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“Sheriff.” Annabelle’s voice was groggy. “Preston told me about a hit-and-run, or something?”
“Yeah. It happened on Highway Sixty-seven early this morning. A man was killed and his body was found in the middle of the road. Your car was found abandoned on the side of the road about a hundred yards from the body.”
“My car?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you . . .” Annabelle looked from Sandy to Preston, then back to Sandy. “Are you sure it was my car?”
“Silver Audi. Plates are registered to you.”
Annabelle looked at Preston again.
“Garage is empty,” Preston whispered to her. “Your car’s not there.”
“Were you driving on Highway Sixty-Seven last night?” Sandy asked.
“No. I was here. At home.”
“Maybe you went out for something quickly?”
“No. I was with Charlotte all night. She’s got the croup, and we were keeping a close eye on her.”
“Charlotte?” Sandy asked.
“Our daughter,” Preston said. “She’s got a cough. We took turns checking on her all night.”
Sandy nodded. He’d forgotten that the newlyweds had a baby together.
“So you were both up all night, or you took shifts?”
“A little bit of both,” Preston said.
“Annabelle?” Sandy asked, trying to keep the conversation between the two of them.
“I don’t remember every minute of the night, but Preston and I were both up at times. We also took turns checking on her and sleeping in her room.”
Sandy nodded but didn’t mention that their explanation allowed times during the night when Annabelle was awake while Preston slept, which made it possible that Annabelle could have gone out without Preston’s knowledge. He’d save that theory for later, if things got that far.
“Does anybody have keys to your car other than you?”
“No. Actually,” Annabelle said, and went to a bowl that sat in the corner of the kitchen counter. She grabbed a set of keys. “These are my keys.”
“When was the last time you drove your car?”
Annabelle shrugged. “Charlotte’s been sick for a few days, so I’ve been a homebody. It’s been a couple of days since I was last out.”
“A couple of days?”
Annabelle looked up at the ceiling while she thought. “Wednesday. The last time I left the house was Wednesday. I drove into town with Charlotte. I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up medicine for her nebulizer.”
As Sandy listened to Annabelle Margolis, he noticed that something felt off about the whole scenario and, not for the first time since he’d knocked on the front door, he had doubts that Annabelle Margolis was driving the car found abandoned out on Highway 67.
“I need you to be available for the next few days as we try to get to the bottom of this. So if you have any travel plans, I need you to cancel them.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Preston said.
Sandy nodded. “I’ll be in touch. Hope your daughter feels better.”
