“Have you told this to anyone else?” When she shook her head, he continued. “Officer Clark will follow you home and take custody of the lipstick. You will be in my office at eight-thirty tomorrow morning, and you will tell me everything you know or think you know about your husband’s murder and about Maddie Petrosian, whether you think it matters or not. Understood?”
She nodded.
“Good,” he said. “You might want to bring a lawyer. I’m sure Mr. Gardiner can suggest someone, but keep in mind that he himself is a witness, and what you’ve just told us puts our entire understanding of the timeline the night of your husband’s murder in doubt.”
Oh, cardamom. I’d completely forgotten. Eric and Kristen had been with Tim and Maddie at their island place that evening. How could Maddie have been with Pat? Unless she’d been there some other time.
Silence. Then Clark spoke to Laurel. “My patrol car’s parked on Calhoun. I’ll follow you. Take Boyer to Roanoke, cross the freeway, and drop down to Fairview. Wait for me at the entrance to the docks.”
Laurel nodded.
Tracy aimed an irritated look at me and I raised my hands. “I just found out, not five minutes ago.”
He grunted. “We’ll talk soon.” Then he and Armstrong headed for the parking lot and Clark for the street.
“They won’t charge me, will they?” Laurel asked. “I mean, I withheld evidence, but I didn’t think it was relevant. Eight thirty. That’s right in the middle of morning rush.”
“Take cookies,” I said. “When dealing with Detective Tracy, it’s always a good idea to take cookies.”
Twenty-Two
Foods often spark our memories. When I taste what my aunts used to cook, I am tasting time.
— Mary Pipher, Women Rowing North: Navigating Life’s Currents and Flourishing as We Age
I WOKE UP THURSDAY MISSING NATE. AND NOT JUST BECAUSE he’s the one who usually takes Arf out for a morning pee. I missed him because my life is better with him. Because I’m better with him.
Because while you might not ever truly know someone, the effort of trying is part of what makes life so exquisitely beautiful. Try putting all that in a text.
“Pepper! Hi!”
I turned, delighted to see Jamie Ackerman behind me in the coffee line. I introduced her to Arf, who was instantly smitten.
“I’m trying a different spot every day,” she told me in a conspiratorial tone. “How can you stand all this fabulous food? Greek, Italian, Thai.”
It was our turn to order and I reached into my tote for my wallet. The photos Greer had given me came out, too, falling onto the Arcade floor.
“I’ll get them,” Jamie said, and bent down while I paid for the coffee. I tucked my wallet away and she stood, pictures in hand. “Thanks. You didn’t have to buy. I’ve seen them.”
“Seen who? Oh, them?” I took the pictures. “She might work in the Market.”
Jamie’s brow creased. “Yeah, maybe. But somewhere else . . . where?”
“If you think of it, let me know.”
Before she could ask why, the barista called my name and handed us our lattes. We headed up the Arcade, Jamie waving and calling hellos to a dozen vendors.
“So, you’re liking it here,” I said when we reached the spot where our ways parted. She’d been assigned a stall on the Joe DeSi-mone Bridge today.
“Pepper,” she said, her voice dropping. “I have never felt more at home anywhere than I do in Seattle. In the Market.”
What could I do, but throw my arms around her.
As I unlocked the shop door, I pictured Laurel trekking down to SPD, as she’d promised Detective Tracy. I’d filled Eric in when I stopped to pick up Arf, and he’d arranged for a criminal lawyer he knew to sit in on the interview. He doubted they’d charge a murder victim’s wife with obstruction unless they had good reason. Only if filing charges would help them shake loose info critical to an arrest and conviction. But they would use the lipstick case to pressure Maddie as well—she hadn’t mentioned being in the Halloran house that day. Though if she had been, Eric assured me, it was earlier. Maddie had been tied up on business, and met the rest of them at the ferry terminal for the six o’clock boat.
This new evidence would mean every alibi would be checked and rechecked. But not by me. The cops had the resources for detailed investigations like that—comparing witness statements, checking ferry schedules and drive times. Minutiae were them. People were me.
The shop welcomed me with its usual cascade of sights and smells, and I had to agree with Jamie about the Market.
Midmorning, the sun was shining brightly, and I stepped outside to listen to a busker fiddling old-timey tunes on the other side of Pine. Bicycle tires whizzed by, then stopped. Bike cleats clattered on the sidewalk as Tag approached.
“Got a moment?” he said.
“What’s up?”
He cleared his throat. “I hear you’ve met Kim.”
“I’ll admit, I almost didn’t recognize her with all her clothes on.”
“Pepper,” he said, half chiding, half pleading.
“I know, it’s been three years. Past time to give it a rest. Truth is . . .” I glanced at the pavement, unsure whether to say what I’d been thinking, but it had been nagging at me ever since my conversation with Laurel in the playground last night. I met his gaze. “Your affair was not my fault. It was a stupid thing to do, and it was only a matter of time before I caught on. But”—I raised a hand to forestall his interruption—“it was your response to a bad situation. We’d stopped being open and
