"You should have called me. You had no business spending the night alone after such an awful ordeal." The older woman looked at her chidingly. "You should have at least called me to take you home."
Addison raised her cup to her lips. "Actually, Randall Talbot took me home.” An unexpected flutter of pleasure wafted through her at the mention of his name. God, what was it about that man that had her acting like a schoolgirl?
Gretchen's eyebrows rose and she peeked at her from over the rim of her glasses. "Nice of him in light of the fact that you lodged that complaint with the Better Business Bureau."
Realizing her business arrangement with Talbot might need some explaining, Addison tried to clarify. "He came into the shop to apologize."
"He must be a real charmer."
"I assure you, charm had nothing to do with it." It was just a little white lie. She didn't want Gretchen to think she was a pushover, especially after she'd spent so many weeks casting insults about the man. "He offered to look into Agnes Beckett's murder."
"You hired him?"
"I just want him to follow up and make sure her case is being investigated the way it should be."
Sympathy flashed across the older woman's face. "Oh, honey, Agnes Beckett is gone. I know that's painful for you. I know how much it hurts. But you've got to let go and move on."
"I don't want her forgotten, Gretch."
"What in the world do you expect him to find?"
Justice. Closure. The words flitted through her brain, but she didn't voice them, wasn't sure she could explain any of them. "I just want some answers."
Addison had decided not to mention Randall's theory that the robbery hadn't been a robbery at all, but an attempt on her life. There was no proof, and she didn't want to worry her friend needlessly. She wasn't even sure if she believed it herself. Masked gunmen just didn't fit into her safe, wonderfully dull life.
Standing in her coffee shop with the sunshine streaming through the windows and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee in the air, the terror of the night before seemed light-years away.
"I want you to have those answers you need so desperately, honey. But even more, I want you to get on with your life."
"Before I can do that, I've got to get this out of the way once and for all. To do that, I need closure, Gretch. That's what this is all about."
Reaching out, Gretchen sighed and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Addison's ear. "At least you'll have someone looking out for you, I suppose."
"I wouldn't exactly say he's looking out for me."
Gretchen's lips twitched. "There was a picture of him in the newspaper this morning. Strapping young man."
Addison rolled her eyes. "Strapping or not, I'm paying him for his time, Gretch. It's not like he's doing this out of the goodness of his heart."
"I'm sure the man needs to make a living."
Ignoring her friend's tone, Addison stepped behind the counter and ran her hand over the espresso machine, pausing at the hole left by a bullet that had been meant for her.
She hated seeing her shop damaged. She'd poured too much of herself into the place to let someone walk in and destroy it in a senseless, random act of violence.
Reminding herself that damaged equipment could be replaced, she glanced at the clock above the espresso machine and gasped. "I was supposed to be at the police station half an hour ago to talk with Detective Van-Dyne." She caught her friend's eyes and held them. "Will you be all right here?"
"In broad daylight?" Gretchen huffed as she picked up a push .broom and swept the scatter of coffee beans into a neat pile. "Back in Missouri, we shoot back."
Addison forced a laugh, telling herself it was silly to worry about the robber returning. She didn't keep much cash at the shop. Only an idiot would hit the same place twice.
"The insurance adjuster is supposed to come by late this afternoon," Addison said as she started for the alley door. "If he gets here before I get back, be nice to him."
*
The trip to the police station was everything Addison had imagined it would be, only worse. She waited nearly an hour before seeing Detective Van-Dyne. When he finally took her into his office, he spent most of the time on the telephone and the rest ogling her legs.
He was in his element at the station and she was light years out of hers. They both knew it, and it seemed he did everything in his power to impress that fact upon her. She figured out why when he suggested they finish the report over lunch. A true whiz at getting out of unpleasant engagements—especially with men—she quickly mentioned that she had a date with her lawyer. He spent the remainder of the interview acting like a spoiled twelve-year-old.