It was still very cold. Strong winds whipped the clouds into great drifts across a violet blue backdrop. She tied her scarf, her mind traveling back to the blue skies of Florida Keys. It struck her again how carefree she'd been, wandering around barefoot, the sun beating down on her head and the raw, salty smell of bait emanating from the fishermen along the wharf.
First to arrive at the Richmond cafe, she chose a table overlooking the river and the diners at the tables on the foreshore. It always amused her how the English seemed determined to eat alfresco, despite the weather. The cafe was in a picturesque, late 17th Century Georgian building. In happier times, she'd enjoyed its ambiance, but today she felt unmoved. Some of the joy had gone from her life with Don's death.
She saw Carlisle come through the door, pulling off his dark gray overcoat. More than one female head turned to follow him as he walked towards her.
"Miss Rowan." He took a seat. "May I call you Casey?"
"Of course."
"Rod."
"Rod," she repeated. "Are the police looking into the possibility that the murderer might be one of Tessa's clients?"
"We haven't discounted it." He leaned back in the chair.
There came a pause she refused to fill.
He leaned forward and placed his arms on the table. "Casey, I understand your impatience. The processes of the law can sometimes move slower than you might expect."
"Meanwhile the killer is free to strike again? It doesn't seem right."
"Mrs. Broughton is safe for the moment."
"What are the chances it was Tessa the killer was after?" She halted, the words drying up in her mouth. Even though she'd considered it, to say it made it real, and that was too hard to face.
"Too early to say," he replied gently, reading the panic in her eyes.
She swallowed. "Have you uncovered any evidence at the cottage?"
He seemed to choose his words with care. "If we had, I probably wouldn't tell you about it." |
