“Detective Bryant wants to talk to you. I just thought I’d help out by taking Lizzie home with me for a little while. Do you mind?”
Vera sighed. “Look at this place. No. I don’t mind. I’m still trying to unpack.”
Lizzie grabbed Annie’s hand. “Her diaper bag is in the hall closet there, just in case,” Vera said. Lizzie was mostly potty trained. Mostly. Sometimes Lizzie was indignant at the thought of diaper bags, because she took great pride in using the potty.
After she kissed her daughter goodbye and watched as she and Annie left the room, she turned back around to face the handsome but annoying detective Adam Bryant.
“Well,” she said, starting to straightening out the stacks of CDs on the floor. “What can I help you with?”
“How long has your purse been missing?” He asked.
“You know, it’s the craziest thing,” she replied, stacking up the last group of CDs. “I woke up this morning and thought I should charge my cell. I meant to do that last night when I got in, but was exhausted. I just fell into bed. So I looked for my purse this morning and couldn’t find it. I thought maybe I left it downstairs. ”
“Your cell is usually in your purse?”
“Usually,” she replied. “So where did you find it?”
“Before I tell you that, can you tell me where you were last night?”
“After the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade and show, Lizzie and I went to my mother’s house. We had dinner with Jon and mom. Why?”
“Any reason your purse would be in Emily McGlashen’s studio?”
“What? Why? No. That bitch. Did she take my purse? I knew the woman had some screws loose. But to take my bag? As if ruining my business wasn’t enough, she had to steal my purse?”
“Sit down, Vera.”
“Why? What’s going on?” she said, but sat down on her second-hand couch. Oh how she longed for the comfortable light blue, deep-cushioned couch sitting in her house. This couch was uncomfortable and stiff. Not very pretty, either, with it green plaid cushions. In fact, her apartment was full of mismatched, uncomfortable furniture. She had rented her house, fully furnished, which is what her Realtor advised. And it went quickly. A visiting University of Virginia professor snapped it up.
He looked deflated, momentarily. His eyes scanned the room. “You really do have your hands full, don’t you? Big changes, heh?”
“Yes,” she replied. “At last we have a roof over our head and food for the table.”
He sighed. “Emily McGlashen is dead, Vera.”
She gasped, her hand went to her mouth. “What—what happened to her? So young . . .”
“Twenty-eight, to be exact,” he said. “She was strangled. Murdered at her studio late last night or early this morning. Time of death is inconclusive.”
Vera felt the room spin as her mind sifted through the recent murders in her small town. Cumberland Creek had always been so safe. Except for the past few years.
“Vera, your purse was found at the scene of the crime. I’m going to have to take you to the station for questioning,” he said.
“I don’t know anything about this, detective. Why would you need to question me?”
“Vera, you’re the only suspect I have right now. “
“Suspect? Me? I’ve just told you that I was with Mom and Jon last night.”
“What time did you leave?”
“Around eight,” she said. “I had to put Lizzie down.”
“What did you do after?”
“Nothing. I mean, I took a bath and went to bed, if you must know.”
“And what was your purse doing in the studio?”
“I don’t know.”
This is the same detective who took her good friend Cookie to jail because they’d found one of her earrings at a crime site. Could he take her to jail? Who would stay with Lizzie? Who would run the few classes that she had left at her studio?
“It’s a matter of public record that you two didn’t get along,” he said.
“I won’t deny that. I didn’t like the woman,” she replied, meeting his eyes. “Maybe she took my purse. Maybe that’s why you found it there.”
“Maybe,” he said. “I think you better call your lawyer. I’m taking you in for questioning, Vera. Just procedure.”
“Well now, my lawyer happens to be in a love-nest in Charlottesville. God knows when he’ll get back to me. At least our daughter is in good hands. Annie will take care of her.”
The detective looked off into the distance—a stiff, pained expression came over his face. Was it the mention of Annie? Was he still brooding at her rejection of him? What made him think that a happily married woman would give it all up for him?
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2013 by Mollie Cox Bryan
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-8596-6
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