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“Thank you,” Connor said.
Kit nodded. “Yes, thank you. I know this is hard, on every possible level. I’m sorry that our conversation started badly.”
Carla patted Kit’s hand. “You’re young, child. You’ll learn.”
Kit nodded. “I hope so. We’ll keep you apprised. Miss Shearer, can I have a word with you? I’d like to get your statement about what happened from the time we left yesterday until you found Mr. Dreyfus’s body.”
Georgia nodded. “Of course.”
Connor left the room to get the mortuary representatives, and Kit stepped away to give the grieving family privacy at Mr. Dreyfus’s bedside, turning her attention to Sam. “Thank you, Dr. Reeves,” she murmured.
Sam shrugged, his cheeks heating. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You came to help. And, speaking of helping, my father said I should also thank you for getting Jane and Janey to go to New Horizons and recommending they be placed with them.”
Sam truly smiled for the first time since hearing of Benny’s death. “They’re really Tiffany and Emma, and they’re afraid to go into the system. But your folks may have them convinced that McKittrick House is safe.”
Kit’s smile bloomed. “That’s good. They’re lucky young ladies that you stopped to help them. Miss Shearer, I’ll wait for you in the hall. We can talk in your apartment, if that’s okay. I’ll tell the men from the mortuary to come back.”
Her smile loosened the tightness in Sam’s chest, and he felt like he was finally able to breathe again. Something’s changed with Kit. For the better.
“Dr. Sam?” Georgia asked cagily. “What was that about?”
Sam just shook his head. “I need to get back downstairs. I’ll be in the common room if anyone needs me.”
Shady Oaks Retirement Village
Scripps Ranch, San Diego, California
Tuesday, November 8, 11:35 a.m.
Kit followed Georgia Shearer into her apartment and shut the door. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” she said quietly as the older woman slowly lowered herself into an overstuffed chair upholstered with cabbage roses.
Georgia had been as straight-backed as a soldier in Benny’s room. Now she seemed to fold in on herself. Her voice was still strong and strident, though. “Thank you, Detective. What’s this about the staff? We deserve to know.”
Kit sat on the sofa closest to Georgia. Little Marmaduke was curled up on the center cushion, so Kit scratched behind his ears. “I don’t know, and that’s the honest truth. All I know is that Kent Crawford was found dead in a cheap motel room yesterday morning, a gunshot wound to his head.”
Georgia grimaced. “Messy. How do you know Kent was murdered? Maybe he shot himself in the head.”
“There were enough inconsistencies at the scene that we’re considering foul play at this time.”
“Like?”
“Like, he was holding the gun in his left hand, but he was right-handed.”
Georgia frowned. “There had to have been more, Detective. That detail alone seems flimsy.”
“There was, but I can’t share details yet. Did you talk to Mr. Crawford often?”
“Not unless I had to. I didn’t like him. He was…I don’t know. Self-important, maybe. He’d roar up in that car of his and strut into the building like he was cock of the walk.”
“So a narcissistic braggart.”
“Pretty much.”
Kit opened her secure notes app. “Cock of the walk. I haven’t heard that phrase in a long time.”
“I haven’t used it in a long time. Where did you hear it?”
