mug.
Susan had heard that tone of voice before. “You know something!”
“I don’t know anything about the case. But I do know that a marriage can be complex and demanding in ways that outsiders cannot begin to imagine.”
“Milk?” Susan looked over his head at Kathleen.
“No thanks. This is excellent. Almost as good as the coffee back at the inn.”
“Sounds like you haven’t been to bed yet, either,” Susan commented.
“Nope. And there’s no reason to think today is going to be different.”
“Susan says the chief of police over there used to work for you in Hancock,” Kathleen said, pouring sugar into her coffee.
“Yeah. Peter Konowitz. Did you meet him when he was here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We were in Maine while he was here,” Susan explained. “Remember? Over the Fourth.”
Kathleen raised her eyebrows. “We were in Maine a few weeks. How short a time was he here?”
“Only a few months. Peter Konowitz was a very ambitious young man. He saw that there wasn’t going to be a lot of movement in the hierarchy here, and he moved on. I think he may have gone to New York City. I don’t remember exactly. I do remember suggesting a larger department where he would get more experience doing different kinds of things, where there’d be more room for advancement.”
Kathleen’s eyebrows continued their upward climb, but she didn’t say anything more.
Susan yawned. “Wow, I wasn’t tired until I sat down, but now . . .”
Brett was on his feet immediately. “I should be on my way.”
“You never told us why you were here,” Kathleen pointed out.
“I dropped Doug off at home, and frankly, I stopped over to suggest that you might look in on him.”
“You want me to tell you what sort of mood he’s in? If I think Doug killed Ashley? I’d be happy to help,” Susan offered quickly.
“Susan, I wasn’t thinking investigator. I was thinking neighbor. Doug’s in a bad way. When I left him, he was going to call their daughter and tell her about Ashley’s death. I just thought it might help if he had someone around for a bit—until Signe arrives.”
Susan stood up, any idea of going to bed evaporating. “Of course. I wasn’t even thinking about Signe. I’ll leave a note for Jed—in case he wakes up—and go right over.”
“Thanks. I know Doug’s had enough of police in the past few months, so I didn’t want to barge in, but I hate the thought of him being alone.”
“I’ve got to get back to my family. The kids will be late for Sunday school if I don’t hurry, but I’ll be free in a few hours. Shall I come back over?” Kathleen asked.
“Sounds good to me,” Susan answered.
“Fine. And I’ll look around in my closet and see if I can find that knitting.” Kathleen winked at her friend as the three of them left the kitchen.
“You knit?” Brett asked, obviously surprised.
Susan was a loyal friend. “Kathleen is a wonderful knitter,” she lied.
“Well, what do you know. You women have hidden talents.”
The three friends split up in the driveway, Brett offering Kathleen a ride home in his police car, and Susan heading straight across the lawn to the Markses’ house.
The first thing Ashley Marks had done after she and Doug moved into the house had been to hire an expensive designer from New York City. The decorator had examined every inch of the large 1930s colonial and decided on what he called the European touch. Apparently when he thought of Europe he thought of crumbling castles rather than Scandinavian modern. After refinishing the golden oak floors and staining them black, he’d had the walls painted ochre and had hung heavy layers of ugly purple velvet at the windows. All the furniture—and there was a lot of it—was ornate and artificially aged. Susan thought the place looked awful. But when Ashley was arrested, the decorating scheme had proven its worth. Once the curtains were closed, no one, from nosy neighbors to the dozens of press
Susan had heard that tone of voice before. “You know something!”
“I don’t know anything about the case. But I do know that a marriage can be complex and demanding in ways that outsiders cannot begin to imagine.”
“Milk?” Susan looked over his head at Kathleen.
“No thanks. This is excellent. Almost as good as the coffee back at the inn.”
“Sounds like you haven’t been to bed yet, either,” Susan commented.
“Nope. And there’s no reason to think today is going to be different.”
“Susan says the chief of police over there used to work for you in Hancock,” Kathleen said, pouring sugar into her coffee.
“Yeah. Peter Konowitz. Did you meet him when he was here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We were in Maine while he was here,” Susan explained. “Remember? Over the Fourth.”
Kathleen raised her eyebrows. “We were in Maine a few weeks. How short a time was he here?”
“Only a few months. Peter Konowitz was a very ambitious young man. He saw that there wasn’t going to be a lot of movement in the hierarchy here, and he moved on. I think he may have gone to New York City. I don’t remember exactly. I do remember suggesting a larger department where he would get more experience doing different kinds of things, where there’d be more room for advancement.”
Kathleen’s eyebrows continued their upward climb, but she didn’t say anything more.
Susan yawned. “Wow, I wasn’t tired until I sat down, but now . . .”
Brett was on his feet immediately. “I should be on my way.”
“You never told us why you were here,” Kathleen pointed out.
“I dropped Doug off at home, and frankly, I stopped over to suggest that you might look in on him.”
“You want me to tell you what sort of mood he’s in? If I think Doug killed Ashley? I’d be happy to help,” Susan offered quickly.
“Susan, I wasn’t thinking investigator. I was thinking neighbor. Doug’s in a bad way. When I left him, he was going to call their daughter and tell her about Ashley’s death. I just thought it might help if he had someone around for a bit—until Signe arrives.”
Susan stood up, any idea of going to bed evaporating. “Of course. I wasn’t even thinking about Signe. I’ll leave a note for Jed—in case he wakes up—and go right over.”
“Thanks. I know Doug’s had enough of police in the past few months, so I didn’t want to barge in, but I hate the thought of him being alone.”
“I’ve got to get back to my family. The kids will be late for Sunday school if I don’t hurry, but I’ll be free in a few hours. Shall I come back over?” Kathleen asked.
“Sounds good to me,” Susan answered.
“Fine. And I’ll look around in my closet and see if I can find that knitting.” Kathleen winked at her friend as the three of them left the kitchen.
“You knit?” Brett asked, obviously surprised.
Susan was a loyal friend. “Kathleen is a wonderful knitter,” she lied.
“Well, what do you know. You women have hidden talents.”
The three friends split up in the driveway, Brett offering Kathleen a ride home in his police car, and Susan heading straight across the lawn to the Markses’ house.
The first thing Ashley Marks had done after she and Doug moved into the house had been to hire an expensive designer from New York City. The decorator had examined every inch of the large 1930s colonial and decided on what he called the European touch. Apparently when he thought of Europe he thought of crumbling castles rather than Scandinavian modern. After refinishing the golden oak floors and staining them black, he’d had the walls painted ochre and had hung heavy layers of ugly purple velvet at the windows. All the furniture—and there was a lot of it—was ornate and artificially aged. Susan thought the place looked awful. But when Ashley was arrested, the decorating scheme had proven its worth. Once the curtains were closed, no one, from nosy neighbors to the dozens of press
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