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“Right,” she replied. “We can play hooky one day for the procedure.”
They kissed, and she went inside.
Stone heard Peter come in, and he went to the boy’s room and sat down. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess,” Peter replied. “How about you?”
“I think we’re both still pretty shaken up,” Stone said.
“I think you’re right,” Peter said. “I never expected anything like this to happen. I thought you and Mom would grow old together.”
“We thought so, too,” Stone said.
“Have they caught the architect guy yet?”
“Not yet,” Stone said. He told Peter about the call from the sheriff. “They’ll get him, don’t worry.”
“Then there’ll be a trial, right?”
“Yes, there will.”
“And you and I and Hattie will have to testify?”
“Maybe not all of us; maybe I can do it alone. That will depend on the district attorney’s case.”
“Nobody actually saw him there, did they?” Peter asked.
“No.”
“And his fingerprints weren’t on the shotgun.”
“No.”
“So what evidence do they have against him?”
“It sounds as though it would be circumstantial.”
“Does that mean there’s less of a chance of conviction?”
“Not necessarily. The man did run, after all, and took all his money with him. That’s damning. If he did it, he won’t have an alibi, unless someone is willing to lie for him.”
“Would someone do that?”
“It sometimes happens,” Stone said.
David Rutledge got home from work and found Kelli sitting at the dining table, tapping away on her laptop. She had been living with him since they got back from Virginia.
“How’s your piece going?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.
“It’s practically writing itself,” she said.
“Drink?”
“Please. Scotch.”
David went to the built-in bar and poured them both one. He brought the drinks back to the table and set them down. “Good news. We had to pull a piece, so we’re running the Virginia spread in the next issue.”
“The one that closed today?”
