The Doll Garden

Three

I didn't realize how similar she looked to me until I was staring into her lifeless eyes. It was unfortunate that our eyes were the same color, too. I didn't have a chance to figure out what other similarities we shared because I was guided away from the three women's corpses.

Cameras were now flashing from every angle. The bright white lights blinded me whenever one of the forensic photographers pressed the button to snap the pictures. It prevented me from properly focusing on the officer in front of me, but I tried. Question after question fell from his dry, chapped lips.

The skin was cracked. It was peeling apart so much; I could see blood drying along the thin lines. Several feet behind him, a big hole had been cleared in the wall. The bodies were removed. Each of them had been hauled out on a stretcher, placed in large black body bags that were strapped down to it.

"Three females; all likely to be above the age of forty." A detective was talking. Her back was turned to us as she spoke to another detective at her side. Both detectives were facing the hole in the garden wall, standing at a fair distance away from us, near the fountain.

I recognized the back of her tight-knit bun—Turner—that's what her last name was. She'd been one of the first few detectives on scene after Candace made the call two hours ago. I'd heard one of her fellow officers call out to her by that name.

"Excuse me, ma'am? Ms. Harrington?" His dry, chapped lips were moving again.

I blinked and perked up. "Oh. H-huh? I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The look in his blue eyes was nothing less than judgmental. I averted my gaze, glancing up at the gazebo's roof overhead. It blocked the sun's rays from storming down on us with heat, which I was thankful for. However, I could have gone without him stripping me apart with his eyes.

He cleared his throat and said, "Ms. Harrington, I said that we'll be in contact." He used the tip of his pen to tap against the little yellow notepad in his hands. Black ink was scribbled on the page in a messy manner. He had just finished jotting down the contact details I'd given him.

"O-oh. Okay. Got it. Sorry." I shot him a quick small smile. It hadn't even lasted five seconds before it dropped.

"No worries. You can rejoin everyone else inside. Thank you for your time," he said.

I looked back at the sliding doors behind us and nodded. "Yeah. Right. Okay," I spoke in short one-worded sentences.

When he was out of sight, I looked around again. Most of the cops were clearing out now. I didn't take my eyes off of them while entering the kitchen. Voices flooded the inside of the mansion from different corners. There were just a few officers littered around our lobby now.

I could see one questioning Mirabelle and Manuel by the entrance doors. Another was speaking with some of the workers, including Henry, Candace, and Aaron in the living room area. If that was the case, then there was probably an officer or two questioning my father in his study, too.

I stood off to the side of the kitchen and waited. The warm light brown colored walls were somewhat comforting. There was a large brown and peach island in the middle of the kitchen that separated the space into two rows. A candle chandelier hung above it, each candle lit.

The first row consisted of the counter that had the sink built into it. Within the second row, there was a rectangular red carpet with gold patterns laid on the floor beside the stove. In line with the island was the refrigerator, next to the kitchen entrance, and the backyard door on the opposing end.

I could see everything outside the entrance from where I stood.

In no more than ten minutes, the officer began to walk away from Mirabelle and Manuel. Both of them lingered until they caught me looking in their direction. Mirabelle then nudged Manuel's arm. She ushered him to follow her with her head and he did so without complaint.