“Is there anything to the rumor”-I made up one on the spot-“that your boss was involved in some kind of preferential treatment for certain contractors?”

“Who told you that?” Ben asked.

“It’s public knowledge that the awards for all the recent projects at the Duns Scotus, like remodeling and equipment upgrades, have gone to Mellace Construction here in Lincoln Point. It’s either a coincidence or something shady is going on.”

“Shady, I like that. But I wouldn’t know anything about it.”

Between the miserable weather and the barely abating fear I experienced from having Ben Dobson in my car, I was ready to give up. Maybe my recollection of the incident between David and Ben was exaggerated, made into something it wasn’t, out of a desire to lay blame for the murder on anyone but Rosie.

I took a breath, amazingly calm and sure I wasn’t in danger from Ben. Not at the moment anyway. “Can you tell me one thing? What were you doing in the woods just now?”

Ben got out of the car, closed the door, and leaned in. He gave me a wicked smile. “You’re too much of a lady for me to tell you.”

I couldn’t help smiling back, though I didn’t believe him for a minute.

I wasn’t ready to face Skip or Rosie. Thanks to very poor decisions today, I was hot, bothered, and hungry. A quick side trip to Sadie’s would take only ten minutes if it wasn’t too crowded. I’d get a chocolate malt to go and imbibe while I drove to the police station. So far there was no California law against eating while driving.

My parking spot facing the woods was right behind Sadie’s. I got out of my car and left it unlocked, the windows down. There was nothing worth stealing and it would be much better than coming back to an even hotter car.

I wished I had time to get the car washed, inside and out, to erase the presence of Ben Dobson. Though I hadn’t been as afraid of him at the end of the exchange as at the abrupt beginning, I still had an uneasy feeling. Maddie would have called the whole meeting creepy.

With long legs and the image of a chocolate malt spurring me on, I reached Sadie’s in less than five minutes and joined a short line. I fished my wallet out of my purse, licked my dry lips, and waited, feeling guilty that I wasn’t already on my way down Springfield Boulevard toward Rosie.

My turn at last. “The usual, Gerry?” Colleen asked.

“Yes, but I’m on a very tight schedule today.”

Most days I enjoyed chatting with Colleen, Sadie’s lovely Irish daughter-in-law, especially about her graduate school classes in political science. Today, she caught on quickly to my pressing need and prepared my malt in record time. I couldn’t wait to take that first long sip of the thick chocolaty liquid.

“Hi, Mrs. Porter,” a girl’s voice said. “We just saw you. Where’s Maddie? Isn’t she out of class by now?” I turned around and nearly tripped over Taylor. I followed her pointing finger to a table in the back where Henry sat with a sundae in front of him. “Come back and eat with us.”

Not again. This would be my third strike today if this were a game with Henry Baker. I went back and forth about how I’d spend the next hour. Did Rosie really need me? She hadn’t called, so maybe everything had been resolved without me. Didn’t I deserve a little ice cream break with friends? But what if Rosie was in custody?

My better self won. “I’d love to,” I told Taylor. “But I really can’t right now. I have a very important errand to do.”

Taylor’s face fell. Her pout was a lot like Maddie’s-therefore, nearly irresistible. “Just till you finish your shake?”

I hoped she caught the sadness in my sigh. “There’s someone waiting for me. In fact that’s why I don’t have Maddie with me.” I laughed and gave her a playful poke in the shoulder. “Do you think Maddie would ever let me come here without her if I weren’t on my way to a very serious meeting?”

Her face brightened. She got it. “I guess not. Maybe we’ll see you later.”

“For sure,” I said.

I caught Henry’s eye and waved. He gave me a thin smile and waved back, then put his head down and turned his attention to a pile of whipped cream.

I left the shop, still without a sip of malt. I felt I owed Henry an explanation, though I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if I’d broken a date. Maybe because I wished I’d get a chance to.

I recovered quickly from my stress over Henry, and by the time I reached my car, half the shake was gone.

I placed the rest of my lunch in the cup holder, but only after one more long drag on the straw. I threw my purse on the passenger seat over my jacket and prepared to start the engine. After the fact, I noticed something under my jacket. The sound my purse made indicated it fell on something other than soft cloth. I looked over and saw a manila folder under the jacket, so flat it seemed empty. The folder certainly wasn’t mine. Had Ben left it? By mistake? On purpose? No, I was sure I would have seen it, one way or the other, if he’d had it. Besides, Ben and I had already shared so much (a big wink here), he wouldn’t have delivered this in secret.

I checked my rearview mirror and my backseat. I wanted no more surprises. I lifted my purse and jacket with care and stared at the folder. Maybe someone mistakenly dropped it in my car, thinking it was someone else’s vehicle.

The biggest question was, why was I being so skittish over a simple-looking item from an office supply store? I grabbed the folder and opened it. One sheet of paper lay there, faceup. A bank record of some sort.

I picked up the record, white with a pale blue grid marking rows and columns. It looked nothing like the statement I received monthly from my own bank. There was no name to indicate whose record I was looking at, but long rows of numbers across the top. An account number? A code for the originating bank? One thing was clear, even for someone as finance-challenged as I was, some very large deposits had been made to the account, sometimes only days apart.

Why me? I asked the universe in front of me. Apparently I’d been appointed to follow up on a potential financial motive for David Bridges’s death.

One good thing about this piece of evidence, if that’s what it was-as much as I’d snooped around and picked up things here and there in my questionably legal wanderings, there was no way Skip could blame me for this wrinkle.

I had neither broken nor entered into any establishment illegally, and I had an excellent alibi for when the folder was placed on the seat of my car.

Chapter 16

The timing was perfect. I arrived at the police station just as I was draining the last bit of chocolate shake from the cup. Since I was alone in my car, I indulged in a final, loud sip, the gurgling sound worthy of a junior high cafeteria.

The first person I saw in the sprawling, shabby waiting area was Larry Esterman, Rosie’s father. I sensed that I was about to take advantage of a distraught parent to try to continue my investigation. For his own daughter’s good, I reminded myself.

We greeted each other with the usual pleasantries of people who don’t see each other very often. I told him he looked good, and he did the same for me.

This seemed to be the week of reunions and the platitudes that came with them.

Larry got quickly to what was on both our minds. “I can’t get any information on when they’ll be done with Rosie,” he told me.

I thought it best to clear this up before I quizzed him on his Callahan and Savage dealings. I figured if I helped him with facts on how Rosie was doing, he’d be more receptive to my questions.

I checked out the officer on duty. What luck. Drew Blackstone had his head down, engrossed in paperwork, so we hadn’t noticed each other yet. Sign-in at the LPPD was required only if a person wanted to get past the desk to the interview rooms, offices, holding cells, and other “official places” beyond.