“What do we do now?” I asked Beattie as we continued to stand awkwardly in the hallway down from the inspector’s office.
Beattie shook her head slowly. “I have no idea.” She started to walk back toward the front door. “But given that the inspector didn’t even hesitate, I think we can be sure he thought the book wasn’t in MacDonald’s house during the murder. Maybe that tells us something.”
I was just beginning to let my mind turn that idea around when it pulled up short as Ms. MacDonald, Davis’s grandniece, barreled through the door of the station, right past the receptionist, and past us directly into Inspector Scott’s office. She didn’t seem to notice us, and I was quite fine with that, especially as I registered that the receptionist hadn’t even batted an eye when she bypassed her.
Be
