CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Kate knocked on the door of the Hopkins home fifteen minutes later, she did not expect an answer, and she did not get one. There were no vehicles in the driveway and the place had the same feel she had gotten from the Lowell house yesterday—the feeling of sorrow and abandonment.
She had held on to the key Bannerman had given them when they had first met. It was hard to think that it had only been a few days ago. When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she gave a cautionary “Hello” to anyone who might be inside. The only thing that came back to her was a hollow noise that was not quite her echo.
“Even if Knudsen turns out not to be the killer,” Kate said, “the fact remains that there was a piano in each home. It may seem like a small detail at first but, rea
