Double Shot by Diane Mott Davidson

main enemy, the one who’d ruined his life. He . . . threatened to try to get full custody of Arch, but he always did that. He just didn’t like to pay child support. I’ve come to think he just liked to argue.”
“Did he fight with everybody?”
“Eventually.”
“This morning . . . when you made your report to the police? After the attack?” When I nodded. Brewster went on: “How about this. Someone wants to frame you for Korman’s death. So they attack you and sabotage your food. You’re going to think it’s Korman, and be furious and suspicious. He’s going to be as mean as he usually is, so when the two of you see each other at the lunch, there are more than the predictable fireworks. And then the killer somehow manages to get your gun and shoots Korman, knowing that you’ll be bringing Arch over. The person who finds the body usually is the prime suspect.”
“I know, I know.” I looked out the window and thought. “What happens when they trace the gun to me?”
“They might come up to your house, bully you, threaten you some more. Before you say a word, call me. then wait for me to show up.” A blast of dust hit the Mercedes. “You know, they’re going to be doing ballistics tests on the bullets they take out of your ex-husband. They’ll also be checking with Dr. Korman’s neighbors about shots being fired. What did they see and hear, and when? And don’t forget the fellow who wanted his money. They need to check on everything to build any kind of case, trust me.”
“All right.”
Brewster concentrated on the road for a bit, then asked, “Is there anyone who can vouch for your being at the Summit rink in Lakewood at two o’clock?”
“Arch’s friend Todd Druckman. We took him home. A lot of folks must have seen me, in the parking lot, or buying candy from the vending machines.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “You know, getting back to the assault. Cecelia Brisbane knew about it soon after it happened. She confronted me at the bake sale.”
Brewster nodded knowingly. “Don’t get paranoid, but she may have rigged up a way to listen in on your phone conversations. It might be good not to talk about this case on the phone, just until I can get your lines checked by our security guy.”
“Oh, great. What if Marla calls me with all the latest gossip?”
“Tell her you’ll call her right back. Then use a pay phone. Just tonight.” Brewster gave me his patented grin. “Goldy, this is a big case. The cops are going to put a lot of people on it, and so will the papers, especially since you’re been involved with homicide investigation already. It’s important that you watch your step.”
“Okay.” I took a calming breath. “Anything else?”
Brewster shook his head. Another gust of wind rained dust on the interstate. The big SUVs in the neighboring lanes rocked precipitously, but Brewster and his Benz were unfazed. When we zoomed down the exit for Aspen Meadow Parkway, he asked me where exactly my van, and John Richard’s house, were located.
“Stoneberry, number 4402, I’ll direct you once we get past the entrance to the country-club area.”
“When we get there,” Brewster advised, “the cops will be everywhere on the property. Somebody should tell you it’s all right to take your vehicle. Or they won’t, and I’ll take you home. Just don’t get into a conversation and don’t linger. Once you get the okay, hop into your vehicle and take off. Got it?”
“Yes, fine, sure.” I felt unbelievably weary. Every part of my body arched, and the swollen bruises throbbed. My legs tingled, as they always did in the aftermath of a demanding event. Even my brain felt as if it was closing down from overuse. I wanted to be home. Tears bit back of eyes. I couldn’t hold them in, but at least I didn’t sob. I bent over to my purse, fished around for a tissue, and carefully wiped my face. Brewster pretended not to notice.
At John Richard’s house, the wind was blowing dust