After Bryce left my house, Rita and Helen sat on the couch with their heads together, whispering like a couple of old hens plotting to steal a prized rooster from the farmer next door.
“Just what are you two plotting?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face.
“We’re talking about who might want to kill Matt Forrester and why,” Helen said with narrowed eyes. “We didn’t really know him well. Those kinds of kids come and go so often that getting to know them is a waste of time. Sydney had motive, but for that matter, so did Bruce, her dad. Matt hurt his daughter.”
Grabbing a notepad, I left on the coffee table; I wrote down a list of suspects. “Like I said, I don’t think Sydney is the murderer, but I wonder where her brother, Kevin, disappeared to. If they were as close as Bryce said, the
