turned to his partner and
reflected, “You remember the Claire Boston murder, don’t you, Dan? That brutal
murder over on Neptune where the woman was beaten to death in broad daylight.
Do we have any other persons of interest in the Claire Boston homicide?”
Dan shook his head. “Nope, never did. Mr. Boston, here is
it.”
“Maybe you’d like to talk about your wife’s murder, or do
you need your lawyer present for that, too?”
“We can go through it again for the hundredth time. When Claire
died I was either thirty-eight thousand feet in the air or at work. But that’s
a fact you chose to ignore.” He took a step closer to St. John. In a low,
menacing voice, Jake vowed, “You won’t do to her what you did to me, so back
off. Interview’s over. If you want to grill Kit any more today, call Reese
Brennan, make an appointment. She’ll be there.”
St. John’s face grew red before turning back to Kit to tick
off his points, one by one. “You have no alibi. No one can vouch that you were
home Saturday night or Sunday morning during the time in question, which I
might point out was Mother’s Day. We have a problem here, Ms. Griffin. Jessica
Boyd says your mother was about to change her will, leaving you nothing. And
then she’s conveniently murdered.”
When Jake started to interrupt, Holloway held up a hand in
warning. “Don’t go anywhere Ms. Griffin. This isn’t over. We’ll be in touch.”
And with that both detectives turned to leave.
Once they were out the door, out of earshot, Jake turned to
Baylee, almost not recognizing the woman with brown hair. “I know you were
trying to help, but you couldn’t have said anything that hurt Kit more. You
handed them a motive.”
“But I didn’t mean…I’d never…”
Nerves frayed after more than an hour of intense questions,
Kit snapped back, “Don’t jump down Baylee’s throat. They would have found out
eventually, if they didn’t know already.” But if they’d known, why hadn’t they
mentioned it?
Jake’s voice softened when he asked, “I had no idea Alana
hurt you. Why’d you never say anything?” And why hadn’t Gloria, whom he considered
an old friend, never mentioned it?
“Talk about it, you mean?” She shuddered at that. “It was a
long time ago.”
Jake reached out for her hand. “Come on, I’ll take you
home.” When Kit went to get her purse, Jake turned to Baylee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to jump…”
“No, you’re right; I should’ve thought before I opened my
mouth. I wasn’t thinking. But Jake, they were trying to say that Kit…”
Jake squeezed her hand. “You were trying to help, trying to
defend her. That’s what happens when the interview gets out of hand, gets
heated. They pound and pound. They count on people saying things they don’t
intend to say. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get her home.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jake pulled into the driveway of a
small, tri-level Spanish style bungalow mere yards from the beach. The stucco
house belonged to Gloria, but had been Kit’s home for the past four years
where, like the Book & Bean, she’d put her own personality into the place.
She’d painted the outside a warm gold, the trim a cool red.
With no yard to speak of, she’d taken advantage of the tiny courtyard at ground
level and set out Adirondack chairs to watch the waves. She’d lined the
red-tiled steps leading up to the front door on the second level with colorful
pots containing an assortment of blooming flowers and fragrant herbs. She’d
fixed the little house up and made it a home, the first real home she’d ever
had. After the last couple of hours, she couldn’t think of a single place she’d
rather be right now.
And then there was the man sitting next to her. He’d rushed
to her defense. It had been wonderful to watch. She did her best to tamp down
the feelings he always managed to bring out.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
She gave him a weak smile, and
reflected, “You remember the Claire Boston murder, don’t you, Dan? That brutal
murder over on Neptune where the woman was beaten to death in broad daylight.
Do we have any other persons of interest in the Claire Boston homicide?”
Dan shook his head. “Nope, never did. Mr. Boston, here is
it.”
“Maybe you’d like to talk about your wife’s murder, or do
you need your lawyer present for that, too?”
“We can go through it again for the hundredth time. When Claire
died I was either thirty-eight thousand feet in the air or at work. But that’s
a fact you chose to ignore.” He took a step closer to St. John. In a low,
menacing voice, Jake vowed, “You won’t do to her what you did to me, so back
off. Interview’s over. If you want to grill Kit any more today, call Reese
Brennan, make an appointment. She’ll be there.”
St. John’s face grew red before turning back to Kit to tick
off his points, one by one. “You have no alibi. No one can vouch that you were
home Saturday night or Sunday morning during the time in question, which I
might point out was Mother’s Day. We have a problem here, Ms. Griffin. Jessica
Boyd says your mother was about to change her will, leaving you nothing. And
then she’s conveniently murdered.”
When Jake started to interrupt, Holloway held up a hand in
warning. “Don’t go anywhere Ms. Griffin. This isn’t over. We’ll be in touch.”
And with that both detectives turned to leave.
Once they were out the door, out of earshot, Jake turned to
Baylee, almost not recognizing the woman with brown hair. “I know you were
trying to help, but you couldn’t have said anything that hurt Kit more. You
handed them a motive.”
“But I didn’t mean…I’d never…”
Nerves frayed after more than an hour of intense questions,
Kit snapped back, “Don’t jump down Baylee’s throat. They would have found out
eventually, if they didn’t know already.” But if they’d known, why hadn’t they
mentioned it?
Jake’s voice softened when he asked, “I had no idea Alana
hurt you. Why’d you never say anything?” And why hadn’t Gloria, whom he considered
an old friend, never mentioned it?
“Talk about it, you mean?” She shuddered at that. “It was a
long time ago.”
Jake reached out for her hand. “Come on, I’ll take you
home.” When Kit went to get her purse, Jake turned to Baylee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to jump…”
“No, you’re right; I should’ve thought before I opened my
mouth. I wasn’t thinking. But Jake, they were trying to say that Kit…”
Jake squeezed her hand. “You were trying to help, trying to
defend her. That’s what happens when the interview gets out of hand, gets
heated. They pound and pound. They count on people saying things they don’t
intend to say. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get her home.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jake pulled into the driveway of a
small, tri-level Spanish style bungalow mere yards from the beach. The stucco
house belonged to Gloria, but had been Kit’s home for the past four years
where, like the Book & Bean, she’d put her own personality into the place.
She’d painted the outside a warm gold, the trim a cool red.
With no yard to speak of, she’d taken advantage of the tiny courtyard at ground
level and set out Adirondack chairs to watch the waves. She’d lined the
red-tiled steps leading up to the front door on the second level with colorful
pots containing an assortment of blooming flowers and fragrant herbs. She’d
fixed the little house up and made it a home, the first real home she’d ever
had. After the last couple of hours, she couldn’t think of a single place she’d
rather be right now.
And then there was the man sitting next to her. He’d rushed
to her defense. It had been wonderful to watch. She did her best to tamp down
the feelings he always managed to bring out.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
She gave him a weak smile, and
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