Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_02 by Scandal in Fair Haven Page A

Matthews house since the murder story broke in the Sunday papers. The young man on the riding mower certainly noticed my arrival this afternoon.
    The mower turned, heading back to me.
    When it was no more than a dozen feet away, I lifted my hand.
    The driver of the mower was a handsome youth. He had thick, lustrous black hair, strong, even features, intelligent, dark blue eyes. At my summons, he looked surprised. But he promptly switched off the motor and jumped down. He hurried toward the fence.
    “Yes, ma’am?” He was slim and athletic in a blue polo and white tennis shorts.
    “I’m Henrietta Collins. I’m staying at the Matthews house. I’m Craig Matthews’s aunt.”
    I held out my hand.
    He yanked off brown gardening gloves, swiped his right hand against his shorts before holding it out to shake mine. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Dan Forrest.” His grasp was firm.
    I looked at the boy more closely. He was truly extraordinarily handsome—and the masculine image of Patty Kay’s beautiful tennis partner, Brooke. Brooke, the tennis player. Brooke Forrest, the trustee.
    “Did your mother and Patty Kay play tennis together?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Mom loves to play. Mrs. Matthews was one of her best friends.” Dan waited politely, tucking the gloves in a back pocket.
    I did some quick figuring. Craig must have returned to the house at some time on Sunday to change clothes before he was questioned by the police. I didn’t know what time he was arrested. The newspaper article had indicated the arrest was made Sunday evening. So—
    “Dan, between late yesterday and about four this afternoon, Mrs. Matthews’s study was burglarized. Have you seen anyone near the house?”
    “My gosh.” His eyes widened. “I guess I should’ve called somebody. Gosh, I’m sorry.” He sounded uncomfortable and embarrassed. “But I thought it could be the wind.”
    I scarcely dared to breathe. “What happened?”
    “Well, it was just a little while before you came.” His eyes slid away from me. “I mean, I couldn’t help but notice when you turned in. Your car’s neat.”
    I abruptly understood. The teenager was embarrassed that he had indeed been curious and couldn’t keep his eyes off the Matthews house. He didn’t want to admit to poor manners. Interest in sports cars was acceptable, however.
    I hastened to give him an out. “I imagine a riding mower gets pretty boring. You can probably tell me how many squirrels have crossed the road this afternoon. And certainly I’m glad you were here and happened to be looking around.”
    “Yeah. That’s funny too. Usually I’d still be at school. But they canceled sports today. I guess they thought it wouldn’t seem right. Not until the funeral.”
    I tried to sort that out. I thought Patty Kay’s funeral was Wednesday. Why no sports on Monday? But that didn’t matter. What mattered was what this boy saw.
    “So you were home this afternoon?”
    “I got home about three-fifteen. I started mowing about three-thirty. Anyway, I happened”—his tone was painfully casual—“to look across the street and I saw the Jessops’ little white poodle dashing up your driveway. And Mitzi’s not supposed to be out. She gets lost. So I ran over, but by the time I got there, she’d run around back. I went back there and I heard Mrs. Jessop calling and then I realized Mitzi’d gone home. So I was turning around and that’s when I saw the back door was open.”
    His face wrinkled in remembered indecision. “I looked around the drive and Mr. Matthews’s car wasn’t there, just hers. And so nobody was home. I mean, there weren’t any cars but hers. But the door was open. I just stood there and looked at it and then I thought that was odd, so I went up to the screen and opened it and poked my head in. I called out for Brigit, but I didn’t think she’d be there. I mean, not” —Dan Forrest paused, then said awkwardly, “with what had happened. So I stepped into the hall.” He stopped