Page 84 of Shadow Sabotage
Maybe we were wrong about Sheriff McGrath. After all, this was all circumstantial—puzzle pieces that could fit together and paint a very bad picture of him or be totally meaningless. Serena’s jealousy could be nothing more than her guilty conscience.
Nothing in my conversation with Sheriff McGrath had indicated that he was lying about his coffee with Katelyn. But he was a politician.
That alone meant he was an excellent liar.
When we left Whiskey Creek,a familiar car down the street caught my eye.
“Hey,” I said, getting Claire’s attention. Her head was down, her eyes focused on the sidewalk, clearly lost in her own thoughts.
She looked up at me. “Yeah?”
“See that green Mustang down the street? It was parked outside today when we left the station. Does that belong to Serena McGrath?”
“Yeah. That’s her car.” She groaned. “And the Beamer she’s parked next to belongs to Leslie Evans.”
Interesting.“Are Serena and Leslie friends?”
“Oh yeah. Leslie, Serena, and Darla Barrington, Judge Barrington’s wife.” She rolled her eyes. “They mostly prancearound in fancy clothes, forming committees and making up excuses to throw parties.”
“Are they all as bad as Leslie?”
“Darla is for sure. Maybe even worse. She’s the oldest and kind of the queen bee. I always thought Serena was more down to earth, but she’s definitely become more like them over time.”
I looked toward where they were parked, unable to make out the name on the front door. “What business are they parked in front of? I haven’t been there yet.”
“Huckleberry Bistro and Bakery. Their desserts are amazing, but those three go for the fancy salads, tiny sandwiches, and flavored teas.” Claire rolled her eyes again.
I was glad to see that her attitude was coming back. After the devastation on her face earlier, it was encouraging to see that spark again. “Not your kind of place, huh?”
“The food is delicious,” she admitted. “But I’d rather eat somewhere I can kick back and relax. The bistro wasn’t built for that. It’s the kind of place where you feel like you should sit up straight, cross your ankles, and hold your pinky out when you sip from your teacup.”
“But the desserts are good, huh?”
“The best,” she said begrudgingly.
“Great,” I said, grinning. “Because that’s where we’re headed next.”
Claire wasn’t thrilled with my plan. I knew she didn’t want to face Serena after what I’d told her. But my instincts were leading me toward the bistro, so I asked her to trust me.
She sighed dramatically but agreed.
I pushed the bistro door open and was hit with sensory overload. Bells tinkled above the door, and strains of classical violin music poured through speakers mounted in the corners. A multitude of aromas hit. I had the sense thatmostof them wouldbe pleasant if they weren’t intermingled with the overpowering smell of women’s perfume.
It was immediately clear why the café wasn’t Claire’s favorite place. She was right about the atmosphere. Even I found myself straightening my posture and feeling like I needed to be mindful not to knock anything over. The place was overly decorated and everything looked fragile. Everything also seemed tiny, from the round tables that couldn’t hold four full-sized plates to the straight-backed French chairs that would never allow you to lean back and relax after enjoying your meal.
My mother would love it. But I was with Claire on this one. It wasn’t my kind of place.
But I wasn’t there for the atmosphere. I was there because two people of interest happened to be sitting together at a table with a third woman. Darla Barrington, I guessed, based on what Claire had told me.
There was no sign of the sheriff, which I thought was curious. Serena’s plans to have lunch with him had apparently changed, and I wanted to know why. I began trying to think of a pretext to go over to their table, but the moment Leslie saw me, her eyes lit up and she waved me over. Claire groaned quietly but attempted to put a polite smile on her face as we approached the table.
“Agent Weston! So good to see you again,” Leslie said, beaming. “Let me introduce you to my friends. This is Serena McGrath, wife to our excellent sheriff. And this is Darla Barrington, wife to our honorable judge.”
Serena shook my hand politely before shifting her eyes to Claire. The coldness in her expression was as plain as day. Leslie and Darla ignored Claire altogether, as if she were invisible.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” I said, giving them a charming smile. “We stopped in for some dessert. Since I’ve never been here, I’d love your recommendations.”
Darla—who had the same platinum-blonde hair as the other two, along with obvious work done on her face—leaned forward eagerly. “Oh, you have to try the lemon lavender mille-feuille. It’sdivine.”
