Dressed To Kill by Lynn Cahoon Page A

was silent as I read Darla’s exposé on the investigation into Kent’s murder. She had included several quotes from an undisclosed member of the police department. When I finished, I folded the paper and set it between the two of us.
    “You don’t have anything to say?” Greg slowed the truck to make the turn onto the road that would take us to Bakerstown and away from the ocean.
    “I really want a bowl of that clam chowder. It’s been months.” I tapped the paper with my unpolished fingernail. “I don’t break deals.”
    Greg barked out a short laugh. “Since when?” He ran a hand through his sandy hair. “Fine, we can talk about Kent. Who do you thing is spilling to Darla?”
    “Doesn’t seem like Esmeralda’s style.” I thought about Toby and Tim, the only other official employees of the department. “Toby won’t even talk to me about what’s going on. No way would he talk to Darla. So that leaves you or Tim.”
    “And it’s not me.” Greg sighed. “Tim’s my guess, too.”
    I thought about the tall, lanky man who wasn’t much more than a kid, straight out of college and a criminal justice major. Honestly, it didn’t seem like his style, either. The kid was too into the rules to break them just for some press time. Something Esmeralda said the other day nagged at me. Then I remembered. “What if Darla’s just observing the obvious?”
    “What do you mean?” Greg pulled into the parking lot of the seafood restaurant, the site of our first date. Of course, I hadn’t realized it was a date back then.
    I slipped out of the truck before I answered. “Esmeralda said living in a small town, you start knowing people. Maybe Darla just knows how you’ll react when a murder happens versus when someone dies by accident. Maybe your actions, like driving in to meet Doc Ames or spending more time at the station, tells her a story.”
    “Plausible, but I’m still going to talk to Tim. Just in case.” He held the door of the restaurant open and smiled. “After you.”
    “You’re such a gentleman.”
    “I just don’t want to be trampled when you smell the bread.” Greg nodded to the hostess. “Two for lunch.”
    Walking to the table, Greg’s phone buzzed. He took it off the holder and checked the display. He shrugged as the woman seated us and set our menus on the table.
    “What’s up, Tim?” His gaze met mine and he held up one finger as he listened to the dispatcher.
    “Can I bring you something to drink?” The chipper hostess paused at the table, looking at me.
    I raised my eyebrows, silently asking Greg if we’d actually be having lunch and he nodded. I guess our nonverbal communication as a couple was spot-on. I ordered two large glasses of iced tea and opened the menu, trying not to listen to Greg’s conversation and hoping we wouldn’t be taking our lunch in to-go boxes.
    “I’ll be back by three. I’ve got to stop to talk to Doc Ames. Jill and I are having lunch now.” I could hear Tim’s frantic response. “Seriously, if they want to talk to me, they can wait around until I get back. Send them over to Coffee, Books, and More to relax.”
    When Greg put his phone back into the holder, he picked up his menu. “So, what looks good?”
    I peeked over the menu and caught his gaze. “Thanks for lunch.”
    He shrugged. “It’s just the bank auditors. They can cool their jets for a few hours. They’ve been on a tear about this alarm system issue for the last week. Of course, before Kent died, we couldn’t even get the security service to return our calls. Now everyone’s covering their butts.”
    “You think Kent’s murder has something to do with the faulty alarm?” I set the menu down. “He wasn’t even at work when he died.”
    Greg held up his hand. “Not your circus, not your monkey.”
    “No fair, you brought up the subject,” I reminded him.
    “Jill, repeat after me: Not my circus, not my monkey.” He studied the menu, avoiding my stare.
    The waitress