“Yes, this is the last batch of scented candles I ordered.”
Once she’s paid for the tea, she escorts me to my car, which I’ve thankfully recalled the location of.
“I’m so glad I ran into you,” she says. “I only got back in town last night and was planning on reaching out. Why don’t I phone you in a day or two and we can arrange a lunch if you like.”
“I’d love that.”
She starts to move but then turns back to me and taps one of her French-tipped nails against her mouth.
“I hope it isn’t out of line for me to say this, but just be careful if you have any more contact with the police here.”
That pinging sound goes off in my brain again, like it had in the police station.
“Oh? Why do you say that?”
“I can see I’ve alarmed you and I’m sorry. It’s only that I’ve had to interact with them a few times in relation to clients, and they can be indiscreet. And you don’t need that at this point in your career.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
As I drive away, her comment lingers in my mind, worrying me. I didn’t want to press her, and now I’m left trying to translate what she meant by “indiscreet.” If one of the waiters is arrested for murder, Guy and I will both end up in the local news—there’s no way to avoid that—but what additional information could the police possibly leak?
Thinking of the cops reminds me that I haven’t yet told Guy about my trip to the station today. It’s a little after four when I reach the house and Guy will be home in two hours. Rather than interrupt him at work, I decide to share the experience once he’s back.
By the time I’ve unlocked the door and entered the kitchen, the crushing fatigue from moments earlier has dissipated and I feel oddly wired instead. My mind keeps replaying the interview with Corcoran, pondering why she still can’t find the woman who phoned me on Eve’s behalf. I wonder if the caller really might have something to do with the murder or is even a victim herself. Plus, there’s still a risk of the situation unspooling, threatening to drag Guy and me with it, but I don’t know how to protect us.
Wandering into my office, I realize there’s one little thing I can do. After the dinner guests departed Thursday night, Guy mentioned that it might be nice for me to reach out to the two wives, to get to know them better. Though it’s something I initially had zero interest in, particularly when it came to Kim, being on friendly terms with the wives would help if there’s any fallout from the murder. I don’t have the stomach to meet with Kim, at least this week, but I email Barb, asking if we could meet for lunch or drinks.
I’m still in my office when, much later, I hear Guy come in through the kitchen door. Before I have the chance to rise, he enters the room, places his two hands of my shoulders, and kisses the back of my head.
“Hard at work, babe?” he asks.
“Just dealing with a few loose ends. I called your cell earlier. Did you get the message?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I only noticed it when I was heading out the door.”
“I called the office, too. Miranda didn’t tell you?”
“No, but her head was in the clouds today. Was it important?”
“Yes. But let’s discuss it over a glass of wine, okay?”
I sense him on high alert as he trails me into the kitchen, stripping off his suit jacket as we go.
“Tell me,” he says before I’ve even uncorked the wine.
I explain about the call from the police and going down there, how they wanted me to review details about the dinner party.
“Jesus,” he says, tossing up his hands. “Are they going to talk to the donors?”
“So far it doesn’t look that way. I mean they didn’t press for their names and I certainly didn’t volunteer them. But if it turns out one of the waiters killed Eve Blazer, that may change.”
“Beautiful. That’s all I need.”
I pour his wine, hoping a glass will ease his nerves. But though I take a swig from my own glass, he ignores his.
“Would it make sense to give Brent a heads-up now?” I ask. “Then, if one of the waiters is arrested, it won’t be such a rude surprise.”
“It’s going to be a rude surprise no matter when he hears it. The guy loathes any kind of bombshell.”
The jarring sound of the front doorbell pierces the air, startling both of us. I glance at the clock on the microwave: it’s 7:20. Who would be showing up here at this hour?
“Are you expecting anyone?” Guy asks.
I shake my head and follow him to the front door. In unison, we peer through one of the antique, lightly pocked windows on the side.
A man and woman are standing on the wide front porch. I don’t recognize the man. But the woman is Detective Corcoran.
Chapter 10
This can’t be good. I was at the station mere hours ago, so why would Corcoran show up here unless there was a serious development? I assume the man is her partner.
“It’s the police,” I whisper to Guy, realizing he has no clue who these two people are.