Least Wanted (Sam McRae Mystery 2)

“Dear God, tell me that isn’t so!” The corners of the woman’s mouth curled down and her brown eyes, like hot fudge sauce, gleamed. Worry lines furrowed her brow.

“Unfortunately, it is. I understand you saw Tina or someone who looked like her leave the house Wednesday night.”

“Well . . . yes, I told the police that. But Tina wouldn’t have killed anyone. I told them that too.”

“What time did this person leave the house?”

“I think it was a little after eight. I’d drifted off in fronta the TV and a noise woke me up. People yelling. At first, I thought it was the TV, but no one was yelling on the program. So I got up and looked out the window,” she said. “That’s when I saw her.”

“Are you sure it was Tina?”

“I couldn’t be sure. But who else would it be, leaving her house at that time?”

“Did you get a good look at her face?”

“Not really.” She squinted. “She wore a skullcap, pulled way low. The collar of her jacket was turned up, so it was kind of hard to see.”

“What made you think it was Tina, if you couldn’t see her face?”

“She was about Tina’s height and her complexion was light, like Tina’s. And, like I said, she was coming outta Tina’s house.”

“Maybe it was a friend?”

“I dunno. Tina don’t bring too many friends over.”

“What else was she wearing?”

“Kind of loose-fitting pants with the jacket. You know, what the kids like to wear.”

“But you couldn’t swear it was Tina. Are you even sure it was a girl?”

“Well, I couldn’t swear it was Tina, no. But I think it was a girl. She was carrying a purse.”

“Can you describe the purse? Did it look like Shanae’s?”

She paused. “It was one of them satchel purses. I may have seen Shanae carry one, but then you see them all over, you know?”

I saw a ray of hope in this woman’s lack of certainty. She couldn’t positively identify Tina. And whoever it was could’ve been carrying Shanae’s missing purse. Could it have been someone from the gang? It would explain the lack of forced entry, if one of Tina’s friend’s had asked Shanae to let her in. But why would a gang member want to kill Shanae? A chil

ling possibility crossed my mind. Surely, Tina wouldn’t have asked someone to do it, or even paid them. These days, the notion of kids as hired killers wasn’t beyond the pale.

“I’m sorry, how rude of me.” Mrs. Mallory broke the silence following my plunge into morbid thoughts. “Why don’t you come inside so we can talk.”

“Actually, I didn’t have much more to ask.” But Mrs. Mallory had already scrabbled the chain off its groove and opened the door. She was a plump woman, with graying hair and a round, friendly face, its features only slightly eroded by time and the burdens of living. She gestured for me to come inside.

“Was there anything else you saw that night?” I asked, as she led me to a small living room. We sat on a sofa covered in nubby brown fabric. It sagged under our weight. “Anything at all?”

“Why no.” She wrung her hands as she spoke, as if washing them. “I did see Tina come by earlier that day. I remember thinking she should’ve been in school. Then, I heard her mother yelling at her. These walls are thin. They argued quite a bit . . . .” Her voice trailed off and her expression turned wary. Her words were damaging to Tina. And she looked like she knew it.

“Could you hear what they were saying?”

She shook her head. “Not so I could understand it. They was both cursing a lot. But I couldn’t tell you what it was all about.”

“Anything else you remember about that morning?”

“Tina didn’t stay long. They had words and she left.”

“Did you see Shanae at any point after that?”