A Willing Murder (Medlar Mystery 1)

“Now, where was I?” He was smiling, all blond good health. His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “Oh, yes. You.”

“Actually,” she said, “I’d like to ask you some questions. Your picture was in the yearbook with Cheryl Morris. I know you were older, but what do you remember of her?”

“I’ve been thinking about that ever since they were found, but I only have a vague recollection of her. I know she was a pretty girl, and I remember that a couple of the guys on the team made remarks about her. It was just locker-room bragging.”

“But not you?” Kate asked.

He gave a sheepish look. “I’m embarrassed to say that as a big-shot senior I was so full of myself that I would never have deigned to look at a thirteen-year-old. She—”

“Sixteen. Cheryl turned sixteen just before she was...”

“Murdered?”

They were silent as the waiter put hot plates of food in front of them.

“Do you think it was murder for both of them?” he asked. “Not murder/suicide?”

“Couldn’t have been,” Kate said. “The cold-blooded bastard planted a tree over their dead bodies.” She swallowed. “Sorry. I’ve been living with this for a while now. You were telling me about yourself in high school.”

“Don’t apologize. I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through. Anyway, that year I had a full-time girlfriend, Delia Monroe. Head cheerleader, prom queen, that sort of thing. Between school, sports and Delia, I can assure you that I had no time for anyone else. Besides, Delia was a bit jealous.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Fiery temper, huh?”

“The worst. She was my first girlfriend and I had no sisters, so I thought that’s how all girls were. She and I vowed to be together forever.”

“What happened?”

“College. Life experience. When I got away from Lachlan, I met girls who were interested in something besides how they looked.” He leaned forward a bit. “And I met young women who didn’t demand to know where I was and who I’d spoken to every minute of the day.” He leaned back. “Sorry. It still gets me. All that high-school possessiveness.”

“Is she the reason you’re not married?”

“Actually, I was married. But it only lasted three years. I came home early one day and she and a coworker were... Well, let’s just say that I never used that shower again. Anyway, it’s an old, boring story. The divorce was quite civilized. I’m just glad there were no children. Why are we talking about me? I want to know everything about you.”

Kate started to ask more questions but stopped herself. Since the moment a skeleton had seemed to reach out and grab her hair, all she’d thought about was misery. The murder of two women, Evan’s passing, accusations about Jack, his angry father, et cetera.

She picked up her wineglass, drained it, then held it up for more. “I would really like to talk about something other than death.”

Alastair filled her glass, then raised his for a toast. “What about not even mentioning the Wyatts?”

“Cal, Roy, Evan, even Jack,” she murmured. “I’d very much like to have a Wyatt-free evening.”

Alastair held his glass back without touching. “What would you most like to talk about?”

“Houses!” she said. “I have a career, one that I’d like to succeed in. Someday I want to see Medlar Realty on a door.”

“Then here’s to that,” he said. “Medlar Realty.” They clicked glasses and drank deeply.

“Actually...” Alastair said as he leaned toward her.

“Uh-oh. You look serious.”

He didn’t smile. “I am serious. I didn’t answer your texts this week because I was in Atlanta.”

“Makes sense. I’ve heard that up north they don’t have the internet. Very backward people are those Yankees.”

He laughed. “My father used to say ‘If they can grow apple trees, then they’re Northerners.’”

“I like that.” Her scallops were delicious. “So you couldn’t answer my texts because Atlanta isn’t a technically advanced city. Right?”