with my life something else happens.”
    Jess had to give her that. The poor girl had been abducted by a couple who’d gone around the bend. Then, only last week, a serial killer had used her to get at Dan in an attempt to bait Jess. Now this. She imagined Andrea was ready to put this summer behind her. Returning to college for her sophomore year was likely looking better every day.
    “I can certainly understand how you would feel that way.” Jess sat down on the opposite side of the table so she could keep an eye on the garden and any new arrivals. “Why don’t you tell me what happened here this morning? Start with when you arrived and go from there.”
    Andrea moistened her lips and visibly braced herself. “I came at ten this morning and worked with the competition team. Then at noon we broke for lunch.” She glanced beyond the glass walls of the conservatory toward the French doors that led from the terrace into the main