remember this isn’t my case. Anything I know goes straight to Pavlik.”
Back in the parking lot, I checked my watch: 10:14 a.m. Caron had better be home. I was getting angrier at her by the second. How could she sit there last night and listen to me whine, knowing full well that I hadn’t been the last one in Uncommon Grounds?
As I walked to my car, I allowed myself another thought. Maybe Way had lied. But why?
Preoccupied, I realized too late that the woman bearing down on me from the Town Hall side of the parking lot was Kate McNamara, ace reporter. Between us stood my minivan. I increased my pace, trying to reach the van first. She did likewise. By the time we got to the Caravan, we were both practically at a dead run.
“Maggy!” she demanded, puffing. Everything Kate said was either a demand or a command.
I countered with “breezy.” “Hi, Kate, I’d love to chat, but I have an appointment.” I flashed her a smile and swung open the door of the van.
She managed to avoid being hit by the door and wedged herself between it and the driver’s seat, so I couldn’t get in myself. Slick. I considered slamming the door on her, but balked at outright personal injury. Besides, I’d spent twenty years in PR and marketing, I could handle one small-town reporter.
I stepped back and, reassured I wasn’t going to bolt, Kate moved out from behind the door. “I understand that you’re a suspect in Patricia Harper’s murder. Do you have a comment?”
I nodded at the CitySentinel in Kate’s hand. “Researching your story, Kate?”
She looked down at the newspaper and tucked it under her arm. “I’m on my way to see Chief Donovan and thought I should give you a chance to comment. That’s more than this rag did.”
I just looked at her. Never rush to fill silences when you’re talking to a reporter. Make them ask the questions.
She tried again. “So what happened, Maggy? I understand you were the last one to have access to the murder weapon.”
I wondered if a frothing wand had ever been entered into evidence before. “Caron and I are both terribly upset by Pa-tricia’s death,” I said evenly, “and we will do whatever we can to assist the police in their investigation. Our thoughts are with David Harper and with Patricia’s two children, and we would hate for anyone to exploit the sad situation for the sake of a story.”
Taking advantage of the fact that Kate was scribbling down the quote, I stepped around the door and into the driver’s seat.
Then I drove off, leaving her in the dust, I hoped both literally and figuratively.
* * * * *
It was already 10:45 when I got to Caron’s house. “You lied to me and you lied to Gary,” I blasted her with when she opened the door. “Why?”
Caron’s face crumpled, but she tried to cover. “What in the world are you—”
I interrupted. “You told Gary you weren’t in Uncommon Grounds after you left on Friday.” I was moving toward her into the foyer as I spoke and she was giving ground. “Last night, you let me go on and on about my being the last one there. How could you?”
By this time, I was in the foyer and she was practically backed into the antique table across from the door. Tears began to roll down her cheeks and I stopped, ashamed of myself. After all, Caron was not only my partner, but she was my friend. I owed her the chance to explain. “Can we sit down?”
She nodded, the freckles standing out starkly against her pale face. Her good manners, even now, took over as she led me toward the living room. I steered her into the kitchen instead. This was not a living room conversation. We needed a table between us.
Caron kept glancing at me, a question in her brown eyes.
I answered it. “Way saw you leaving Uncommon Grounds on Saturday afternoon.”
She nodded and sat down heavily at the table. I took the chair across from her and waited. Finally, she looked up to meet my eyes. She reminded me of a deer trapped in the middle of
Back in the parking lot, I checked my watch: 10:14 a.m. Caron had better be home. I was getting angrier at her by the second. How could she sit there last night and listen to me whine, knowing full well that I hadn’t been the last one in Uncommon Grounds?
As I walked to my car, I allowed myself another thought. Maybe Way had lied. But why?
Preoccupied, I realized too late that the woman bearing down on me from the Town Hall side of the parking lot was Kate McNamara, ace reporter. Between us stood my minivan. I increased my pace, trying to reach the van first. She did likewise. By the time we got to the Caravan, we were both practically at a dead run.
“Maggy!” she demanded, puffing. Everything Kate said was either a demand or a command.
I countered with “breezy.” “Hi, Kate, I’d love to chat, but I have an appointment.” I flashed her a smile and swung open the door of the van.
She managed to avoid being hit by the door and wedged herself between it and the driver’s seat, so I couldn’t get in myself. Slick. I considered slamming the door on her, but balked at outright personal injury. Besides, I’d spent twenty years in PR and marketing, I could handle one small-town reporter.
I stepped back and, reassured I wasn’t going to bolt, Kate moved out from behind the door. “I understand that you’re a suspect in Patricia Harper’s murder. Do you have a comment?”
I nodded at the CitySentinel in Kate’s hand. “Researching your story, Kate?”
She looked down at the newspaper and tucked it under her arm. “I’m on my way to see Chief Donovan and thought I should give you a chance to comment. That’s more than this rag did.”
I just looked at her. Never rush to fill silences when you’re talking to a reporter. Make them ask the questions.
She tried again. “So what happened, Maggy? I understand you were the last one to have access to the murder weapon.”
I wondered if a frothing wand had ever been entered into evidence before. “Caron and I are both terribly upset by Pa-tricia’s death,” I said evenly, “and we will do whatever we can to assist the police in their investigation. Our thoughts are with David Harper and with Patricia’s two children, and we would hate for anyone to exploit the sad situation for the sake of a story.”
Taking advantage of the fact that Kate was scribbling down the quote, I stepped around the door and into the driver’s seat.
Then I drove off, leaving her in the dust, I hoped both literally and figuratively.
* * * * *
It was already 10:45 when I got to Caron’s house. “You lied to me and you lied to Gary,” I blasted her with when she opened the door. “Why?”
Caron’s face crumpled, but she tried to cover. “What in the world are you—”
I interrupted. “You told Gary you weren’t in Uncommon Grounds after you left on Friday.” I was moving toward her into the foyer as I spoke and she was giving ground. “Last night, you let me go on and on about my being the last one there. How could you?”
By this time, I was in the foyer and she was practically backed into the antique table across from the door. Tears began to roll down her cheeks and I stopped, ashamed of myself. After all, Caron was not only my partner, but she was my friend. I owed her the chance to explain. “Can we sit down?”
She nodded, the freckles standing out starkly against her pale face. Her good manners, even now, took over as she led me toward the living room. I steered her into the kitchen instead. This was not a living room conversation. We needed a table between us.
Caron kept glancing at me, a question in her brown eyes.
I answered it. “Way saw you leaving Uncommon Grounds on Saturday afternoon.”
She nodded and sat down heavily at the table. I took the chair across from her and waited. Finally, she looked up to meet my eyes. She reminded me of a deer trapped in the middle of
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