Page 30 of Witness To Murder
For a while, they worked without speaking. The sound of clattering dishes and running water filled the silence. But there were things he wanted to know about her. Things that had nothing to do with the investigation. He ignored the urge for as long as possible.
“You must love reading,” he commented.
She looked up at him, her hands sudsy. “I do.” She shrugged and turned her attention back to the task of scrubbing the pan he’d used. “There was a time when I thought I would be a writer.” She laughed and shook her head. “I was going to write the next great American novel. But I quickly realized I am not a writer. I love books and I love reading, but I’ll leave the creating to those born with the talent.”
The change of subject lightened the mood considerably. He confessed, “I don’t always have as much time to devote to reading as I’d like, but I do enjoy a good mystery from time to time.”
“Mysteries, romance… I love it all. My hope is to prompt that love in my students. Sometimes all it takes is reading the right book to ignite that love.”
“I’m sure you’ll be a great teacher.”
She passed the pan to him and stared out the window, her hands resting on the counter since there was nothing more to wash. “That’s if I get through this mess without ending up in prison.”
He set the pan aside and put his hand on hers, gave it a squeeze. “The Colby Agency is not going to let that happen.”
She turned her hand up and entwined her fingers with his, her gaze searching his face before settling on his eyes. “Thankyou. I can’t imagine going through this without you. And the agency,” she hastened to add.
He managed a smile, when what he really wanted to do was lean down and kiss her. He sensed that she badly needed to be kissed. “I am really grateful I was the one chosen to help.”
As if she, too, felt that sizzle of attraction, her gaze dropped to his lips. But then she looked away. “I should get prepared for the meeting with Detective Lambert.”
Her fingers slid from his, and she hurried away, disappearing up the stairs.
He finished in the kitchen, taking his time in an effort to distract himself.
Whatever Lambert and his team had found that they hadn’t shared so far, Owen was determined to keep Leah safe and ensure she walked away from this situation unscathed. He didn’t have to wonder whether she was innocent. His instincts had never steered him wrong, and he was one hundred percent certain she was the victim in this twisty business of betrayal.
He suspected they might never know all the details unless they found Isla Morris alive.
But that was the problem. At this point, with Douglas dead…the prospect of finding her alive was growing dimmer and dimmer.
Chicago Police Department
Addison Street, 10:10 a.m.
LEAH REMINDED HERSELFto breathe calmly, evenly, though it was immensely difficult to do either. Panic nipped at her, wanted to rise and spread through her, but she fought it. This was no time for a panic attack. She’d had a few in her life, and she certainly did not want to deal with that right now.
Owen sat beside her. He was calm and steady, the very things she needed to be. In truth, he was the one part in all this that prevented her from losing it completely. The reality of what someone had done to her was shattering.
As soon as they had arrived at the department—five minutes before the designated time—they were escorted to a conference room. Leah couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad. Were they meeting with others besides Lambert? Owen had warned her not to talk or ask questions about the case while they waited. Lambert or one of his colleagues could be listening.
Not that Leah had anything to hide. She was innocent in this bizarre chain of events. Her supposed best friend, it now seemed, had set Leah up for her own personal gain. Although she couldn’t see how Isla would be gaining anything—her name wasn’t on that insurance policy. Leah was one of the beneficiaries. If she were charged with Raymond’s murder, it was unlikely she would receive a dime.
So how did Isla expect to gain anything? Certainly Raymond Douglas wasn’t going to.
Leah and Owen had not spoken in depth about this aspect of the case. She guessed he didn’t want to go there until they had further confirmation that Isla was involved. He likely wanted to spare Leah’s feelings. At this point, she was so far beyond being upset that her longtime friend may have betrayed her that she wasn’t sure she could get past it even if it turned out Isla wasn’t involved.
The door abruptly opened, and Detective Lambert walked in. He closed it behind him, so evidently this meeting would be only the three of them. Leah relaxed just a little. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Then again, assuming anything could be a mistake. This eerie situation had taken several unexpected twists.
“Good morning.” Lambert sat down, his attention fixed on the open file folder in his hands. “Thank you for coming.”
“Good morning,” Owen said. “I would hope that by now you will have found the necessary evidence to clear Ms. Gerard.”
Leah stared at the man next to her a moment, hoped to God he was right. Then her attention swung back to the other man—the one who held all the cards, or so it seemed.
Lambert fixed his attention on her. “Your prints were found in the lake house. In several rooms.” He said this without preamble or explanation of why he thought the find was relevant.
“We were there,” Owen said. “We’re the ones who found the blood and called you. This was Leah’s first visit to the lake house. I would think that the number of prints found that matched hers was few, no matter how many rooms were involved.”
