CHAPTER EIGHT
For the second time that day, Brian stood on the antebellum-style porch in front of the heavy oak door. He rang the bell and waited. Soon he heard approaching footsteps and the door swung open. A gray-haired woman, maybe in her fifties, but still retaining her youthful looks, greeted him. Her features looked familiar and Brian recognized immediately the resemblance to Marianne Gulden. An aunt, he wondered, or older sister?
“Brian Murphy, Mountain View PD.” He extended his badge.
“Ah, yes, come in. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Alyssa Pearson, Marianne’s maternal aunt. I live in town and, when the doctor called, I came over right away. She needs someone with her.”
“How is Mrs. Gulden doing?”
“Actually, you came at a good time. She slept for hours after the sedative but is
