“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Because of”—she looked at the file on my desk—“Mitchell’s case or something else?”
It took me a moment to answer, “Life keeps me awake, Captain.”
“You’re one of a very large club.” She took a seat in one of the chairs, her eyes telling me she understood. “How’s the case going? Any leads?”
I gathered the notes I’d taken, hitting them against the folder to make the edges even. “There are several people in her inner circle I still need to interview, and I’m waiting on forensics to finish a few outstanding reports.”
“Voice mails? E-mails? Any luck on those?”
“They still have to be retrieved. She had a password on her cell and computer.” I took a drink of my coffee. “It’s moving, just not as fast as I’d like.”
She held out her hand. “Let me take a look.”
I closed the folder, ensuring none of the evidence fell out, and gave it to her.
I followed her eyes as she read my initial report before flipping through the photographs I’d confiscated from Mitchell’s house.
“Who’s this?” The picture the captain was pointing to was the person Mitchell had been photographed with the most.
“That’s Barbara Simpson, wife and homemaker to one of Boston’s most prominent attorneys and Mitchell’s best friend, according to my research.”
“Interview her. Immediately.”
I grabbed a pen and held it against a pad of paper, ready to write. “What gives you that hunch?”
She unclipped the photos and spread them across my desk. “What’s the common trait in each of these pictures?”
I had found them framed in Mitchell’s home—one on her living room mantel, another on her dresser, the third in her office. As I studied them, I noted something in particular. Something I hadn’t noticed before. “Simpson is staring at Mitchell instead of facing the camera.”
“Exactly.” I glanced up as the captain added, “Unless it’s immediate family, women don’t look at each other that way. My guess is that Simpson is trying to gauge Mitchell’s reaction to the person who’s taking the picture.” She pointed at the photograph in the middle, where Simpson’s eyes were slightly squinted. “My guess is that Simpson’s husband is the photographer in each of these shots.”
“Mitchell was having an affair with him.”
“If I didn’t have two kids about to enter college, I would bet my salary on that.”
“That photo”—I nodded toward the one her finger was still on—“was taken at an event two weeks ago that Simpson attended with her husband.” On the paper, I wrote a note to find out where the event had been held and to check their camera feeds. I set the pen down and took in Simpson’s appearance again—the hardness of her lips, the stiffness in her shoulders. The glare in her eyes. “That’s the face of a vindictive woman, scheming her next move.”
“Congratulations, Detective. You might have just solved this case.” She smiled. “In record time, I might add.”
Five
Before
Pearl
Tuesdays weren’t any busier than Mondays, but with Erin behind the bar, I had once again been assigned the front of the house, so my section was the first to fill up. And it had been nonstop from the moment I arrived at work—only a few minutes late today, but Frank hadn’t been there to scold me.
I had come in with a goal in mind, knowing my earnings needed to total six hundred by the end of the week or I wouldn’t have enough for rent. Gran’s disability check only dented what I owed each month, and the bar made up the large difference. As for tonight, I hoped to have at least a few hundred in my apron before I was cut. To earn a little extra, I’d prepaid for some cheap shots that I kept on my tray, offering them to my tables as an add-on or to anyone who passed by, like the couple on their way to the restroom.
I moved into their path and held out one of the shots. “Sex on a Barstool?”
“Hell yes,” the man said, opening his wallet. “She’ll take one.” He set a twenty in my hand. “And two for me, please.”
I gave him the small glasses, and then I was on my way to my section when I heard my name come from somewhere behind me. An almost-faint sound as it faded into the loud music but in a voice I couldn’t forget.
I turned around, searching the faces until I found his.
Ashe.
A baseball hat covered his hair and sat low over his forehead, causing a shadow to hover above his eyes. Still, there was no mistaking who he was, and his tall, athletic build was coming straight for me.
“Hi,” I said, hearing the shock in my voice.
He stopped only inches away, his cologne surrounding me like it had when I ran into him in the hallway—a scent that was a combination of sandalwood and green apple. “Hey, Pearl.”
His smile was so powerful that I was surprised a director hadn’t convinced him to go the theater route.
“Want a shot?” I teased.
He took the small tumbler from my hand. “What is it?”
The concoction didn’t have an official name. Erin had just poured a few juices together and topped it with a splash of vodka.
“Let’s call it An Easy Lay,” I said, laughing.
His grin widened, and he swallowed the mixture. “You’ve been in my bedroom; we both know there’s nothing easy about you.”
As his words registered, a heat moved across my face.
Rather than responding, I watched him take out his wallet and place a twenty next to the empty glass.
When I tried to give him change, he wouldn’t take it, and he said, “I didn’t know you worked here.”
I thanked him for the extremely large tip and then replied, “For almost two years.”
“Dylan and I come here all the time. Why haven’t I seen you?”
“I’m sure you have; you just didn’t notice me.”
Even with the area so dark around his eyes, I felt his stare all the way inside me.
“I would have noticed … you’re impossible to miss.”
I was sure he could see my reaction by the color my face was turning.
Not knowing what to say, I asked, “What brings you in tonight?”
“Dylan.” He took a sip from the glass he’d been carrying. “He wanted to get drunk and wasn’t going to take no for an answer.” He adjusted the top of his hat, lifting it enough to show me that beautiful blue stare before tightening it over his head again. “Can I buy you a drink, or is there no drinking while you’re on the clock?”
“That’s really nice of you to offer, but I don’t drink.”
“Ever?” When I shook my head, he added, “How do you have the patience to work here?”
“The tips make it worth it.” I held the edge of the tray against the bottom of my chest. Even though I hadn’t felt his gaze move to that area, I felt so exposed when I was around him. “A lot of the servers spend all of their money here. I don’t have to worry about that, not like if I worked at a grocery store.”