couldn’t he trust him now? Because this time a woman was involved, sure as hell, and when it came to women, Denny Kirkpatrick was his own worst enemy.
“You might want to ask to be taken off this case,” Jack said.
Denny laughed, sounding like his old self. “That wouldn’t make Baxter suspicious,” he said facetiously.
“Once he finds out about you and Liz—”
“No reason he should,” Denny said, locking his eyes on Jack. “Unless you plan to tell him.”
“Why, Denny? Why take the chance? If you really have nothing to hide—”
“Jack, did it ever occur to you that I might just want to see this guy brought to justice for my own reasons?”
He stared at his friend. Could it be possible? Had Denny cared for the dead woman? Jack suddenly recalled one night at the bar, Denny’d had too much to drink and started talking about his first and only love, some high-school girl he’d dated who’d broken his heart. “Are you telling me Liz was the girl you were in love with?”
“Like I said, that was a lifetime ago. You sure you don’t want a beer?”
Jack shook his head, knowing he wasn’t going to get any more out of Denny tonight. “I’ve got to go.”
KAREN’S MOTHER answered the door a little out of breath. Faint classical music spilled out into the night along with the hum of voices and the soft tinkle of laughter.
Bridge night. Karen had completely forgotten.
“Karen?” her mother exclaimed and frowned. “Is something wrong, dear?”
What could possibly be wrong? Karen tried desperately to remember why she’d come. She’d just been driving by and felt a sudden desire to see her mother. More impulsive behavior she didn’t want to analyze too closely.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Karen assured her, but the mere fact that she’d shown up on bridge night proved that something must be wrong with her. And they both knew it.
“Well, step in here out of the cold,” her mother said, studying her. “You are taking care of yourself, aren’t you? Eating properly?”
Karen nodded. Eating had never been one of her problems. Eating properly, maybe. “I’m fine. I forgot it was bridge night, that’s all. I just hadn’t seen you for a while.”
Her mother continued to study her with an intent that was making her nervous. “I worry about you, dear.”
Karen realized she hadn’t been by in a long time. Guilt, and the emotions she’d kept in check since the murder, brought a flood of tears to her eyes. She glanced away, hoping her mother hadn’t seen them.
She desperately wanted to change the subject. “Mom, isn’t that Annette Westbrook’s coat, that new bridge player I met a while back with you?” she asked, spying the locally made, one-of-a-kind coat on top of a pile on the settee.
Her mother glanced at the coat. “I don’t know, dear. Is it important? I could ask her.”
“No,” Karen said quickly. “I just saw one like it recently, that’s all.” In the Hotel Carlton last night, actually. At the same time I might have seen a murderer. She’d been right. The woman in the hallway near Liz’s room was Annette Westbrook.
It was time to go. To get out before she blurted out everything and really started to cry. She couldn’t do that to her mother. Especially on bridge night. “Mom, get back to your game, please. I’ll come by soon and we can visit.”
Her mother still looked worried. “I really wish you would find yourself a nice young man.”
The answer to any problem. Except this one, Mom. But Karen smiled and kissed her mom’s cheek, the scent of her perfume taking Karen back to her childhood. That was why she’d come here, she thought, as she turned and left. Looking for that childhood sanctuary where the worst that could happen was a skinned knee or a broken vase.
As she drove away, she realized there was no place to run that she would feel safe. But at least now she knew where to go.
JACK’S CELL PHONE rang just as he climbed into his Jeep. “Yeah?” he said, still mulling over his conversation with Denny, still worried and concerned that his partner had gotten entangled in all this.
“It’s Henderson,” a female voice said with official quickness.
A wave of apprehension hit him. “You still have her?”
“Affirmative. As per your instructions, I followed her from the doughnut shop and have been with her ever since.”
“Good work.” He began to breathe a little easier and was glad he’d called former cop Janet Henderson this morning. She’d retired a few years