tables
and settled opposite Jake again. She snapped her napkin out, dropped it into
her lap, and sucked down a gulp of iced tea. God, that had felt good. Maybe she
should lose her temper more often.
“Jesus,” he said. “I thought you
were just going to the bathroom or something.”
She shrugged, trying to conceal her
self-satisfaction. “I guess I must have lots of repressed aggression just
yearning to get out.”
“Well, it came in handy today.” He
paused. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” She shrugged again and
wished she had a menu to look at so that she wouldn’t have to stare into Jake’s
eyes. She was starting to feel tingly all over. Just a sugar rush from the
sweetened iced tea—hopefully.
He leaned forward. “Why do you
believe that I didn’t do it? Kill Ginny, I mean. Others seem to be
less…confident.”
No kidding. Everyone here was
staring at them, though they were pretending not to. “I think you believe that you didn’t do it. That’s
a pretty good argument that you didn’t.”
“I could be faking it.”
“But why bother faking it for me?
You hardly know me.” He didn’t know her at all—not the important things,
anyway. “You asked me yesterday to help you get your memories back, and today you’re
here to interview your waiter about what happened that night. That would be
some pretty elaborate fakery. I don’t know who killed Ginny, but I’m fairly
certain that it’s not you.”
“That’s a dark subject for such a
beautiful day,” a new voice said from beside her, and Emma jumped.
Bill Monroe reached out and shook
Jake’s hand, and then shook Emma’s. She managed to put up her mental shields a
second before Bill’s warm hand closed over hers. “I was sorry to hear about
Ginny,” he told Jake. “She was a real firecracker. I even made her a job offer
a few months ago, after seeing what great work she was doing for Woodhaven, but
luckily for you, she turned me down.”
Yes, it was lucky for Jake—only if
he thought that being under suspicion of murder was lucky.
Jake had an expression on his face
that made Emma suspect he might be thinking the same thing. “She was a
marketing genius,” he agreed diplomatically. He turned to Emma. “Emma, this is
Bill Monroe. He runs Selkie Boatbuilding. We’re direct competitors, in fact.”
“Just in the wooden boat building
business,” Bill said. “You aren’t doing any fiberglass boats, which is seventy
percent or so of our output.”
“But how much of your profit?” Jake
asked.
“Enough to make me happy,” Bill
said dismissively. “Anyway, Emma and I are old friends.”
She winced inside as Jake’s
eyebrows twitched up. “Bill is Cynthia’s father,” she told Jake. “You know—my
assistant Ian’s girlfriend. She was at my house last night when you, uh…” Came down from the bedroom. “When you
were there.”
Jake nodded. “No wonder she looked
so familiar. I haven’t seen her in a few years. She’s grown up to be a lovely
young lady,” he said to Bill.
“Thanks. Well, I just came over to
give my condolences. If there’s anything you need, just ask. I know we’re usually
going after the same clients, but in rough times like these, we should be
supporting each other, not taking advantage. See you later.” Bill nodded to
both of them, and then headed back to his own table and the woman there, who
was giving her watch ostentatious looks. She stood as Bill approached, and they
left the restaurant together. Emma noticed that Roger Fills had also departed
at some point, for another serious-faced pair of businesspeople were at the
table he’d occupied.
Jake stared after Bill for a moment
before turning to Emma. “I can’t decide if I should take his words at face
value, or if I should suspect he’s already been trying to poach my clients.” He
shook his head. “Never mind. I forgot you were friends.”
Before she could explain that her
friendship with Bill consisted of chatting a little when they
and settled opposite Jake again. She snapped her napkin out, dropped it into
her lap, and sucked down a gulp of iced tea. God, that had felt good. Maybe she
should lose her temper more often.
“Jesus,” he said. “I thought you
were just going to the bathroom or something.”
She shrugged, trying to conceal her
self-satisfaction. “I guess I must have lots of repressed aggression just
yearning to get out.”
“Well, it came in handy today.” He
paused. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” She shrugged again and
wished she had a menu to look at so that she wouldn’t have to stare into Jake’s
eyes. She was starting to feel tingly all over. Just a sugar rush from the
sweetened iced tea—hopefully.
He leaned forward. “Why do you
believe that I didn’t do it? Kill Ginny, I mean. Others seem to be
less…confident.”
No kidding. Everyone here was
staring at them, though they were pretending not to. “I think you believe that you didn’t do it. That’s
a pretty good argument that you didn’t.”
“I could be faking it.”
“But why bother faking it for me?
You hardly know me.” He didn’t know her at all—not the important things,
anyway. “You asked me yesterday to help you get your memories back, and today you’re
here to interview your waiter about what happened that night. That would be
some pretty elaborate fakery. I don’t know who killed Ginny, but I’m fairly
certain that it’s not you.”
“That’s a dark subject for such a
beautiful day,” a new voice said from beside her, and Emma jumped.
Bill Monroe reached out and shook
Jake’s hand, and then shook Emma’s. She managed to put up her mental shields a
second before Bill’s warm hand closed over hers. “I was sorry to hear about
Ginny,” he told Jake. “She was a real firecracker. I even made her a job offer
a few months ago, after seeing what great work she was doing for Woodhaven, but
luckily for you, she turned me down.”
Yes, it was lucky for Jake—only if
he thought that being under suspicion of murder was lucky.
Jake had an expression on his face
that made Emma suspect he might be thinking the same thing. “She was a
marketing genius,” he agreed diplomatically. He turned to Emma. “Emma, this is
Bill Monroe. He runs Selkie Boatbuilding. We’re direct competitors, in fact.”
“Just in the wooden boat building
business,” Bill said. “You aren’t doing any fiberglass boats, which is seventy
percent or so of our output.”
“But how much of your profit?” Jake
asked.
“Enough to make me happy,” Bill
said dismissively. “Anyway, Emma and I are old friends.”
She winced inside as Jake’s
eyebrows twitched up. “Bill is Cynthia’s father,” she told Jake. “You know—my
assistant Ian’s girlfriend. She was at my house last night when you, uh…” Came down from the bedroom. “When you
were there.”
Jake nodded. “No wonder she looked
so familiar. I haven’t seen her in a few years. She’s grown up to be a lovely
young lady,” he said to Bill.
“Thanks. Well, I just came over to
give my condolences. If there’s anything you need, just ask. I know we’re usually
going after the same clients, but in rough times like these, we should be
supporting each other, not taking advantage. See you later.” Bill nodded to
both of them, and then headed back to his own table and the woman there, who
was giving her watch ostentatious looks. She stood as Bill approached, and they
left the restaurant together. Emma noticed that Roger Fills had also departed
at some point, for another serious-faced pair of businesspeople were at the
table he’d occupied.
Jake stared after Bill for a moment
before turning to Emma. “I can’t decide if I should take his words at face
value, or if I should suspect he’s already been trying to poach my clients.” He
shook his head. “Never mind. I forgot you were friends.”
Before she could explain that her
friendship with Bill consisted of chatting a little when they
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