For a moment, I feared I might have to perform the Heimlich maneuver, but he recovered quite nicely. “You heard me,” I replied calmly. I took a larger bite this time, knowing food would hasten the absorption of alcohol in my system. “I suspect Krystal might be the one who murdered Lance. I need you to listen and tell me if I’m crazy.”

And over gas station pizza dripping with mozzarella, he did just that.

There’s nothing more appealing-or sexier-than a man who truly listens. I mean one who unselfishly gives you his undivided attention; one who listens as though his life depends on what you’re telling him. It’s just one of the many qualities I find so attractive in Bill. Neither of my children excels in the fine art of listening. No matter how hard I try, I can’t convince Jennifer that bunco isn’t going to jeopardize my life savings. If Steven would ever give me his full attention for more than thirty seconds, maybe I could persuade him I’m not ready to be shipped off to one of those fancy assisted living facilities just yet. I’m happy and healthy right where I am, thank you very much.

“Well,” Bill said, wiping his fingers on a napkin, “I can see why you’re concerned. I agree that we don’t have enough to bring to the sheriff. If he didn’t believe he had a strong case against Claudia, he’d never have taken it to the prosecutor.”

“But what about the gun? The bullets?”

“Anyone off the street can walk into a sporting goods store and purchase bullets. And even if the hair you found does belong to Krystal”-he held up a hand to forestall my argument-“there’s no proof she substituted a real bullet for a blank. What’s more, the fact they were in Grease together doesn’t mean they’re more than acquaintances.”

I cleared the dishes, unhappy my theory had sprung more holes than a colander. “But,” I protested, “Polly swears she saw the two of them together-canoodling.”

“Canoodling, huh?” Bill mulled that over as he dumped the empty pizza box in the trash. “It still doesn’t give Krystal a reason to want Lance dead. Besides, a defense attorney might question the eyesight of a seventysomething woman who wears trifocals.”

He had a point. Polly had been postponing cataract surgery for months, claiming only old people got cataracts. Old, I guess, is a matter of perspective. I tried a different route. “What if Lance is the father of Krystal’s baby? If so, it would explain why she followed him to Serenity Cove.”

“That puts a whole different spin on the matter.”

I leaned against the counter, the dish towel in my hand forgotten. “Lance withdrew thirty thousand dollars from Claudia’s account. The sheriff told me ten thousand of it went to a bookie for a Super Bowl bet. Nadine said he gave her ten thousand as a bribe to leave town. Police found another ten thousand on him when he was killed.”

Bill let out a low whistle. “Men, even big spenders like Lance, don’t carry around that much pocket change.”

I raised a brow. “He might if he was being blackmailed.”

Bill took up a post next to me at the counter, arms folded, ankles crossed. “Sure would hate to call in the authorities, what with Krystal being pregnant and all, if this turns out to be nothing.”

I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was to upset an expectant mother. I wanted only the best for Krystal and her unborn child, yet… “We still need to address the matter of the gun in her drawer.”

“Honesty is always the best policy, Kate. Just come out and tell her you found it. Hear what she has to say.”

I mulled over his advice. “What if we bend the truth a little? I could say she left her vanity drawer open and when I went to shut it, I noticed the gun.”

Bill nodded, then asked, “Have you thought about what you might say if she asks why you were in her room in the first place?”

“Well, first I’d act highly offended that she might think I was snooping. Then,” I said, warming to the role of indignant innkeeper, “I’d make her feel even guiltier by acting hurt. I’d end by informing her I was only being a conscientious hostess bringing her fresh towels.”

The corner of Bill’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Don’t you mean conscientious detective?”

“Bingo!” I grinned. “Come on. Let me show you the gun.”

I led the way to the guest room and showed him what I’d found.

Bill removed the gun from its hiding place and held it almost reverently. “Sweet,” he said in admiration. “A Sig Sauer. Can’t be more than five and a half inches in all. Must weigh less than a pound. Perfect weapon for a lady.”

Sweet? Perfect? It didn’t look either of those to me. But it did look deadly, like a water moccasin, coiled and ready to kill an innocent bystander deader ’n a doornail.

After checking to make sure there were no bullets in the chamber, Bill slid the magazine out and pocketed it. “This way, if Krystal doesn’t like the direction the conversation is heading, at least she can’t shoot us.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “That makes me feel much better.”

Over coffee-decaf this time-and chocolate-chunk cookies, we agreed on the script we’d follow when Krystal returned. I silently congratulated myself on calling Bill in as a consultant on the case. I felt immeasurably better knowing I wouldn’t be alone when I demanded some answers from Krystal.

“By the way,” I said, “while I was out today, my daughter called and left a message on the answering machine. She wondered if I was still seeing ‘that man,’ as she refers to you.”

“My brother, Bob, called today, too. Wanted to know if I was still seeing ‘that woman.’”

I studied Bill over the rim of my coffee mug. “And what did you tell him?”

Bill’s eyes met mine, steady and direct. “I told him ‘that woman’ is the best thing that’s happened to me since Margaret died. Told him not only was I seeing you, but I intended to keep right on seeing you. I should’ve known better than to listen to Bob in the first place.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I reached across the table for his hand. The sparkle in his pretty Paul Newman baby blues told me all I needed to know about the way he felt.

Chapter 36

Bill and I retired to the great room, but we were still holding hands when Krystal burst in carrying an assortment of shopping bags from various stores at the mall.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted us. “You look all nice and cozy. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Krystal,” I said, bracing for the inevitable confrontation, “set your things down. We need to talk.”

“Uh-oh.” She laughed. “Am I in trouble? Mom used to use that exact tone whenever I tried to sneak in after curfew.”

When neither of us returned her smile, her eyes slid from me to Bill. “Sure.” She dropped down alongside me on the sofa. “What’s up?”

Bill gave me a nod of encouragement.

I moistened my suddenly dry lips and took the plunge. “It just so happened as I was bringing you fresh towels that I noticed a vanity drawer ajar. When I went to close it, I noticed this.”

Hearing his cue, Bill produced the Sig Sauer and the box of bullets from beneath a pile of throw pillows.

Krystal stared at them for a long moment, then seemed to collect herself. “So, what’s the big deal? I have a concealed weapons permit. The gun’s perfectly legal.”

What was she going to tell me next? That she won the role of Annie Oakley in a revival and needed the gun for target practice? “The shells are nine millimeter-the same caliber used to kill Lance Ledeaux.”

I couldn’t be positive, but I thought she paled at the mention of his name even though her expression remained impassive.

“Why kill someone I didn’t know?”

Aha! Now we were making progress. I’d caught her in a bonafide fib. “I don’t believe you,” I told her calmly. “Polly saw the two of you together, acting very… friendly.”