“Jake and I aren’t exclusive,” A.J. said quickly. Saving her pride seemed to be paramount now. More than that she couldn’t bear to think about.
“Right, right,” Suze said quickly. She was being careful not to look directly at A.J., for which A.J. was grateful.
They ate their sandwiches in silence for a minute or two and then Suze asked indignantly, “Who is she, anyway?”
“An old friend of Jake’s. An old girlfriend, I guess. Francesca Cox. She’s a travel writer.”
“Oh brother,” Suze said and her tone was so scathing they both started giggling shakily.
They finished their lunch with minimal discussion, walked back to A.J.’s car, and returned to the studio.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Around three o’clock A.J.’s cell rang and her heart leapt as she recognized the number as Jake’s.
“Hi!” she said cheerfully.
“Hey.” He sounded guarded. Or was she now overanalyzing every inflection and tone?
“What’s up?”
“Are you free for dinner tonight?” He added quickly, “Just someplace casual.”
“Sure.” Her heart sank at the “someplace casual.” Not that all their meals out were grand affairs, but something about the phrasing triggered recollections of friends’ horror stories about getting dumped in public.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“I’ll be there,” she said a little grimly.
A.J. left work on time, determined not to fuss or primp for this date that might not be a date. Which might in fact be her pink slip.
All the same, she dressed carefully and spent extra time on her makeup and hair.
Monster lay on the bed and watched her try to decide between a Tuleh floral ruffle-trimmed blouse with apple green skirt ensemble and a black, ivory, and moss dash-print shift.
“What do you think?” A.J. studied the dress, frowning.
Monster thumped his tail.
“You always say that.” She put both selections back and pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a white T-shirt featuring the Paris Opéra. “It’s just Jake,” she informed the dog, and once again Monster’s tail dusted the quilt.
Yeah,” A.J. muttered, “but you’ve always had a thing for men in uniform.”
Monster raised his head, jaws open in a silent doggy laugh.
A.J. pulled on the jeans and T-shirt, added a pair of vintage crystal teardrop earrings, fluffed her hair, and went to wait in the front parlor, resisting the desire to have a glass of wine while she waited. That was one habit she was determined never to get into: drinking to calm her nerves.
She hadn’t long to wait before Jake’s sports car pulled up to the front yard. He got out wearing his favorite off-duty snug jeans and the Gucci dress shirt she’d bought him for Christmas: fitted black cotton with tiny little red polka dots. He’d done his best to tame his unruly dark hair, but he was past due for a haircut-probably too busy trying to throw her mother in the slammer to find time for the barber.
A.J. made a face at her thoughts. Okay, so it was sort of a date, anyway. But Jake looked awfully solemn. Solemn and really good-looking.
She sighed, put on her game face, and briskly opened the door, which seemed to catch him off guard. Maybe she did sort of throw it open a bit more dramatically than intended.
“Hey!” he said, taking a cautious step back.
“Hey!”
Jake sort of hesitated, but then he moved to kiss her, his light salute hitting somewhere between her mouth and cheek.
“Your hair looks cute.”
“Gold star for noticing the hair,” A.J. said. She was proud of herself for managing to sound so much calmer than she felt.
“Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He blinked at what probably sounded like a certain lack of enthusiasm, but led the way without comment, opening the car door for her, closing it, and going round to his side.
“I thought maybe Bill’s tonight?” he suggested tentatively.
“Sure.”
His brows drew together. “Everything okay?”
“Sure!”
He nodded, not entirely convinced, and turned the key in the ignition.
A.J. felt a strong sense of nostalgia as they walked through the front doors of Bill’s Diner, a nostalgia that had nothing to do with Buddy Holly singing “Love’s Made a Fool of You” on the jukebox or the wall display of vintage lunch-boxes. The first meal she and Jake had shared had been at Bill’s. She wondered if they had come full circle.
They hid behind their menus for a while, then Jake laid his down and A.J. followed suit.
“How is the investigation going?”
“We don’t have the ballistics report yet, but the informal consensus is the weapon used to kill Massri was probably the same used to kill the Sutherland woman.”
“Then Maddie’s death is connected to Dicky’s, and not to Peggy Graham’s.”
“If ballistics confirms, yeah, it looks that way.” He drummed his fingers restlessly on the table, caught A.J. watching, and stopped.
“Is Mother going to be arrested again?”
“Not at this time. The weapon still hasn’t been found and she tested clean for gunshot residue particles.” His eyes were very green beneath the dark straight brows. “Also, one of the neighbors reported seeing a blue sports car racing down the alley behind Sutherland’s house around five o’clock, which would have been the approximate time of the shooting.”
“Did the neighbor hear a shot? Because we sure didn’t.”
“No. She just noted the sports car. Very few cars use that alley so it stuck in her mind. But she wouldn’t have heard anything. We found a silencer in the garden near the back gate. It must have been improperly attached to the barrel of the murder weapon.”
Was that a clue? A murderer who wasn’t familiar with how to attach a silencer was certainly not a professional assassin.
“Did the neighbor get a license or see the driver?”
“No. That would have been nice, but no. All the same, it does open the possibility to another suspect.”
“I would hope so! Mother doesn’t have any motive for killing Maddie.”
Jake said patiently, “Motive is pretty much subjective, but that does seem to be the general opinion. No one can see any reason for Sutherland’s death-certainly not for your mother contriving her death.”
“What about the phone call-the single ring when Mother and I were talking in the kitchen?”
“That’s another point in your mother’s favor. There was a phone call. It was placed from a phone booth in Andover. The caller spoke to someone at the house for two minutes and thirty-six seconds.”
The waitress appeared at their table and they gave their orders. When the waitress departed, A.J. asked, “What about outgoing calls?”
“No luck there. The last two phone calls were to a hair place.”
“The Salon!” A.J. exclaimed.
“Right. One was about ten o’clock Sunday morning. The other was at five after three in the afternoon. Roughly two hours before Sutherland was shot.”
“But don’t you see that’s significant?” A.J. demanded. “I told you I thought there was a connection between The Salon and Massri’s death. And now here’s a direct link to Maddie’s death.”
Jake looked pained. “A.J., the first call was to set up hair appointments for all of you. The second call was Maddie asking whether she’d left her glasses at the salon. And before you ask? Yes, she had.”
“Did you-?”
“I did. I went and picked them up myself.”
A.J. racked her brains for a way to bring up what she believed to be the most damning fact: The Salon hair products at Massri’s apartment. “You know,” she said slowly, “Mother brought up a good point.”
He sighed.
“I’m serious. She mentioned that the last time she was at Dicky’s she noticed he had products from The Salon in his bathroom.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No. Listen to me. The Salon only caters to women-and women of a certain age. Since the shampoo and conditioning rinse didn’t belong to Mother, who did they belong to?”