Page 33 of Little Last Words
I nodded. “I didn’t see it coming. We’ve had conversations in the past about building a future together. The subject of marriage never came up though.”
“Are you glad he asked?”
It was an easy question to answer.
“I am,” I said. “It was nice to spend time with his family for a few days too.”
He shot me a wink. “His family, eh? Bet that was interesting.”
“I haven’t been to one of his family gatherings since our college days. I had this idea in my mind of what they’d be like. They were different than I’d thought. Normal even.”
“Huh, who knew? Well, I’ll tell you one thing. He did a dang good job picking out a ring that suits your personality. When are the nuptials?”
I raised a hand in front of me. “Whoa, slow down. I’m in no hurry to race to the altar.”
“He proposed, and no dates were discussed, huh? Guess I’m out of the loop. I have no idea what the norm is these days.”
“I’m not sure there is a norm anymore. Seems to me like a lot of people do whatever works best for them. We talked about that on the flight home, and we both agreed to take our time planning the wedding. We already live together. What’s the rush?”
He nodded. “I kinda like that … no pressure.”
No pressurewas the motto Silas lived by. He was an easygoing, chilled-out surfer-type, who just happened to have an interest in forensics. If he hadn’t become a coroner, I imagined he would have spent his life puttering around from state to state, living out of his VW bus.
“I’m guessing you know why I’m here,” I said.
“Sure do.”
“What have you learned about Penelope Barlow’s murder?”
“Her throat was slit, of course, just like we thought.” He lifted a finger to his neck and dragged it from left to right, demonstrating the angle the blade had lacerated the throat. “The gash started at the lobe of her ear, deepening as the blade moved across her neck, severing her left and right carotid arteries.”
“Any defensive wounds?”
He shook his head.
“I think whoever killed Penelope caught her off guard. It’s possible he hid in the bathroom, waiting for the perfect chance to strike. Based on the angle of the knife and the wound itself, I think he was standing like …”
Silas stood and came around his desk.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Reenacting what I think happened. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I believe the perp was standing behind her when he slit her throat.”
He reached in front of me, tipping my chin back. The difference was, Silas was gentle. Whoever attacked Penelope would not have been. Silas fisted one hand around my hair, using the other to draw a finger across my neck.
“It happened fast,” he said. “I don’t even think she had much chance, if any, to react.”
I turned and faced him. “Based on the angle, starting at the earlobe and cutting across the neck in a downward motion, the killer is right-handed.”
“Yep.”
“What about a weapon? Was anything found at the crime scene?”
“There were several knives in the kitchen. They were all clean and put away in a drawer. We bagged and tagged them all. None match up with the laceration she sustained.”