bothered you." She turned to me and said, "Call Max and tell him we don't need him for the photo shoot after all."
"Wait, you can't leave," Deb said as she grabbed my arm. She had a grip like a longshoreman.
"Sorry. It's out of our hands," I said as I tried to pry her loose.
"I'll talk about him," she said. "He was murdered, and the police don't know who did it. They haven't even talked to me, and I could help them."
"What would you tell them if you could?" I asked.
"They should focus on his ex-wife. She wanted his life insurance money, only Patrick fooled her."
"And left it to you instead?" I asked gently.
"That's what he promised me. What's wrong with that? We were in love."
Grace said, "Some folks might think that gave you a motive for murder. Was it a lot of money?"
"Not really. I wanted him alive and with me. What good would the money be to me without Patrick? I haven't even contacted the insurance company yet."
"So you and his ex-wife both had motives," I said. "She thought she was going to benefit from his death, but it sounds as if you're the one who really did."
Deb wasn't about to take that. She snapped, "You know what? There are more people than me who had a reason to kill him. You should talk to his secretary at the bank. Her name's Vicki Houser, and she had every reason in the world to want to see him dead herself."
I thought of that sweet and caring woman I'd spoken to the day before, and I couldn't imagine her as a killer. "Why do you say that?"
"She's been in love with him for years, and Patrick finally had enough of her pining and sickening adoration. He told her he wasn't the least bit interested in her romantically a month ago. She wouldn't accept his rejection, though, and when she found out he was seeing me all along, she said she'd see him dead before she'd let him throw his life away on me. There's the one you should talk to."
Could she be telling the truth, or was Deb Jenkins just trying to muddy the waters? I'd been focusing on the business end of motives, but this afternoon's interviews had revealed an entirely separate line of investigation. I wondered if Chief Martin had even thought about the possibility that Patrick Blaine had been killed for love, instead of money. Then again, if Deb Jenkins had done it, it might be because of a little bit of both.
Grace's cell phone rang, and she excused herself.
Deb looked at me, then said, "Can we please talk about my collection now? It's fit for the finest museum."
"You've certainly been thorough in your dedication," I said.
Grace hung up, then said, "We've got to go."
"What about the photographer?" Deb asked.
"I'm sorry, they bumped the story. Thanks for your time, though."
Deb snapped, "So that's it? You're just going to walk away?" Her voice had gotten louder with each word she spoke.
"Easy," I said. "There's no reason to lose your temper."
She nearly shouted, "I don't have a temper!"
Grace's eyes grew large while I envisioned both of us pinned and labeled on a board under glass, and added to her collection.
I said, "We'll do our best to convince our editor that this is a worthy story. We'll be in touch."
That seemed to mollify her somewhat. "Do you have a card?"
"Sorry, I'm all out," I said. "Maybe there's one in the car."
We got into Grace's car and drove off as fast as we could.
Once we were out of sight, I turned to Grace and asked, "What was so urgent about that telephone call?"
"My dentist's office called to remind me of my next appointment. I had to get out of there. She was creepy, wasn't she?"
I fought back a chill. "What did he ever see in her? She isn't pretty, by any stretch of the imagination, and she has the personality of a psycho. I just don't see the appeal."
"Are you asking me to explain a man's behavior? You're talking to the wrong gal. I haven't been able to figure them out yet."
I noticed that we were
"Wait, you can't leave," Deb said as she grabbed my arm. She had a grip like a longshoreman.
"Sorry. It's out of our hands," I said as I tried to pry her loose.
"I'll talk about him," she said. "He was murdered, and the police don't know who did it. They haven't even talked to me, and I could help them."
"What would you tell them if you could?" I asked.
"They should focus on his ex-wife. She wanted his life insurance money, only Patrick fooled her."
"And left it to you instead?" I asked gently.
"That's what he promised me. What's wrong with that? We were in love."
Grace said, "Some folks might think that gave you a motive for murder. Was it a lot of money?"
"Not really. I wanted him alive and with me. What good would the money be to me without Patrick? I haven't even contacted the insurance company yet."
"So you and his ex-wife both had motives," I said. "She thought she was going to benefit from his death, but it sounds as if you're the one who really did."
Deb wasn't about to take that. She snapped, "You know what? There are more people than me who had a reason to kill him. You should talk to his secretary at the bank. Her name's Vicki Houser, and she had every reason in the world to want to see him dead herself."
I thought of that sweet and caring woman I'd spoken to the day before, and I couldn't imagine her as a killer. "Why do you say that?"
"She's been in love with him for years, and Patrick finally had enough of her pining and sickening adoration. He told her he wasn't the least bit interested in her romantically a month ago. She wouldn't accept his rejection, though, and when she found out he was seeing me all along, she said she'd see him dead before she'd let him throw his life away on me. There's the one you should talk to."
Could she be telling the truth, or was Deb Jenkins just trying to muddy the waters? I'd been focusing on the business end of motives, but this afternoon's interviews had revealed an entirely separate line of investigation. I wondered if Chief Martin had even thought about the possibility that Patrick Blaine had been killed for love, instead of money. Then again, if Deb Jenkins had done it, it might be because of a little bit of both.
Grace's cell phone rang, and she excused herself.
Deb looked at me, then said, "Can we please talk about my collection now? It's fit for the finest museum."
"You've certainly been thorough in your dedication," I said.
Grace hung up, then said, "We've got to go."
"What about the photographer?" Deb asked.
"I'm sorry, they bumped the story. Thanks for your time, though."
Deb snapped, "So that's it? You're just going to walk away?" Her voice had gotten louder with each word she spoke.
"Easy," I said. "There's no reason to lose your temper."
She nearly shouted, "I don't have a temper!"
Grace's eyes grew large while I envisioned both of us pinned and labeled on a board under glass, and added to her collection.
I said, "We'll do our best to convince our editor that this is a worthy story. We'll be in touch."
That seemed to mollify her somewhat. "Do you have a card?"
"Sorry, I'm all out," I said. "Maybe there's one in the car."
We got into Grace's car and drove off as fast as we could.
Once we were out of sight, I turned to Grace and asked, "What was so urgent about that telephone call?"
"My dentist's office called to remind me of my next appointment. I had to get out of there. She was creepy, wasn't she?"
I fought back a chill. "What did he ever see in her? She isn't pretty, by any stretch of the imagination, and she has the personality of a psycho. I just don't see the appeal."
"Are you asking me to explain a man's behavior? You're talking to the wrong gal. I haven't been able to figure them out yet."
I noticed that we were
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