Her wrinkled nose told him exactly what she thought of his suggestion. “With what you saw of Chief Branch this morning, do you really believe that’s going to happen?” She continued without waiting for a response. “I’m staying. That means I’m going to have to find a job.”
“Any leads?”
“I haven’t started looking yet.”
“What do you do?”
Her fingers contracted and extended, moving in slow circles through the dog’s fur. The action seemed unconscious. For her, but not for Buttons. The dog shifted to stretch his legs to the side. Then he rested his head on Jess’s leg with a contented sigh.
She drew in a deep breath. “I can tell you what I did easier than I can tell you what I do. Until eight months ago, I ran a special events decorating company—weddings, conventions, parties. It was great. Then it all crashed and burned.”
“Making a business succeed in this economy can be a challenge.”
“My business was handling the economy just fine. What it couldn’t survive was the crooked business partner.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The rough life she’d had as a child evidently hadn’t gotten much easier.
She shrugged off his concern and raised her chin, showing a strength he admired. “I’ll get back on my feet. Meanwhile, I’m taking whatever I can get that’ll pay the bills. Especially since I have now acquired my sister’s, too.”
He nodded. She’d just admitted to having financial problems, ones that had started eight months ago, maybe more. How desperate had she become? Desperate enough to be lured into whatever scheme Priscilla had become involved in? Desperate enough to have had some involvement in her death? There’d been no love between the sisters. She’d admitted to that, too. Although she’d claimed she’d had no contact with Priscilla for eight years, it was too early to rule anything out.
She swiveled her head to look at him directly. “What about you? You never did tell me what kind of work you do.”
“I’m writing a book.” That was his pat answer if he didn’t already have a job assignment. It left his options wide open. And it was sort of true. He had an idea. And notes. Lots of notes. Maybe one day he’d tackle it seriously.
“What’s it about?”
“I can’t tell you.” He gave her a quirky grin. “Well, I could, but then I’d have to kill you.”
She tilted her head to the side, wearing a teasing smile of her own. “Afraid I’ll steal your idea?”
“You never know.”
“I bet it’s a spy novel.” She narrowed her gaze, but remnants of the grin lingered. “You look like a James Bond kind of guy. I’m guessing you’d be into all the intrigue and espionage.”
Unease nibbled at the edges of his mind. There was no way she could suspect he was an agent. Of course, he did pull a gun on her within minutes of walking into her house. But that didn’t mean anything. A lot of guys carried. “Why do you say that?”
“Just a guess. You have that look.”
He lifted a brow at her, not sure if what she’d said was a compliment or a cause for concern.
She frowned. “I just remembered the mail. When I got home, I was so put out with Judge Peterson, I forgot to bring it in.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
He returned a minute later with a small stack, most of which appeared to be junk mail, and handed it to her. As he joined her on the couch, she tossed sales flyers on the coffee table. One by one, envelopes joined the sloppy pile. She stopped at one labeled Florida Gun School and tore open the seal. After she’d removed and unfolded the single page, he looked down at what she held.
Priscilla had enrolled in a weapons training class—the NRA Certified Basic Pistol Shooting Course, according to the letter. She’d missed the first class. The dates and location of the next course followed, with instructions to call and reschedule.
Jess dropped her hands to her side. “You tell me why someone with plans to commit suicide would enroll in a pistol shooting course.” She tossed the letter on the table with the other mail and rose from the couch. Buttons gave a small whimper of protest. Jess didn’t seem to notice.
She stalked across the room and back again. “If Prissy bought a gun with plans to kill herself, she would have used it.”
“Maybe she never got the money together to buy the gun. Or maybe she changed her mind. You have to admit, overdosing is a whole lot less messy.”
She stopped her pacing long enough to nail him with a withering glare. “Don’t give me that. No one enrolls in a ten-hour shooting course to figure out how to kill herself. I mean, it’s not that difficult. You point it here—” she put a finger to her temple then in her mouth “—or here, and you pull the trigger.”
She spun away from him and stalked off down the hall.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m betting there’s a gun back here somewhere. And I guarantee you she bought it to protect herself.”
When he reached the doorway of the master bedroom, she was on her knees in front of the closet, clothes and objects flying. He leaned back against the door jamb, unwilling to enter the room. Even Buttons was maintaining a safe distance. If she was somehow involved in her sister’s death, she was putting on a pretty convincing performance.
After several minutes of arranging and rearranging the mess covering the floor, she stood up clutching a brown leather case. “See, I told you.” She unsnapped the strap across the top, gripped the wooden handle and removed a pistol. “This is a gun. She bought it to protect herself. Does that sound like someone who planned to overdose on a bunch of pills?”
She was right. It was a gun, probably a thirty-eight, but the way she was waving it around, he wasn’t
