they having an affair?”
I shrugged. “He denies it.”
“Good-looking older man, pretty young girl. Jury may disbelieve him.”
“True.” I frowned at one page. “He mentioned the restoration has run into major snags. Additional subcontractors had to be hired in the hopes of bringing the project in on time.”
Gabe paused in his prowling. “What kind of snags?”
“Delayed shipments, busted or stolen equipment, accidents.” I lowered the pad. “The workers are complaining the site is jinxed. A few have even quit, saying the fourth floor was haunted.”
Gabe examined the array of my skeet-shooting and swimming trophies on a shelf. “That’s the floor where the woman was murdered.”
Nicole chose a different colored marker. “So for suspects we have our client, his wife….” She wrote rapidly.
“Why Meredith?”
“Jealousy.” Nicole and Gabe spoke in unison and grinned at each other.
“Textbook suspect,” Nicole added.
“All right.” Personally I doubted that Lloyd’s small, reserved wife could muster the energy to kill anyone. She was more into complaining about her lowered financial situation. If she killed anyone, it would be her husband, to collect insurance payments.
“Others on the restoration committee, as they would have access and motive.” My partner continued down the suspect column. “Any mutual friends and acquaintances of Grace and Lloyd. Of course, Grace’s fiancé. Construction people. Who else?”
“No one—” I broke off as a horrible idea took hold. Oh brother, opening that can of worms would make my life miserable.
“What is it, Katherine?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Bad idea.”
Gabe turned around and folded his arms. “Can’t be that bad, Katherine, if it caused that panicky expression.”
What, did he have eyeballs in the back of his head? I sulked.
“Grace’s job was to collect memorabilia from the days the courthouse was in use. Art, books, furniture, photographs.”
“We’ll call this pool of suspects ‘donors.’” Nicole added another line on the board.
Oh goody. My aunt and all her friends would be simply thrilled to be questioned in connection with a murder case. It would be the talk of the town for weeks.
I rubbed my temples where the telltale throbbing of a tension headache was starting. “So where do we start?”
“The murder scene.” Gabe jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get going.”
“Where?”
“The courthouse. I’ll make a call on the way to clear our admittance.”
“Now?” All I wanted to do was crawl home, straight into a hot shower.
“Our client’s first appearance is in the morning, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“The murder occurred at night, didn’t it?”
“Yes.” I frowned. “Who’s the attorney here?”
With studied nonchalance he shrugged. “I’m attending law school at night.”
Uh-oh.
“Look, there’s no time like the present. I need to see how the scene looks like at night. Besides, with all the construction people, the integrity of the crime scene is going to be shot to hell if it isn’t already.”
He extended his hand. “Go home, change, and I’ll pick you up in thirty.”
I forced my aching body to leave the chair’s comfort without his assistance. “Make it an hour and you have a deal.”
“Thirty.”
“Forty-five.”
“Thirty.”
I sighed. “Okay, thirty, but don’t be on time.”
“Seven sharp and I’ll pick up burgers along the way.”
True to his word, Gabe arrived promptly at seven, charmed my cat Willy, handed me a hamburger and pulled me toward his battered black Dodge truck before I could catch a breath. I had raced home, jumped into the shower and pulled on the first available outfit.
I wore jeans, whose crisp crease had earned a withering glance from Gabe, a black cashmere V-neck sweater, and no makeup. I was tired, my feet hurt like hell, and my temper simmered due to the irritating man beside me, but I was having the time of my life.
What I was doing was so totally removed from the glittering balls of Palm Beach society that I could’ve hugged myself for joy. Oh heck, why not? I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Are you cold?” Gabe asked as he pulled his rattling monster of a truck into a spot in the parking garage.
“No.”
He leaned across me, and I got another tantalizing whiff of him as he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a large flashlight. Oh dear. Gabe was one of those MacGyver types—prepared for any emergency.
Within a few minutes we stood before the old courthouse. My breath caught. At night with the glow of lights, it shimmered. The first stage of the restoration had consisted of removing the 1970s brick facade that had wrapped around the original 1916 structure. Now the neoclassic building with its graceful pillars stood out among all the other governmental buildings.
Such pretty trappings for so much heartache. It’s just a building, I reminded myself. It simply served as the site of tragedy.
At the entrance Gabe exchanged a few words with the security guard and then we were inside, crossing the hall to the stairway.
My shoes echoed on the marble steps in the old courthouse. Had my grandfather placed his foot in this slight depression? Had he held this banister? Had he and Grandmother walked through those doors and simply slipped away into the night? Had they been dragged out kicking and screaming?
We reached the top floor and took the passage to our left. Gabe switched on the flashlight and its high-powered beam sliced down the long dim corridor.
I smiled. “I was right.”
“About?”
“You’re like MacGyver.”
“Loved that show as a kid.” He patted his back pocket.
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Your pocketknife?”
“You
