kept looking around the house in search of something.”
“Yeah. What could he have been looking for?”
“He or she,” Gemma reminded him. “The killer could’ve been a woman.”
Lando cocked a brow in her direction. “Are you seriously thinking the sister did it?”
“Who’s to say Jocelyn didn’t have a secret beef with her younger sister? It happens. Families don’t always get along. The reality is they could’ve been at each other’s throats and just pretended to get along.”
“No, I get it.”
“You know what that means, right?”
“I need to start the investigation from scratch, eliminate each suspect one by one, and then go back and check their alibis myself.”
Gemma propped her feet up on another chair and let out a sigh. “I could curl up and sleep right here for an hour.”
“You should go home, take a nap.”
“Only if you go with me.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
She grinned. “Then I won’t do it either. Let’s go get coffee. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to make it through Leia’s dinner party. I feel bad she’s cooking for all of us on her day off.”
“Are you serious? Zeb says she’s been planning this for at least a month, looking for a reason to show off the house. She’s excited to finally have everyone over.”
“Which is why we don’t dare disappoint her. Come on, let’s get that shot of caffeine, maybe make it triple shots of espresso.”
She looped her arm through Lando’s. “What’s wrong?”
“I wish we could go home right now and sleep for two days to recoup the sleep we lost.”
“I’ll have none of that talk,” Gemma said, optimism in her tone. “Buck up. It’s only eight more hours until the day is done.”
4
Three long, difficult hours later, they made it home to get ready for Leia’s dinner party.
A quick stop, a fast turnaround. They knew going in they had to head right back out.
But Gemma liked the idea of lingering at home for as long as she could.
Built on a cul-de-sac known as Peralta Circle, their home had started out as the town’s first government offices. It was that old. The words “Coyote Wells 1908” had been carved into the stone above the front door.
The historical reference was a reminder that the one-story hacienda had once been the size of a postage stamp. At barely thirteen hundred square feet, her grandparents had added a series of additions to the main house over the years trying to make it function better as a residence. The renovations made for an interesting blend of architecture. Starting with the original Pueblo influence, they’d hired builders who couldn’t quite pull off the same design. Happy to own a house at all, the Sarrazins had settled for a Spanish Colonial style that looked similar.
But no matter what, they kept the terracotta roof intact. That flair gave the one-story, ranch-style adobe all the charm made popular in California during the early 1900s. Thanks to its warm colors in golds and reds, its cobblestone driveway, the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, and its rounded archways, the building resembled an old mission right out of the eighteenth century.
Gemma loved the idea of living in a house steeped in such historical significance.
To give the place a little fancier upgrade, her grandparents had dreamed of having a solarium. At one end of the main house, they had added a room with a glass roof that let in light all day long. It was the one room where Gemma grew her fussiest, pickiest houseplants. Most anything thrived there in the warmth and sunshine. It was the one room where she felt Marissa and Jean-Luc Sarrazin’s presence the strongest. Almost daily, she encountered some reminder of her grandparents there—a thimble, a book, the scent of a vanilla candle. Not even inhabiting the same master bedroom did she feel their spirit as vital and as strong as she did in the solarium.
But tonight, there was no time to dawdle there.
As she ran around the bedroom to get ready, she hurried to find a casual outfit that would keep her warm if Leia decided to serve appetizers outside, which she often did this time of year.
She settled on an oversized tan sweater with a pair of black pants. When it came to shoes, she bypassed heels, opting instead for comfort, slipping on a pair of black and white, low-cut Chuck Taylors.
Despite feeling sleepy enough to crawl between the covers, she put on fresh lipstick. But out of the corner of her eye, she longingly looked