Evidence of Murder. Jill Nelson Elizabeth
carried the vase of white calla lilies to her office desk. She worked the small envelope from its holder and opened it.
Humble apologies. Your Midnight Marauder.
Sam laughed. Who would ever have thought she’d find anything funny about an apparent break-in attempt? Her eyes narrowed. Oooh, this Davidson guy was slick. He’d better not have some notion of getting on her good side so she’d let him hang around. She had a business to get started and enough distractions without adding one more to the list, even if Bastian had given his stamp of approval to the big, blond outdoorsman.
A crisp thank-you note accepting his apology ought to be the end of it. A quick search on the Internet yielded the address for Davidson Houseboats. Sam dashed off her thanks and took the note with her as she headed out the door to meet Hallie for lunch at Jenna’s restaurant. Then she had a truckload of errands to run. She might as well make herself scarce until the police finished combing the building later today. Hopefully.
A fifteen-minute drive through busy suburban streets brought her to the white stucco and half-timbered restaurant in Lakeville. Sam stepped into the welcome of savory and delicate aromas. Her gaze searched the wood-beamed dining room for Hallie. She spotted her, sleekly groomed in a tailored green pantsuit, waiting at a cloth-covered table. Sam waved and Hallie answered with a wide grin. Sam settled opposite her friend, and they ordered their favorites—seafood fetuccini alfredo for Hallie and a chicken salad pita with a garlic dill pickle for herself.
“You look frazzled.” Hallie spread her napkin on her lap. “You need to ease up and take time to smell the roses.”
Sam wrinkled her nose. “How about the calla lilies?”
Hallie’s eyebrows climbed. “Spill your guts, girl.”
By the time Sam finished telling about the police intrusion yesterday, the Davidson disturbance last night, and the flowers on her desk this morning, her friend was leaning halfway across the table, jaw slack.
“Oh, hon.” She settled back. “And I thought a reporter’s life was adventurous.”
Sam sniffed. “This feels more like a trial.”
“The Perils of Samantha Reid.” Jenna’s words and chuckle brought Sam’s head around.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to get the whole scoop, as Hal might say.” Jenna winked a hazel eye. “That Ryan fellow sounds like a dish. Better keep him.”
“I second the motion.” Hallie lifted a hand and waggled slim fingers.
Sam scowled from one to the other. “Romance has no place in my life right now, and certainly not in his. He’s got a murder investigation swirling around him.” She groaned at the conspiratorial look her friends exchanged. Thank goodness, the food came just then, and Jenna glided back to her kitchen while she and Hallie dug in.
A half hour later, Sam paid her bill and exited into the warm sunlight outside the restaurant.
“Just a minute!”
Hallie’s urgent tone stopped Sam halfway across the parking lot. She turned to find her friend striding toward her, unsmiling.
Sam’s brows drew together. “What’s up?”
Hallie stopped in front of her. “I didn’t want to mention it over lunch. Spoil anyone’s appetite, you know. But now that something’s happened with those pictures, I have to come clean with my station about what we found.” Her gaze darted away and then returned to meet Sam’s. “I have to do my job, or I’ll lose it. There will be media attention, most of it directed toward Ryan, but—”
“I get it. Someone besides the police will be asking me questions. Will they assign you to the story?”
“If the main crime reporter is too busy, I might get a taste of the action.” A smile crossed her lips then morphed into a frown. “I just wish you weren’t involved.”
“Don’t worry about it. Maybe some good can come of this mess, and you’ll get another step closer to that anchor spot.”
Hallie’s gaze warmed. “Spoken like a true friend, thinking about the other person first. You can always say, ‘No comment,’ and let us get our answers from the police and Davidson.”
Sam shrugged. “It might be kind of nice to speak my piece. At least people will know that all the police attention isn’t because I’m running drugs out of the dry cleaners or some other nefarious activity at my shop.” She smiled, but the edges of her mouth quivered. How would she handle a camera in her face? She barely managed standing up front in the church choir.
Hallie put a hand on her arm. “I know you hate the spotlight. Too bad you’ve got a reporter for a friend.”
“Finding that film wasn’t your fault, and we both turned it in.”
“Like we had a choice?”
“Right. But none of this involves us directly. It’ll blow over. You’ll see.” It better, or her family would start camping out on her doorstep. Aaagh!
“Speaking from experience,” Hallie said, “with the next homicide, this cold case will go in the deep freeze again, and you’ll open your business on time.”
“Sure, but Ryan will be stuck not knowing who killed his family.”
“Ryan, is it? I knew you liked him.” Hallie strolled away, laughing.
Scowl plastered on her face, Sam hustled to her car. She gripped her car key, tip pointing through her fingers, a defensive preparation that had become second nature. “Just because I feel for the guy’s situation doesn’t mean I’m the least interested in any other way,” she grumbled under her breath. “I’ve got too much on my plate to take on old mysteries.” She slid into the driver’s seat and picked up the thank-you note from the center console. After she mailed this, there would be no reason for further contact with Ryan Davidson.
At the end of the afternoon, Sam returned to the dry cleaners to find the police gone, but a mess left. Evidently, their job description only required tearing things apart but excluded returning anything to proper order. She spent over an hour in the back alley chucking things back into the Dumpster. The disarray inside the building could wait. It would have to, because her energy fuel gauge was running on empty.
She called the cleaning crew to resume in the morning then handled a few bookkeeping chores before shutting the office door and checking the locks on all of the outside doors and windows. Hallie was right. She was exhausted and needed to unwind. A movie and popcorn sounded like a great evening.
When she opened her apartment door, Bastian darted out. The feline streaked down the stairs and into the main building.
Sam shook her head. “Okay, so you’re annoyed at being cooped up all afternoon. Enjoy playing watchcat tonight.” Stifling a yawn, she stepped into her kitchen. He’d be all right. He had a litter box, a bed and food and water in a corner near the storage room.
A few hours later, Sam crawled between the sheets and slept so deeply a tornado could have blown her out of bed and she might not have noticed. The next day, feeling rested, she went out for her morning run in the nearby park. When she returned, sweaty and breathing hard, she headed for her office. A truck would be here in a few days to cart the old machines away, and with a little extra hustle the building should be ready on time to receive the new stuff. The plan was back on track.
She opened her office door, stepped over the threshold, and halted on a gasp. Her beautiful vase lay shattered on the floor, flowers strewn everywhere. “Bastian, what did you do?”
No, the cat couldn’t have been in here. The door was closed.
The desk phone shrilled and Sam jumped. It rang again, and she tiptoed between glass shards to answer it.
“Hello, I’m Vince Graham from Channel Six news.” A male voice rumbled. “We’d