Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,45
that. After all, I’d once been married to Peter.
But what if my investigation brought me face-to-face with the fact that some not-so-happily-ever-afters also include murder?
Even though I was standing in a pool of sunlight outside the Spring Hill Recreation Center, I shivered. It was the next day, Saturday afternoon, and before I could let my imagination run wild and carry my worries and my common sense away with it, I reminded myself I was there on business. The recreation center was where Edward had his soccer coaches’ meeting the night Vickie was murdered, and that meant it was the place I might start to get to the bottom of what happened outside Swallows. I had to stay objective. I owed it to Jim. I owed it to Alex, because if Tyler suspected I was biased in any way, shape, or form, he wouldn’t believe a thing I said when it came to proving Alex’s innocence. I owed it to Vickie Monroe. Especially to Vickie Monroe, and to her two adorable children, Henry and Antonia, who would grow up without a mother.
Keeping the image of Henry and Antonia firmly in mind, I pulled back my shoulders, marched into the rec center, and offered a broad smile to the middle-aged woman behind the counter. “Annie Capshaw,” I said. “I’m with the McLean Virginia Now! You know, the Web site.”
The woman—whose name tag said she was Deb—couldn’t have known the site because I made it up. Polite person that she was, she nodded anyway. “How can I help you?” she asked.
I tried my best to look bored. No easy thing when I’m on a case and my brain is buzzing with prospects and possibilities. “My boss is making me do this,” I confided, leaning over the desk and lowering my voice. “I mean, who even wants to read an article about a bunch of soccer coaches getting together for a planning meeting? But . . .” My sigh was packed with enough resignation to sound genuine. “If I have to, I have to. I know they met here on . . .” I flipped open the portfolio I was carrying, the better to consult what I hoped looked like reporter-like notes, and gave Deb the date on which Vickie was killed. “I don’t need much. You know, just the names of the coaches who were here, which teams they represent, how long the meeting lasted. I guess the idea is that we’re supposed to show the community how active the soccer league is. You know, good PR.”
Apparently, Deb did know about PR, and since there’s nothing top secret about a league meeting for coaches, she wasn’t hesitant to share. She did some digging in a file cabinet behind the desk, found what she was looking for, and made a copy for me.
“It’s public record,” she said, passing the copy of the meeting minutes over the desk to me. “Nothing in there the coaches would object to anyone seeing. Just never had anyone ask before. Didn’t think anyone cared.”
I assured her McLean Virginia Now! did, and thanked her. As I walked away from the desk and found a seat on a bench near the door, I was already flipping through the minutes. It didn’t take long. They spelled out everything I was looking for in a report that was exactly three pages long. Edward Monroe had been at the meeting from the beginning. I knew this, because he offered the first report on the agenda, the one about league finances. He’d been there all the way to the bitter end, too; he seconded the motion to adjourn. According to the times listed in the minutes and to everything Tyler said about how long Vickie had been dead when the police found her body, there was no way Edward could have left the meeting when he did and still driven to Arlington in time to slit his wife’s throat.
A wave of relief washed over me, and I can attribute it only to the fact that finding out that Edward could not have been the murderer reaffirmed my faith in marriage. Of course, it did nothing at all for my case.
Thinking it over, I was just about to slip the minutes into my portfolio when I realized someone was standing right in front of the bench where I was seated.
I looked up and found Edward Monroe looking down at me.
“Deb says you’re with McLean Virginia Now!”
Deb, much to my dismay, had excellent hearing and a memory