He pulled one from the sheaf and laid it on the table between us. It carried Judge Cynthia Blankenthorpe’s name and today’s date. The circle in question was blank.
“Wonder why she didn’t list him?”
CHAPTER
8
By the time Chelsea Ann and I finished comparing diagrams and prodding each other’s memory, we had managed to name nineteen judges and their spouses plus several attorneys that we’d seen the night before. “What about Judge Henshaw?” Edwards asked.
Chelsea Ann wrinkled her nicely arched brows. “Who?”
“I don’t know him and you probably don’t either,” I said. “He’s finishing out Judge Dunlap’s term.”
“Never met him,” she agreed.
“Steve Shaber said he didn’t see him either.”
We also agreed that Pete Jeffreys had been seated two tables away from ours, yet neither of us had noticed when he left.
“Judge Blankenthorpe drove over with him,” I said. “What does she say?”
“That he called for the check and before it came, he got up and left the table. She says she thought he was going to the restroom, but he never came back. She wound up paying his share of the tab and hitched a ride back here with—” He paused to decipher his notes. “With Judge Fitzhume and his wife. Do you know if they’re staying here at the SandCastle?”
“They are,” I said. “And for what it’s worth, that bearded man may be, too. I saw him and the two children out in the lobby about a half-hour ago.”
We finished up and signed our sheets, during which time Chelsea Ann and Edwards seemed to find it necessary to exchange phone numbers.
“Just in case you remember something,” he said, “or I think of something else I need to ask you.”
Like whether or not she was in a relationship? Or whether she would go out with him after this investigation was over? I was the one who had found Jeffreys’s body and he didn’t bother to ask for
As we walked back down the hall, I reached over and brushed her cheek.
“What?” she said, pausing to look into a nearby mirror. “Something on my face?”
“Just getting rid of the little yellow feathers,” I told her.
She grinned. “Am I looking like the cat that ate the canary?”
“And washed it down with cream,” I said.
“So? I’m forty-one years old. Don’t I have a right?”
“Absolutely. And speaking for every woman who’s going to turn thirty-nine this summer, we do appreciate what a role model you are for the rest of us.”
She smoothed her blonde curls complacently. “Thank you, thank you.”
“C’mon, ol’ lady,” I said. “Let’s go find you a rocking chair.”
We put on our sunglasses and went out onto the terrace where indeed there was a long row of high-backed white wooden rockers. We dragged two of them down to the far end where we would be in the shade and out of the way of casual passersby. With a nice wind coming off the ocean, the air was hot but not oppressively muggy. The terrace overlooked the pool area with its many coral-colored umbrellas and coral lounge chairs, yet it was high enough to let us see over the umbrellas to the beach where gentle waves chased and were chased by squealing toddlers. A group of small boys worked at building an ambitious sand castle almost as tall as they were.
Maybe I should have let Cal come with me instead of going to Virginia, I thought. Maybe a few days of one- onone without Dwight to complicate things would have let us work out our relationship and reinforce the ground rules.
I sighed and leaned back in the chair.
Unfortunately, Chelsea Ann heard my sigh. “How’s being a stepmother working out?”
“Great,” I said, rummaging in my tote for sunscreen. “In fact I was just thinking how much Cal would love this.”
“And you and Dwight are really okay?”
“Sure.” I slipped off my shirt and smoothed sunscreen on my face, arms, and shoulders. “We’re fine.”
“So what was last night about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t remember getting maudlin about that couple in the corner when we left?”
I shook my head.
