Page 23 of Alibi for Murder
Steve joined her on the floor. She moved the album to where he could see the photos as well. There were several pages of two of the couples, the Madisons and her parents, all photographed at the Madison/Talbert property.
“Wow,” she said, “it was really beautiful back then. I knew I’d seen it somewhere.”
“But why hide the photos we found in that closet door and not these?” Steve studied the photos. “It had to be about the third couple—the mystery couple—or surely these photos would have been hidden as well.”
He was right. That third couple was the only different aspect in the photos. Made sense.
Allie turned to him. “We need to figure out who the third couple is, and maybe we’ll learn some part of the story.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
She stared at his lips, thought of how he would taste.
“But first—” he hitched his head toward the dining room “—we need to eat those cold burgers and fries.”
“Oh.” She grimaced at herself for staring at his lips. “Sorry about that. I got completely caught up in figuring out where I’d seen the place before and lost all track of time.”
He stood and offered his hand to assist her in getting up. “The wine will help the fries go down easier.”
Allie grabbed his hand and pulled herself up. She glanced at the table. He’d found her stash and opened a new bottle of red. The flush of embarrassment crept over her cheeks.
“You know I really don’t drink that much. I just believe in having plenty on hand in case of an emergency.”
“It’s always best to be prepared.” He grinned at her. “I have my own stash exactly like that at home.”
Her heart took an extra beat. Preparation was important. She’d always believed so. She really liked that he did too.
But after years of self-imposed seclusion, she wasn’t sure it was possible to be adequately prepared for this man.
Panic nudged at her…all the other thoughts she wanted to ignore closing in.
Or being suspected of murder.
Chapter Six
Sunday, June 8
Foster Residence
Ridgeland Avenue
Woodstock, 8:00 a.m.
Allie finished off her toast. It wasn’t such a great breakfast, but when she had suggested it based on the offerings available, Steve claimed cheese toast was one of his favorites. The toast and coffee had done the trick for her. She wasn’t a huge breakfast fan anyway. Her typical days consisted of brunch and dinner. As for the menu, like this morning, it was generally driven by whatever was in the house. Or something she had delivered if she was feeling the urge.
She really needed to get better organized. Her grandmother had always taken care of running the kitchen. Until she was no longer physically able to do so, she had insisted that it was her domain. Allie could be in charge of all the rest, but she was to leave the kitchen to her grandmother. It was great until her grandmother could no longer handle the job. Then Allie had just felt guilty for being inept at kitchen duties. Her culinary skills still left much to be desired.
During her grandmother’s illness, Allie had tried to carry on with the usual menu items. Her grandmother had manycookbooks with dog-eared pages. But once she was gone, sandwiches and microwave meals became the norm.
Maybe Steve was right. Allie should focus a little more on herself.
Working at home made the concept more difficult, in her opinion. It was far easier to pull on a pair of sweats and tuck her hair into a ponytail and not care. Who would see her? No one. And the whole cooking for one was not as simple or as stress-free as it sounded.
Steve glanced at his cell, answered an incoming call and wandered out of the kitchen. Allie cleared away the paper plates—another bad habit of hers—and wiped off the table.
Who wanted to wash dishes for one? There was a dishwasher, but it would take days to load it with enough items to feel it wasn’t wasteful to turn it on.
Just another excuse.
