Page 14 of Witness To Murder
Something was wrong. Very wrong. She and Isla hadn’t been out of contact for this long since their friendship began three years ago.
Isla was in the final weeks of her first year of medical school and working part-time at the Northwestern Memorial ER. Leah had just gotten the job at the library. Her first two years in Chicago, she’d been thankful for her job as a barista at a corner coffee shop near her very modest studio. Another one of Isla’s friends had frequented that same library for the workshops. Often, that friend would drag Isla along with her and the two would go for a drink or dinner afterward. On one of those occasions, Isla had invited Leah to join the two of them. She and Isla had become close friends very quickly. The instant Isla found out where Leah lived, she insisted on having her move in with her. It was true that the other neighborhood wasn’t the best, but Leah hadn’t minded. She was spending all her time at work or at school, so she never really had time to notice. Still,the prospect of moving into Isla’s much nicer apartment in such a great neighborhood had been an offer too good to turn down.
From that point forward, they shared everything.
Isla wouldn’t just vanish without saying anything unless something was very wrong.
She certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with whatever happened to Raymond. Isla was going to be a doctor. She was in her final year of med school, for God’s sake. Why would she throw it all away at this stage, when she was so near the finish line?
The concept made no sense at all.
Leah exhaled a big breath and did what she had to do. She couldn’t put off any longer going downstairs and facing whatever music fate planned to play for her today. Somehow she would get through it.
She checked her phone once more in the hope that she’d somehow missed the alert indicating Isla had sent a text message or left a voicemail. Nothing from her friend. Nothing from anyone, not even Detective Lambert—the latter actually being a relief. Leah exhaled a big breath and tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. Thankfully, there were extra charging bases and cords here, so she was able to plug up her phone last night without the added trouble of stopping for a new accessory. This safe house came with everything, apparently.
She closed the French doors and walked through the bedroom. The bed had been so comfortable, and still she’d hardly slept. How could she, with all the questions and worries whirling in her head? How had her life become this series of out-of-control elements so quickly?
She glanced at herself in the mirror as she passed the dresser. An elastic she’d forgotten about had been hiding in the bottom of her purse, so it was a ponytail day. She’d tucked her plain white T-shirt into her jeans and donned her favorite sneakers. After allthat had happened, she decided casual was the theme until this was done. Worrying about fashion or makeup or any of those usual everyday issues was out the window.
This was way bigger than all those petty concerns.
Her fingers slipped along the sleek railing as she descended the stairs. Such a beautiful old house. She would love to own a brownstone or greystone one of these days—a pipe dream, of course. Her father would say the architecture was befitting an English lit professor. A smile tugged at her lips for a moment before the memory of that devastating loss intruded.
She would get through this, and she would make her father proud. Coming this far had been much too hard to allow anything to get in her way now.
Funny, she mused, if she’d just kept her head down and focused on work and her education, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. Evidently, her ability to choose relationship material—or even date material—was seriously lacking.
But then, she hadn’t actually done the choosing, had she? She’d allowed her friends to talk her into this one.
Still, it was her decision, ultimately. There was no one to blame except herself.
Isla would never have suggested Raymond Douglas if she’d suspected for a moment he was involved with bad people. She hadn’t seen him in ages herself. Perhaps he had changed since she’d known him before. Maybe the trouble that had found him in that restaurant kitchen was part of the reason he was now divorced.
People changed, and sometimes not for the better.
When she was at the bottom of the stairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee drew her to the kitchen. But it was the basket of muffins and scones on the island that had her mouth really watering.
“Good morning.” Owen lifted his mug of coffee in a salute. “I hope you slept well.”
“Good morning.” Leah picked up a scone and bit into it. Warm, fruity—orange and cranberry—and so, so good. She chewed, moaned. “Did you bake these?” She licked her lips. “If you did, I might just have to keep you forever.”
He chuckled. Shook his head.
It was at that exact moment she realized how her comment sounded. “I mean, they’re just so good.” She took another bite to prevent having to say more and putting her foot further into her mouth.
“I laugh,” he explained, “because the idea that I baked anything other than ready-made pizza is funnier than you know. I’m great with simple stuff, but not so much with real baking—or cooking, for that matter. I had the basket delivered by a favorite bakery of mine.”
She relaxed, grateful that he wasn’t completely perfect. “This scone is to die for.”
He smiled. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure if you were a protein-only breakfast person. Or maybe all egg whites and guacamole toast or something like that.”
Leah was the one laughing now. “Hardly. That would be Isla. She is the clean eater. I just eat what I like, even if it isn’t good for me.”
The mention of her friend’s name turned the delicious bite of scone to sand in her mouth.
“I take it she hasn’t contacted you.”
Leah shook her head. “I’m really worried at this point. This is not like her at all.”
