Shadow Notes Laurel Peterson (best reads TXT) 📖

thinking.” Richard was already pouring another glass of champagne and making introductions. “Sandra and Joellen, Alcott and Morrie, this is Police Chief Kyle DuPont.”

“Kyle is fine.” He settled on a chair at the opposite end of the room from me, nodding in greeting when Richard’s introductions swung around to my part of the circle. He was dressed casually in a dark gray V-neck sweater and black pants. A red tee shirt showed at the V and made his brown face glow. His shoes gleamed and he had on that thin Movado watch.

The group glanced from Mother to Bailey to Kyle, no doubt wondering about the state of the murder investigation. But they were too polite to ask outright.

A tray of rich goodies sat on the coffee table: dates stuffed with goat cheese and wrapped with prosciutto, fresh strawberries dipped in sugar, liver pâté crostini, baked brie, salmon mousse. People nibbled and gestured with their glasses, laughing and poking gentle fun at each other. Paul told a funny story about Hetty dressed as a chicken in a grade school play, something about tickling feathers and a sneezing fit she gamely turned into cock-a-doodle-doos. I even saw Mother and Loretta smile.

The political race provoked lots of speculation. The room leaned away from Winters and toward the Democratic candidate, Sherilyn Ambroise. She had cornered the black and Hispanic vote, and was now gaining among middle-class whites and class-conscious wealthy liberals. Winters had to be a little worried.

“You know Clara is working for Andrew Winters, don’t you?” Kyle interjected. Ten interested faces turned my way.

“Not because I support him,” I ­protested. Six of them looked puzzled.

Kyle looked satisfied, as if he’d driven out a piece of information in a ­successful interrogation.

Richard and Paul had invited him because they thought I was attracted to him, but was he attracted to me? We had so many complications standing in the way of any relationship—Hugh’s murder and my pending divorce for a start. Yeah, I was a prize, all right. Why would he take a risk on me?

“Then whyever be part of the campaign?” Morrie asked.

I pulled myself back to the conversation. “It’s long and complicated,” I said.

Mother rescued me. “Clara’s trying to help me.” The interested expressions turned in her direction.

Sondra lowered her voice to a whisper, as if that would make what she said more palatable. “You mean because of the murder?”

My mother raised her eyebrows at me.

Sondra said, “Do you think Winters did it? Oh, wouldn’t that just be dish? I would love to see that man go down in flames. He’s so awful.”

“Dish?” Richard shook his head.

“What makes him awful?” Kyle shone his charm in her direction, but his eyes were watchful.

Joellen answered for her. “He’s just slimy. Can’t you feel it coming off him in waves? Sliding off him, I guess, if it’s slime!” She laughed.

“Ha!” I exclaimed, looking at Kyle triumphantly. “‘Slimebag Winters.’ You see? My pet name was totally appropriate!”

He looked bemused, though he hadn’t lost his watchfulness.

“I can’t even listen to him talk!” Sondra nodded her agreement. “Have you met his sister? She can be nice, but she always has an agenda. When I worked with her on a committee to help build a new children’s playground, it was clear she was only on it to further her brother’s career. Does she have any life of her own? I never see her without him.”

“That’s a little creepy, isn’t it?” Alcott brushed long fingers through his slicked-back hair, releasing a torrent of it from its moussed perfection.

“What are you suggesting?” Morrie tried to look offended, but broke into giggles.

Bailey said, “I think we can safely rule out incest. For the record, I’m ­subbing for the lawyer who’s supposed to be working for the campaign.”

“What does a campaign lawyer do?” asked Joellen.

“Help the candidate avoid corruption, scandal and financial misconduct.”

“How ya’ll doin’ on that?” the chief drawled, a little pointedly.

She shrugged. “It’s Christmas. Can’t we talk about something besides work?”

He laughed good-naturedly and let her off the hook, but it looked like a lawyer-cop standoff to me.

At dinner, I was place-carded next to Kyle. Paul sat to Kyle’s right at the head of the table. Mother sat to my left, and after a speculative look at Kyle, engaged Loretta in a long chat about horses. Paul, when he wasn’t helping Richard pour wine or serve courses, stayed fully focused on Sondra, seated to his right. Kyle dipped his spoon into the creamy scallop stew and ignored me, while I tried to ignore the occasional brushes with his lovely, strong shoulder.

About halfway through the soup, it occurred to me that this matchmaking had been done out of love. I hadn’t succeeded finding someone on my own; perhaps I should allow my friends to do it for me. Plus, the little voice in my gut that sent out low growls when Andrew Junior or Pete Samuels inserted himself in the picture remained completely silent for Kyle—or crinkled up with silvery excitement.

He said, “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

How could he know I’d been thinking about him? I licked a drop of soup off my spoon and set it on the charger. Richard was using his Christmas china and the deep green stripe on the rims reminded me of the color I’d seen at Hetty’s murder site. “Stop what?”

“Trying to find out who killed Hugh and Hetty.”

Not psychic after all. That was a relief. Two of us in one relationship would make for more stress than I could handle.

“Someone came after my mother and used Hugh’s death to do it. Then they threatened me, and that night in the restaurant, I saw how frightened Hetty was.”

“It’s my job to solve those crimes, not yours.”

“I’m not out to bug you, you know. I liked it better when you liked me.”

“I still like you.” His voice was gruff. From the corner of my eye, I saw Paul suck in a little breath. “I don’t want you getting hurt, and you’re doing everything you