“Really.” After adjusting the heat on a stove burner, she leaned back against the counter. “You know I’m in the home improvement business.” She waved at the bar stools. “Have a seat.”
Because he wanted to ease into his real purpose, he asked a few questions and learned she didn’t just work at Fabulous Interiors, she and a partner owned it. Her area of specialty was window treatment and ceramic tile. Her partner, flooring. The partner was a man—she called him Greg—but Zach couldn’t get a feel for whether the relationship was business-like, friendship or romantic.
He was irritated at himself for even wondering.
“What got you started flipping houses?” she asked. Pretty obviously, she was sounding him out the same way he was her.
So, okay, he could give a little.
“I had a stepfather who was a contractor.” Actually the stepfather whose name he’d taken. “I worked for him summers during high school and college. That’s not what I wanted to do for a living, but I enjoy working with my hands.” He shrugged. “It’s a good hobby.”
She glanced ruefully toward her garden. “Except you actually make money at your hobby.”
He had to laugh. “Mostly. When too many problems don’t turn a house into a sinkhole.” After a pause he asked, “Are you a local?” This was edging a little closer to what he really needed to know. How woven into the fabric of this community are you? Can I depend on you not to buckle under the pressure?
He hoped she hadn’t noticed his stomach rumbling. He’d try to get out of here before he embarrassed himself.
“Yes and no. I graduated from high school here, but left for college. I came back three years ago because my dad is in poor health. Mom is gone...and I thought he needed me.” She huffed. “Not that he agrees. He’s determined to stay in his house. And although he finally let me hire someone to do the housework, he still insists on doing too much.”
“Heart?”
“Stroke.” Grief shadowed her face. “It’s probably just a matter of time before he has another one.”
“I’m sorry,” he said gently.
“Thank you.” She turned back to the stove, giving something a stir before turning off the burner and pulling the pan off. This time, when she turned to face him, her expression was resolute. “You didn’t come to exchange gardening and home improvement tips.”
“No.” Zach moved his shoulders a little to ease the tension. “The department wants the ‘incident’ never to have happened. The two of us are an inconvenience.”
“I’ve noticed.” Her tone was dry. “Should your department be investigating when it’s one of their own officers accused of a crime?”
“No,” Zach said bluntly. “My guess is some of the pressure is being applied now in the hope the department doesn’t have to hand off the investigation to someone else. Which, in my opinion, should have happened immediately.”
“Well, it definitely hasn’t been. Detective Delaney—excuse me, Delancy—grilled me two ways from Sunday. And then he stopped by the store again today. He seems to think if he keeps circling back, I’ll either change my story or he’ll get me to admit that Antonio and I were having a torrid affair and I’m lying through my teeth because—who knows?—I’m protecting his memory. I haven’t a clue.”
He nodded. “Ms. Granath, I won’t ask you what you’ve told him, and I’m not going to tell you what I’ve said, either. It’s easy to be subconsciously influenced once you share what you saw with other witnesses.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. Please, call me Tess. You’re Deputy Carter?”
“Zach Carter.”
Her gaze became challenging. “Are you here to lean on me a little, too? Point out how much damage I’m doing to an upstanding officer’s career?”
One side of his mouth tipped up. “Never crossed my mind. I will tell you that Andrew Hayes is an ass.”
Her carefree laugh came out of the blue, considering what they’d been discussing. “In that case, unless you’re expected home for dinner, you’re welcome to share mine. It’s chicken in a wine sauce on brown rice.”