Stolen by Jordan Gray Page B

booted legs under her. Almost immediately a young woman in kitchen whites brought over a cup and an individual teapot and placed them in front of Molly.
    Molly glanced at Simon and saw the director was somewhat at a loss for words. He appeared irritated and nervous at the same time.
    â€œHow did you find me?”
    â€œIt seems Inspector Paddington is having us both followed.”
    â€œHe’s what?” Simon cursed and looked more anxious. He pulled at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger.
    Syn grinned impishly and cocked an eyebrow at Simon. “The police are tailing you?”
    â€œYes.” Molly was disturbed by the reaction of Syn and Simon. What did Simon have to be worried about? And there was certainly nothing amusing about the events that had triggered Paddington’s interest.
    â€œDid the police follow you here?” Simon had paled a little.
    â€œOne of the constables trailing me told me where you were.”
    Syn laughed then. “Delicious. Your little production is definitely going to get a lot more press than you’d expected, Simon.”
    With a scowl, Simon shook his head and glared at the young woman. “This isn’t good, Syn. Not good at all.”
    â€œWhy? What are we doing wrong? Nothing, that’s what.” She dipped a finger in her drink, swirled it about, then sucked the liquid off. “You’re so negative, Simon.”
    We? Molly noted the plural pronoun and immediately wondered about that. If Synthia Roderick was involved in the documentary, Molly should have known. She shifted her attention to Simon. “Why isn’t it good?”
    Simon shrugged, but the effort wasn’t relaxed or nonchalant. “I don’t want to be distracted during the filming. That’s all.”
    Syn tapped her glass with an elegant fingernail, still smiling. “I would think the death of that unfortunate woman would already be a big distraction. Especially if it’s connected to your documentary.”
    â€œIt’s not connected. And this is not something to be so carefree about.” Simon drained his drink. He held up the glass and the uniformed woman immediately came for it.
    â€œDoes the inspector believe the woman’s death was tied to our film?” Syn studied Molly.
    â€œI don’t know. Inspector Paddington plays things very close to the vest.”
    â€œIn a town this small,” she said, “the police would be stressed to capacity tailing people. Not to mention keeping track of all the media types turning over rocks for a story.”
    â€œThe police seem up to the task at the moment.” Molly didn’t bother to explain. “Did I interrupt anything?”
    Simon accepted a fresh drink from the young woman. Given the glaze over his eyes, Molly was sure he’d been drinking more than he should have.
    â€œNot at all.” Syn set her glass aside. The attendant came forward to remove it, then hesitated. Syn waved her off. “Just two old friends catching up.”
    Molly didn’t buy the “friends” act. Simon was easily twice Synthia Roderick’s age.
    â€œSyn is practically family.” Simon nodded at the young woman. “I knew her parents quite well.”
    â€œI’ve always thought of Simon as a doting uncle.” She favored him with a smile.
    â€œAre you going to be in Blackpool long?” Molly asked.
    Syn shrugged. “It depends on how busy Simon gets with his work. I bore easily. I own this boat and the crew is full-time. I travel wherever and whenever I wish.”
    And you wished to be here today. “Doesn’t sound boring.”
    â€œTrust me, I avoid boring whenever I can.”
    Simon cleared his throat. “Was there anything you needed, Molly?”
    Molly considered confronting Simon with Joyce Abernathy’s suspicions about Simon’s true motives for doing the documentary. But she was reluctant to do that in front of Syn, or while