Heather held on to her son tightly. “And you knew the victims.”
“Yeah.” Jack’s voice was hoarse. “I knew them.” He held his mother at arm’s length. “So stop worrying.”
“But do ask questions,” Kate said.
They both looked at her.
She shrugged. “It could only help. Just write down what you hear and email it to us.”
Jack kissed his mother’s cheek, picked up another piece of buttered garlic bread, and followed Kate to the front door.
Outside, they got into his truck. “Were we telling the truth?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “I’m sure I lost ten years of my life the last time we got involved with a murder. I am not going to do that again.”
“So which grocery do you want to go to?”
“How about Trader Joe’s?”
“Good idea.” As he headed toward University Drive, they were silent, haunted by what they’d seen in Mrs. Beeson’s house.
Three
TRADER JOE’S WAS NEW, small, and set in a plaza with a wonderful selection of stores. It was just down the road from the big Whole Foods and the gym they often went to.
Kate was thinking that when her mother heard about the murder, she would call in fear. Her husband died when Kate was just four, so mother and daughter had been alone. Now that Kate was living in another state, her mother had a hard time coping.
The other time they’d found bodies, Ava Medlar had dismissed it as meaning nothing. But after Kate had nearly been killed... Well, it had taken a lot of talking to keep her mother from lapsing into one of her debilitating bouts of depression and demanding that Kate return home to Chicago to take care of her. Kate would never be able to talk her way out of a second episode.
“Thinking about your mom?” Jack asked as he pulled into a parking space.
“Yeah.” She was getting used to the way he and Aunt Sara seemed to read her mind. “I need to promise her that I won’t get involved.” She got out of the truck. The sun was dazzlingly bright and she opened her bag, a Bottega Veneta that she’d borrowed from Aunt Sara, to look for her sunglasses. But Kate couldn’t find the glasses. All she seemed able to see was poor Janet Beeson and what had been done to her.
Jack took the bag from her, removed the glasses, and slipped them onto her face. “Can’t get what we saw out of your mind?”
“No, I can’t. Who would do such a thing to a little old woman?”
Jack put his arm around her shoulders in a brotherly way and they stood still until she stopped shaking. “I like you in those heels. Really sexy. They make your legs look even longer.”
Kate pushed away from him, gave him a look to cut it out, and they walked to the store. But she was grateful for his smart-aleck remark. It had brought her back to the present.
“My guess,” Jack said as he got a cart, “is money. Somebody needs to look at Mrs. Beeson’s will and see who stands to inherit.”
Kate began tossing in bags of salad greens. “Are you saying her heirs got together and killed her? Just so they’d get an early inheritance?”
“Maybe.” He was filling a bag with oranges.
“But isn’t the heir being the killer too obvious
?” Kate got brussels sprouts.
“You mean that killing for money has been done before, so this time there has to be a different reason?”
“I just like to think there are other possibilities. I’d really like to know why someone did that.” Her head came up. “Maybe we should get Aunt Sara to tell Sheriff Flynn that if he doesn’t keep us informed of what they find out, she won’t give him the photos.”
“That’s called extortion. Or blackmail. And/or hindering a case by withholding evidence. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s going to work.” He tossed in a carton of guacamole. “Besides, do you think the Broward cops will tell him what they’re doing?”
“Probably not. If he thought they would, he wouldn’t have had Aunt Sara take photos in secret. What kind of grapes do you want?”