details on the case he was working because he was worried I’d salivate right in front of him.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh what?” she asked.
“Uh-oh, Garland warned me you might come at me hard for info because he wouldn’t share much.”
“Oh yeah?” she pressed. “Did he give you any advice on how to handle me?”
“He said to stay strong, not to crumble under your withering interrogation.”
Jessie smiled malevolently.
“How do you think that’s going to go for you?”
“I’m confident that I’ll hold up,” he said, as he walked toward their bedroom. “But first I’m going to take a shower.”
“You know that stalling tactics will only work for so long,” she shouted as he disappeared from sight without responding.
Jessie stared at the door, wondering if she could perhaps burn it to ashes with her eyes alone.
“Ahem,” Hannah muttered tentatively. “I hate to pile on when you’re already so salty, but the lamb I was going to broil smells funny. I think we’re going to have to toss it out, which means we have no dinner plan.”
Jessie felt her shoulders sag involuntarily. This day was ending as badly as it had started.
“I’ve got it covered,” she finally said.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to try to cook something?” Hannah said, sounding genuinely concerned.
“You know, I managed to get dinner on the table almost every night for years before you started living here. Have a little faith.”
“Almost every night?” Hannah repeated.
“Some nights I wasn’t that hungry,” Jessie said defensively.
Jessie felt a twinge of shame as the words came out.
“Yes. I’m ordering pizza.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the time Garland crested the hill, the sun had already set.
As he made the now-familiar drive down into Manhattan Beach, he could still see the ocean where the waves broke close to the beach. But it didn’t have quite the same majesty as last night, when dusk was only starting to take hold.
He told himself that it didn’t matter, that he had come back here for the second night in a row because of the investigation, not because of the view. But even he wasn’t totally convinced. Yes, something about the crime scene was eating at him. But the truth was, he was also looking for an excuse to walk along the breezy surfside streets with their patio restaurants and wine store tastings.
He found a parking spot near the main drag and got out, wandering up Highland Avenue to the police station. Along the way, he could smell what he thought were short ribs wafting out of a café on the corner. He passed a newsstand with papers from New Zealand and India and fought the urge to stop and peruse them.
Instead he walked the final block to the station, giving the desk sergeant his name. Officer Timms from the prior night came out and gave him the key to the home of Charles and Gail Bloom, where Priscilla had died.
“I can go with you if you like,” the young officer offered. “I’m on overnight duty and it’s been pretty quiet.”
“Thanks,” Garland replied. “But sometimes I like to walk through the scene on my own, without any distractions. I find it helps me uncover things I might have missed before. But I promise to return the key within a few hours.”
After he left the station, Garland strolled casually down the steep walking path to the Strand. At this hour, approaching 9 p.m., it was mostly quiet. There were a few runners and some people taking their dogs on the last walk of the night. In fact, he had to sidestep the urine trail of one particularly sloppy canine.
He ambled the last half block to the Bloom house, taking in the sound of crashing waves and gulls calling out to each other. He knew that once he walked in that house, his brain would go into overdrive and all the little pleasures he was currently appreciating would be immediately forgotten. He was just trying to delay the inevitable.
When he arrived, he slipped under the police tape, making sure to stay in the shadows so recent widower Garth Barton wouldn’t see him if he happened to be looking out a window. Just because the man had been cleared didn’t mean he wasn’t a jerk. Garland was happy to let the locals handle that headache.
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The house was dark, though he could still see the chalk outline where Priscilla Barton’s body had been found. Looking at the spot, he recalled the conversation Detective