on her moods. And on what just happened to be the latest food fad. So yeah, we went through a vegan phase, and we went all organic for a while, too. Superfoods, gluten free, Indian. You name it, I’ve cooked it.”
“So you’ll fit right in here.” Declan grabbed a menu from a nearby stack and flipped it open. “Burgers and fries. Fried bologna. Swiss steak. Rice pudding. I happen to love Sophie’s rice pudding, by the way, so if there’s ever any left over, I’ll be happy to take it off your hands.” He slapped the menu closed and returned it to the pile so he could take a plate from me with three perfectly cooked eggs on it, andwhen he did, he breathed in deep and whispered a few words I couldn’t hear under his breath. “Thank you,” he added.
“No problem.” I dished up the eggs I’d scrambled on the other side of the grill for myself and leaned back against the counter to eat. “So why did you come back here this morning?” I asked him.
He’d just taken a bite of toast and he chewed and swallowed before he answered. “You don’t believe in being neighborly?”
Okay, I take it back. That really wasn’t an answer.
I polished off a couple more bites of eggs. “You want to have a look around.”
“There could be something the cops missed.”
“Something that will prove Owen didn’t do it.”
He sopped up egg yolk with a piece of toast. “He didn’t. And so if you’d just let me look things over . . .”
I finished my eggs, then took his plate and mine, and set them in the sink. “Be my guest,” I told him. “While you’re at it, maybe you’ll be able to figure out what Jack Lancer was doing here last night.”
“It is kind of freaky, isn’t it?” I poured coffee and, mug in hand, Declan led the way out of the kitchen. Together, we stepped into the restaurant and walked over to the table where I’d found the Lance of Justice’s body less than twelve hours earlier.
According to the phone call Sophie had gotten from Gus Oberlin before she went in for her surgery, the cops had stayed at the restaurant until the wee hours of the morning, checking every nook and cranny, dusting for prints, and generally leaving the basement, the back door, and the area around where Jack Lancer had spent his final moments a mess. They were done with the crime scene phase of theinvestigation, Gus told her. There wasn’t much left to do except get a confession out of Owen and move on.
I set my coffee on a nearby table so I could prop my fists on my hips and look at the trails of fingerprinting dust some careless technician had left on the floor, the tables, and the nearby chairs. “We’ll need to clean.”
Declan wasn’t listening. With a look, he asked which table Jack was sitting at, and when I pointed, he cocked his head and did a slow circumnavigation of the table. “Facedown or faceup?” he asked me.
It didn’t take long for me to catch on to what he was talking about. Some things—like corpses—are hard to forget. “Facedown. On the table. On his arm.” I put my forearm to my forehead to demonstrate.
“Blood?”
“Not much.” I didn’t add
thank goodness
because then Declan would think I really was one of those women who dissolve into tears, when actually I was thinking more blood would have meant getting a professional cleaning crew in there. I closed my eyes and pictured the scene the way I’d discovered it the night before. “The blood had trickled down the back of his neck,” I said, demonstrating the path with one finger against my own neck. “It soaked into his shirt collar.”
Declan steepled his fingers and tapped his top lip, his gaze moving from the table to the nearby windows that looked out at the street and the Irish store.
“Not the smartest place to kill somebody,” he said.
“Because someone could have seen something.” I nodded. “You were in your store. Did you notice anything?”
“We were closed for the day, and I was back in the office
“So you’ll fit right in here.” Declan grabbed a menu from a nearby stack and flipped it open. “Burgers and fries. Fried bologna. Swiss steak. Rice pudding. I happen to love Sophie’s rice pudding, by the way, so if there’s ever any left over, I’ll be happy to take it off your hands.” He slapped the menu closed and returned it to the pile so he could take a plate from me with three perfectly cooked eggs on it, andwhen he did, he breathed in deep and whispered a few words I couldn’t hear under his breath. “Thank you,” he added.
“No problem.” I dished up the eggs I’d scrambled on the other side of the grill for myself and leaned back against the counter to eat. “So why did you come back here this morning?” I asked him.
He’d just taken a bite of toast and he chewed and swallowed before he answered. “You don’t believe in being neighborly?”
Okay, I take it back. That really wasn’t an answer.
I polished off a couple more bites of eggs. “You want to have a look around.”
“There could be something the cops missed.”
“Something that will prove Owen didn’t do it.”
He sopped up egg yolk with a piece of toast. “He didn’t. And so if you’d just let me look things over . . .”
I finished my eggs, then took his plate and mine, and set them in the sink. “Be my guest,” I told him. “While you’re at it, maybe you’ll be able to figure out what Jack Lancer was doing here last night.”
“It is kind of freaky, isn’t it?” I poured coffee and, mug in hand, Declan led the way out of the kitchen. Together, we stepped into the restaurant and walked over to the table where I’d found the Lance of Justice’s body less than twelve hours earlier.
According to the phone call Sophie had gotten from Gus Oberlin before she went in for her surgery, the cops had stayed at the restaurant until the wee hours of the morning, checking every nook and cranny, dusting for prints, and generally leaving the basement, the back door, and the area around where Jack Lancer had spent his final moments a mess. They were done with the crime scene phase of theinvestigation, Gus told her. There wasn’t much left to do except get a confession out of Owen and move on.
I set my coffee on a nearby table so I could prop my fists on my hips and look at the trails of fingerprinting dust some careless technician had left on the floor, the tables, and the nearby chairs. “We’ll need to clean.”
Declan wasn’t listening. With a look, he asked which table Jack was sitting at, and when I pointed, he cocked his head and did a slow circumnavigation of the table. “Facedown or faceup?” he asked me.
It didn’t take long for me to catch on to what he was talking about. Some things—like corpses—are hard to forget. “Facedown. On the table. On his arm.” I put my forearm to my forehead to demonstrate.
“Blood?”
“Not much.” I didn’t add
thank goodness
because then Declan would think I really was one of those women who dissolve into tears, when actually I was thinking more blood would have meant getting a professional cleaning crew in there. I closed my eyes and pictured the scene the way I’d discovered it the night before. “The blood had trickled down the back of his neck,” I said, demonstrating the path with one finger against my own neck. “It soaked into his shirt collar.”
Declan steepled his fingers and tapped his top lip, his gaze moving from the table to the nearby windows that looked out at the street and the Irish store.
“Not the smartest place to kill somebody,” he said.
“Because someone could have seen something.” I nodded. “You were in your store. Did you notice anything?”
“We were closed for the day, and I was back in the office
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