back to the kitchen for the tea. Molly planted herself in the middle of the room and stared at the beautiful figure moving around the kitchen, reaching for cups, pulling her hair to one side and when she bent over . . .
Very uncomfortable and nervous, Molly tore her gaze away and studied the living room as if it were a crime scene.
The condo was immaculate, interior design touches everywhere. What struck Molly the most was the sense of order.
Books were lined up on the shelves, tallest to shortest, the pillows situated on her sofa were perfectly positioned, and her CDs were organized by genre.
Famous prints adorned the walls, most notably Van Gogh’s “Lilies.” Molly wandered to the bookcase and squinted at the collection of framed snapshots. She instantly recognized one of Bob and Lily Watson, Ari smiling between them.
Next to it, a shiny silver frame caught her eye. Jack Adams with his arms around a beaming Ari in her Class C uniform, the day she graduated from the police academy. She studied the photo, comprehending the significance. Ari was a former cop. It explained her curiosity at the crime scene and possibly her relationship with her father. Ari wasn’t a police officer now, so what did dad think of his daughter leaving the force?
“Surprised?” Ari asked, venturing from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. Molly nodded without comment. Tonight wasn’t the time for family history.
Carrying both mugs, Ari led Molly outside. The detective admired the view and slowly took in the balcony’s furnishings. The patio was as much a room in the house as any other. Rugs covered the cement, plants hung from the ceiling, and a small clay firepot sat in the corner.
“For those cold winter nights?” Molly joked.
“When I’m feeling especially rebellious toward my landlord, I burn a scented log.”
They settled on the chaise lounges and sipped the tea. Complemented by a cinnamon stick and a sprig of mint, it tasted heavenly. The tea soothed her nerves or maybe it was the jazz humming softly in the background. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in days, felt her muscles relax. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ari asked.
“I’m under an enormous amount of pressure with this case, and both the gun and the prime suspect are missing,” Molly said, holding up a hand immediately, to stave off any apology from Ari. “I’m not trying to blame you for Watson’s disappearance.”
“I know you’re not. Actually, I’m totally floored by Bob’s behavior. Even I’m wondering about his innocence,” Ari said softly. “At least, a little.”
“That’s ironic,” Molly commented, sipping the tea. “I’m beginning to have some doubts of my own.”
Ari’s heart skipped a beat. “You mean you believe me?”
Molly shook her head. “I’m not sure what to believe. His name’s on the wall, he doesn’t have a good alibi, and he had multiple reasons to hate Thorndike, including an affair with his wife and a nearly destroyed business opportunity.”
“But something’s bothering you still,” Ari concluded.
Molly nodded. “It’s too easy. That usually doesn’t happen with a smart killer, someone who doesn’t leave prints and dumps the gun. I’m finding it a little hard to believe that he would leave Thorndike alive, at least long enough to write a dying declaration.” She looked at Ari and pursed her lips, unable to admit out loud that she wondered if Bob had been set up.
“God, I hope that’s true. I mean, I know running off made him look guilty, but I know Bob. I just can’t believe he’s capable of murder.”
Molly heard the sincerity in her voice. “You’re a loyal friend, aren’t you?”
Tears welled in Ari’s eyes. She looked into her mug and swirled the cinnamon stick, trying hard not to lose it. “Since high school. We dated briefly, but then we were just friends.”
From the way Ari so succinctly explained their relationship, Molly knew there
Very uncomfortable and nervous, Molly tore her gaze away and studied the living room as if it were a crime scene.
The condo was immaculate, interior design touches everywhere. What struck Molly the most was the sense of order.
Books were lined up on the shelves, tallest to shortest, the pillows situated on her sofa were perfectly positioned, and her CDs were organized by genre.
Famous prints adorned the walls, most notably Van Gogh’s “Lilies.” Molly wandered to the bookcase and squinted at the collection of framed snapshots. She instantly recognized one of Bob and Lily Watson, Ari smiling between them.
Next to it, a shiny silver frame caught her eye. Jack Adams with his arms around a beaming Ari in her Class C uniform, the day she graduated from the police academy. She studied the photo, comprehending the significance. Ari was a former cop. It explained her curiosity at the crime scene and possibly her relationship with her father. Ari wasn’t a police officer now, so what did dad think of his daughter leaving the force?
“Surprised?” Ari asked, venturing from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. Molly nodded without comment. Tonight wasn’t the time for family history.
Carrying both mugs, Ari led Molly outside. The detective admired the view and slowly took in the balcony’s furnishings. The patio was as much a room in the house as any other. Rugs covered the cement, plants hung from the ceiling, and a small clay firepot sat in the corner.
“For those cold winter nights?” Molly joked.
“When I’m feeling especially rebellious toward my landlord, I burn a scented log.”
They settled on the chaise lounges and sipped the tea. Complemented by a cinnamon stick and a sprig of mint, it tasted heavenly. The tea soothed her nerves or maybe it was the jazz humming softly in the background. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in days, felt her muscles relax. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ari asked.
“I’m under an enormous amount of pressure with this case, and both the gun and the prime suspect are missing,” Molly said, holding up a hand immediately, to stave off any apology from Ari. “I’m not trying to blame you for Watson’s disappearance.”
“I know you’re not. Actually, I’m totally floored by Bob’s behavior. Even I’m wondering about his innocence,” Ari said softly. “At least, a little.”
“That’s ironic,” Molly commented, sipping the tea. “I’m beginning to have some doubts of my own.”
Ari’s heart skipped a beat. “You mean you believe me?”
Molly shook her head. “I’m not sure what to believe. His name’s on the wall, he doesn’t have a good alibi, and he had multiple reasons to hate Thorndike, including an affair with his wife and a nearly destroyed business opportunity.”
“But something’s bothering you still,” Ari concluded.
Molly nodded. “It’s too easy. That usually doesn’t happen with a smart killer, someone who doesn’t leave prints and dumps the gun. I’m finding it a little hard to believe that he would leave Thorndike alive, at least long enough to write a dying declaration.” She looked at Ari and pursed her lips, unable to admit out loud that she wondered if Bob had been set up.
“God, I hope that’s true. I mean, I know running off made him look guilty, but I know Bob. I just can’t believe he’s capable of murder.”
Molly heard the sincerity in her voice. “You’re a loyal friend, aren’t you?”
Tears welled in Ari’s eyes. She looked into her mug and swirled the cinnamon stick, trying hard not to lose it. “Since high school. We dated briefly, but then we were just friends.”
From the way Ari so succinctly explained their relationship, Molly knew there
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