“She wears a very distinctive shade. And they knew each other.”
“But she didn’t even own the corner grocery yet. Although she did go to some of the NU meetings.” If her family had once owned the property, and she wanted it back, of course she was interested.
Laurel took another drink of water. “I kept it. It could still be tested for fingerprints or DNA or whatever, couldn’t it, after all this time?”
“Depends how and where you kept it, but probably, yeah. Laurel.” I turned to her, the blue-white glow of the lamplight casting an eerie shadow on her face. “It’s one thing to suspect they were having an affair, another to think . . . You withheld evidence. Physical evidence, and information that might have been critical.”
“I know.” Her voice was pained, breathy. “But it wasn’t evidence of murder. I am not accusing Maddie Petrosian of murder. I never have, and definitely not now.”
“But if the same gun shot them both,” I said, “and Maddie was there that night, she might know something. It could be important.” If the only connection was the gun, that would be like lightning striking twice.
“If Maddie knew something important, she’d have spoken up,” Laurel said. “She didn’t, and that was enough for me. I didn’t want to destroy my dead husband’s reputation, not without any proof. I had Gabe to think about. And I didn’t want to cause trouble for her. If—if they were involved, then she was grieving, too.”
“You’re a far more generous woman than I. I wouldn’t have cared about protecting her feelings one bit.”
“Never in a million years did I think Patrick would cheat on me. I have turned myself inside out, trying to come up with an innocent explanation. But sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew him.”
That was a gut-puncher. The risk of relationship. “You’ve held this in, all this time.”
“I suppose,” she said, “I thought if I never told anyone, then I didn’t have to admit it might be true.”
“We might be able to catch Tracy and Armstrong, if we hurry.” I started to stand but she pulled me down.
“Did you know?” she asked. “About Tag, I mean?”
For half a second, I’d thought she was asking if I’d known about Pat and Maddie. Thank heavens I hadn’t; I’d have hated to bear that bad news. “I suspected. Little clues—last-minute changes in his work schedule. His phone buzzing with a text at strange times.” It had been all I could do not to check his phone when he was asleep. I exhaled, glad she couldn’t see my face clearly. “I even followed him one night to a bar near Green Lake, certain he was meeting ‘her,’ whoever ‘she’ was. Turned out to be a couple of guys he’d known since high school, like he’d said.”
After that, I’d been mortified. How low could I stoop?
“But you were right. Everyone thought you were being hasty when you left him, but you were prepared,” she said. Meaning she hadn’t been.
It was getting late and I needed to pick up my dog. But I had to ask her about something else she hadn’t mentioned.
“Did you know that Pat was part of the team that investigated Bruce Ellingson for fraud?”
“Yes. And before you ask why I didn’t tell you, the case was closed with a confidential settlement.” She angled toward me. “I wasn’t supposed to know, not until it came up in the murder investigation. Even then, I wasn’t supposed to talk about it.”
“They looked at all his cases, they and the FBI, like they’re doing now. And there’s a guy with major motive, right next door.”
“Pat wanted to prosecute, but his boss decided the case was too weak, and they should let the regulators handle it. Bruce must have known Pat was on to him.”
“The real tension behind the spat over the compost pile,” I said. “But they never seriously suspected him of murder?”
“No. I think because he found Pat, or said he did—he called 911. If he was the shooter, what did he do with the gun? Anyway, I couldn’t keep living next door to them, not under the circumstances.”
My head was spinning. No wonder she’d moved. All this time, she’d never said a bad word about Pat; how she managed, I had no idea.
“Speaking of the Ellingsons. Their son works in the Market and he applied for a job with me. Any reason I shouldn’t hire him? To help with deliveries?”
“No,” she said. “Cody’s a good kid. He just had trouble living up to his dad’s expectations. Gabe always looked up to him.”
The police may have eliminated Bruce Ellingson from their inquiries, but I hadn’t.
When we reached the parking lot, Detective Armstrong was loading boxes into the trunk of April Stafford’s car. The extra brochures and pamphlets, I assumed. A few feet away, Officer Clark was listening to Detective Tracy and typing into her phone. Instructions? What was her role, anyway? I still hadn’t heard why the police were guarding Maddie, though Greer had insisted they weren’t.
“Don’t tell me the two of you have been down at the water’s edge, feeding the ducks,” Detective Tracy said.
“Just catching up,” I replied. I held out my hand to Officer Clark. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. Not formally. I’m Pepper Reece.”
She took my hand and this time she didn’t blush, for which I gave her great credit. “Kim Clark.”
A flicker of—what? Amusement? Curiosity?—crossed Tracy’s face. He had to know about Tag’s affair with the woman. Blessedly, he said nothing.
Stafford drove off and Detective Armstrong joined us.
“Detectives, Officer,” I said, “Mrs. Halloran has a piece of information that didn’t seem important three years ago, but that she thinks might be helpful now.”
All eyes turned to Laurel, who explained about the lipstick
