style="font-size:15px;"> “Ms. Todman?” he called again. He didn’t hear a response, but that didn’t surprise him. Fans installed along the walls and on the ceiling made enough racket to drown out any other sounds. He started down an aisle framed by long wooden tables covered with pots of flowers and greenery of every size, shape and description. He finally caught sight of her at the far end of the greenhouse. She was standing with her back to him before a table scooping potting soil from a large bucket and depositing it into compartmented trays.
When he was close enough, he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Ms. Todman?”
With a startled cry she dropped the shovel and ducked away, throwing an arm over her head, as if to ward off a blow.
A hole opened in Rob’s stomach, spilling in a sickening acid as he stared at her, unable to move. He was familiar with that reaction, that instinctive response for self-protection. But he hadn’t intended to frighten her when he’d approached her, nor did he have any intention of hurting her. Hell, he’d barely even touched her! He’d wanted only to get her attention, to warn her of his presence, so that he wouldn’t frighten her.
But obviously he’d failed, judging by her cowering response. Not wanting to frighten her more than he already had, he hunkered down to peer up at her. “Ms. Todman,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just dropped by to ask you a couple more questions.”
Slowly she lowered her arm until her gaze met his. She quickly turned away…but not before he caught a glimpse of the raw fear in her eyes.
She combed shaky fingers through her cropped hair. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, unable to look at him. “You caught me off guard. I thought… I thought I was alone.”
He rose as she picked up her shovel, and noted that her hand was shaking. “I yelled, but I guess you didn’t hear me over the sound of the fans.”
She nodded, but kept her head down, her gaze on her work.
He moved to stand beside her and scowled when her hand bobbled, spilling potting soil across the table. Obviously, being alone in the shop with him made her uncomfortable, a condition that would, he suspected, affect her willingness and accuracy in answering the questions he had for her. He glanced at his watch. “It’s closing time, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“How about if we go down the street to the Royal Diner and talk? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. It’s the least I can do,” he added, “after scaring a couple of years off your life.”
“I’ve already told you everything I know.”
He bit down on his frustration. “I thought you said you were Eric’s friend. Don’t you want to see his murderer put behind bars?”
“Of course I do,” she replied impatiently as she swept the spilled soil onto her palm and dumped it back into the bucket. “It’s just that I don’t know what else I can possibly tell you.”
“You might be surprised. Talking with me could trigger something in your mind. Something that seemed unimportant to you at the time, but might possibly be important to the case.”
She wavered uncertainly, her forehead pleating in indecision. Then her shoulders sagged in defeat. “All right,” she said as she slid the shovel into the rack attached to the side of the table. “Just give me a minute to lock up.” Turning away from him, she wiped her hands across the seat of her slacks, managing to avoid his gaze and keep a safe distance as she made her way back down the aisle to the front of her shop.
Rob stared after her, watching her hands move across that delectably shaped tush. A murderer? he asked himself as he started after her. If she was, she was one hell of an actress.
And he was definitely horny, he decided with a frown. Otherwise, why would he find it so difficult to tear his gaze from her rear end?
Rob sat opposite Rebecca in a booth, watching as she nervously shredded a napkin she’d plucked from the dispenser at the end of the table. Not once during the walk to the diner had she made eye contact with him. And though he’d tried making idle conversation, he’d finally given up, frustrated by her monosyllabic replies.
Determined to resolve the question of her innocence, he braced his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “I know you’re probably anxious to get home, so let’s get this over with. Was the morning you found Eric the first time you’d been to his house?”
Her fingers closed around the shredded napkin, balling it within her fist. “No. I’ve been caring for his plants for a couple of months.”
“The morning you found him, was the house locked when you arrived?”
“No.”
“Was that unusual?”
“Yes. Normally he would already have left for work by the time I arrived.”
“Did you know, prior to entering the house, that Eric was at home?”
“I thought he might be. His car was still in the driveway.”
“Yet you entered anyway.”
“I knocked first. When he didn’t answer, I tried the door and found it unlocked.”
“Since you’re in his house on a regular basis, I assume that you would notice if anything was out of place.”
“Yes, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.” Her eyes rounded as if she’d just remembered something. She laid her hand on the table and leaned forward, her expression hopeful. “It did seem unnaturally quiet, though.”
His investigative instincts sharpened. “How so?”
“The radio. Usually it’s playing. Eric always listens to the weather and traffic reports while he eats his breakfast, then leaves it on to keep Sadie company while he’s away. Is that important?”
“If the coroner hadn’t already established an approximate time of death, it might be.” He lifted his hands. “As it is, it’s just another detail to add to the file.”
She drew her hand from the table, looking downcast. “Oh.”
“The report stated that you found him in the bathroom.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, as if haunted by the scene. Was it an act? he wondered.
“Yes. He…he was on the toilet seat. A necktie was wrapped around his neck.” She lifted her hands as if to demonstrate, then, with a shudder, dropped them to her lap.
“Did you attempt to resuscitate or touch the body in any way?”
She shook her head. “No. I knew he was dead. His face was white and his—” She gulped, tried again. “His…his features were distorted. Swollen. His eyes open and staring.”
A choked sound had Rob glancing to his left, where their waitress stood, a coffeepot in hand. Laura Edwards, he remembered from other visits to the diner. Her stricken look surprised him, but he attributed her reaction to her having overheard Rebecca’s rather graphic description of Eric’s body.
She
