The 9th Judgment (Women's Murder Club 9)
Page 22
Part Two
SHOWTIME
Chapter 27
SARAH WELLS FLIPPED the chicken-fried steak in the pan and removed the garlic bread from the oven, thinking that it was all heart-attack food—or was that just wishful thinking?
The TV was on in the next room. Sarah could see it through the wall opening and could hear Helen Ross, the pretty, blond talk-show host, over the crackling of grease in the pan. Ross was sympathizing with Marcus Dowling about the pain of losing his wife.
“Come on, Helen,” Sarah muttered. “Put him on the grill. Don’t be a jerk.”
“She was so happy,” Dowling was saying. “We’d had this lovely dinner with friends. We were going on holiday, and then—this. The unimaginable.”
“It is unimaginable,” Ross said. She reached out to touch Dowling’s hand. “Casey had such spirit, such charisma. We did a Red Cross fund-raiser together last year.”
“There is no way to describe the agony,” Dowling said. “I keep thinking, If only I hadn’t done the washing up—”
Trevor came into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and bent to take out a beer, his girth falling over the waistband of his underwear. He popped the top, took a swig of Bud, then walked behind his wife and grabbed her ass.
“Hey,” she said, moving out of his reach.
“What’s with you?”
“Here,” she said, handing him the tongs. “Take over, okay?”
“Where’re you going?”
“I’ve had a tough day, Trev.”
“You ought to see a doctor, you know.”
“Shut up.”
“Because you’re on the rag all the time.”
Sarah sank into the couch and turned up the volume. All she’d thought about since she stole the jewelry was Marcus Dowling, trying to understand what the hell had happened once she’d bailed out the window.
“You couldn’t have known,” Helen Ross was saying.
The pan slammed on the stove behind her, Trevor trying to get her attention. On the TV, Dowling was saying, “The police haven’t turned up anything, and meanwhile this killer is free.”
Sarah finally got it. She didn’t know why he did it, but it was he. Dowling had killed his wife! There was no one else it could be. How convenient that Sarah had broken into his house so that he could set her up to take the fall.
Trevor said, “Chow’s on, darlin’. Your Cheerios are just the way you like ’em.”
Sarah turned off the TV and went to the dinette. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said, thinking it was better to apologize than to get him more wound up. Sometimes he could get physical. When she talked to Heidi about Trevor, they called him “Terror.” It was an apt nickname.
Trevor grunted, sawed on his steak, and said, “Don’t worry about it. I just wonder sometimes what you did to the sweet little girl I married.”
“One of life’s mysteries,” she said.
“What you meant to say was, ‘I’ll make it up to you tonight, sweetie.’ Isn’t that right?”
Sarah ducked Trevor’s glare and dipped her spoon into the bowl of cereal. She was going to have to step up the schedule. Maybe it wasn’t right, but she was going to get rich or go to jail.
There really wasn’t any other choice.
Chapter 28