“Accessory after the fact? I saw a man commit a murder and I didn’t report it.”
His chiseled lips fell apart. He hadn’t considered that.
“Now do you see why I didn’t go after Darrin to begin with? If I’d had the sense God gave a billy goat, I’d have gone to the police that same night and they’d have protected me. But I was afraid that Darrin had a contact in the Department. Instead I made myself a fugitive, and the only person who’s going to benefit by that is Darrin. It was a colossal mistake.” She sighed. “I was so scared of him, so traumatized by what I’d seen.” Her hands clenched on her jeans. She looked up at Butch. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go to jail. I don’t want you to go to jail, for protecting me.”
He caught her hand in his and held it tight. “We’re a matched set. I’m not turning my back on you.”
“I know,” she said, and a glimmer of humor escaped her. “You can’t make a biscuit.”
“Damned straight,” he replied. But his dark eyes were saying a lot more than that. “Now, suppose we watch the series and forget about Darrin and the investigator and the rest of the world for a few minutes?”
She snuggled up closer to him with a contented sound. “Okay.”
He slid his arm around her and rested his cheek on her hair as the commercials ended and the program came back on.
* * *
Esther went back to work the next morning, still perturbed about the changes in her life. One of her first customers was a casually dressed man in slacks and a sports shirt with a leather jacket over it. He sat down at a table where he could put his back to the wall and started looking around.
She went with her pad and pen, her uniform spotless, and smiled at him as she put down utensils wrapped in a napkin and handed him a menu. “What would you like to drink?” she asked. “And do you need a few minutes to look at the menu before you order?”
“Not really.” He had a nice voice, friendly and calm. “Black coffee, scrambled eggs, biscuits and sausage.”
She nodded, writing it on the pad. “How would you like your eggs?”
“Over easy.”
“Okay. Be right back.”
She was aware of his eyes watching her as she went to the counter to give the order to the cook. It wasn’t unusual. She drew attention because she was pretty. She didn’t think much about it.
He was served and she went to wait on other customers. She noticed that the man had finished his meal and she went back to hand him the check, smiling.
“Esther Marist?” he asked quietly.
The smile faded, to be replaced by a look of sheer horror.
“Don’t panic,” he said quietly. “And don’t run. I know you didn’t push your mother down a staircase. Please, sit down for a minute.”
She sat, too frightened to think that it might cost her her job to be familiar with a customer.
“I’ve already spoken to the owner,” he said. “She knows why I’m here.” He indicated Sadie, another waitress, who was suddenly waiting tables, filling in for Esther.
“I didn’t even think about that,” Esther said. She met his pale eyes. “I ran. I’m so sorry. I was terrified. He was drunk and making threats . . . !”
“It’s all right,” he said gently. “I’ve interviewed a dozen people who know you. Not one considered you a suspect. Neither do I. Darrin, on the other hand, has a rap sheet as long as my arm, and priors for assault. He was arrested on suspicion of murder a few years ago, but the charges couldn’t be proven beyond the shadow of a doubt. There’s not much guesswork involved in how your mother died.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. “She was so trusting,” she said. “I knew what Darrin was, the day I met him.”
“Your mother had a history of choosing the wrong sort of partners, I’m afraid,” he replied. “This time, it ended badly.”
“Darrin was furious because she wouldn’t buy him a sports car,” Esther said quietly, staring at the table. “She argued, and he just . . . hit her. She staggered and he hit her again, then he picked her up and hurled her down the staircase.” Her eyes clouded. “She’d given me her will the night before, shoved it into my purse and told me to hold on to it,