Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (53 page)

Trying to shake the feeling off, he sat down and began reading, willing himself to concentrate.

Kendall Brodie was pacing in his apartment, wondering how Nick was enjoying his prison cell. Kendall picked up a pillow and slammed it against the wall. Nick wasn’t guilty. Not of murder, at least. Of being an idiot, maybe. But if Nick wasn’t guilty, who was? And why couldn’t the police solve this without hurting innocent people?

He kicked the back of a chair.

He’d been so angry with Nick for not wanting to join the firm, and now he couldn’t care less about that. Nick could ski until he was ninety, if he wanted! Funny how a person’s perspective changed.

Of course, that was assuming Nick got out of jail.

Kendall grabbed the pillow and threw it against the sofa. It had about as much effect on the sofa as he was having on the police investigation. This helplessness was horrible. But when he’d asked his dad what he could do to get Nick off, his dad had said to stay out of the way and let Bradley and Pattison handle it. They were the experts.

Come to think of it, that was what Nick had ordered him to do, too. Sit tight. Only he didn’t want to sit! He wanted to do something!

He threw a second pillow, but the storm in his eyes didn’t abate.

Was this what it felt like to have a brother? Was this what it felt to love somebody? He would have laughed if anyone had said he loved Nick. But he did. And he wasn’t going to let Nick be the hero this time. No matter what it cost.

Shauna was finished at the hairdresser by five-thirty. They had supper at a small Italian restaurant. Then she asked Bart to take her to a certain address. She wouldn’t tell him why.

When they arrived at a plain, brick, three-story office building, she went inside alone. She came back a few minutes later and thrust a brochure at Bart. It was from Alcoholics Anonymous.

“I don’t need this,” he protested.

“From what I saw this weekend, you need it.”

“Give some people an inch and they take a mile.”

“That’s a cliché.”

“Maybe it is, Miss Librarian. But it’s also true. I only said I liked you.”

“No, you said you were intrigued by me.”

“Did you know that half the time I have to keep myself from wringing your neck?”

“And the other half?”

“Never mind.” He started the car. “And if I want to stop drinking, I’ll stop. Notice, I said
if
I want to stop.”

“You’d better stop smoking while you’re at it. Or don’t you read the newspapers?”

As he pulled out of the parking spot, he said, “Did anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?”

Her face lit up. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never had a chance before.”

He glared at her. “So? The first guy you meet who doesn’t ignore you and you think you have to boss him around?”

“Watch where you’re going,” she said.

When his eyes were on the road again, she said, “It’s for your own good. You don’t want to end up like my father, do you?”

“How should I know? I’ve never met your father.”

“He’s back at Peter’s apartment. He’ll drink with you. Smoke with you, too. And you can tell each other about all the jobs you’ve lost.”

“I’ve never lost a job.”

“Don’t you mean you’ve never had a job?”

“Do you have to assume that if I’d had a job, I would have lost it?”

She just looked at him.

“Battle-ax,” he said.

She smiled, her eyes dancing, and he nearly lost control of the wheel.

Anne and Douglass Fischer forgot about supper until eight o’clock. They had been in such intense conversation that nothing else seemed to matter. When Jason came up to the bedroom to ask what he was supposed to eat, he found his parents sitting together on the love seat in the bay window. His father’s right arm was around his mother’s shoulders, her left hand holding his.

“Send out for pizza,” Douglass said lazily.

“Suits me,” Jason replied and went downstairs to comply.

“I should have made supper,” Anne protested.

“Pizza will be fine.”

“Yes. I guess it will. Douglass?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think the counseling will be expensive?”

“I don’t care. We’re worth it. I can’t believe what a fool I’ve become.”

“You’re not a fool.”

“A man who’s so caught up in his job that he has no time for his wife or family is a fool.”

“Well, you aren’t one anymore.”

“I hope not. Don’t ever let me forget again what’s most important.”

“And don’t ever let me be the witch I’ve been.”

At nine o’clock, Manziuk was in his office going over the report from Forensics for the third time. Maybe there was something they’d missed. Some little detail that would lead them to the murderer. But nothing rang a bell. Maybe he should quit. Nick Donovan was the obvious choice. So why wasn’t he satisfied?

There was a knock on his door and Ryan strode in. “Guess what.”

“You found something?”

“I didn’t. But one of the men checking restaurants did.”

“What?”

“Are you ready for a shock?”

“I should tell you I don’t care for high drama. Just give me the facts.”

Ryan rolled her eyes and leaned toward him. “Okay.” Her voice became Jack Webb’s from Dragnet. “You want the facts, nothing but the facts?”

Manziuk stared at her in astonishment.

“Oops,” she said, jumping back. Then, quickly, she added, “She was seen at a restaurant with someone other than Peter Martin. Apparently, she met him there several times, the last one being Friday morning.”

“Who?”

“You remember this morning you said to widen the search? Include Douglass Fischer?”

“Yes. So it was—”

“Not him. They added pictures of all the men involved. At my suggestion.” She paused for him to digest this. “She was meeting Kendall Brodie.”

Manziuk was silent for several minutes. Finally, he said, “He claimed he’d never met her.”

“He lied.”

“Maybe we’d better have a talk with him.”

They were walking out of the station when Kendall came running up behind them. Unfortunately, he was behind three reporters who had been hanging around looking for news.

“What can you tell us, Inspector?” a dark-haired woman with a black umbrella and tan trench coat asked.

“Who’s this? You new to Homicide, miss?” This from a young man in a hooded jacket.

“How’s Woody doing, Paul? Don’t tell me they replaced him with a woman!” A white-haired man with a leather jacket and cigar spat in disgust.

“No comment,” Manziuk said. “Talk to Benson.”

Kendall ignored the reporters. “Inspector Manziuk, I was up at your office and they said you had just gone out. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Aren’t you Kendall Brodie?” the female reporter asked. “I understand that Nick Donovan has been arrested. He’s your roommate, isn’t he? Do you have any comments on his arrest?

“Nick is completely innocent,” Kendall said.

“Inspector?” The young man wanted agreement.

“No one has yet been arrested for murder,” Manziuk said. “Now if you’ll excuse us—Mr. Brodie, I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you.” Manziuk was pushing back toward the station, taking Ryan and Kendall with him, the reporters blocking every step.

“Get out of my way.” Ryan pushed against the young man in the hooded jacket. “Move or I’ll arrest you for impeding justice.”

“Who’s the spitfire, Manziuk?” asked the older man with a grin.

They ducked into the building, leaving the reporters behind.

“We were going to look for you,” Manziuk said to Kendall.

“Nick told you?” Kendall sounded surprised.

Ignoring the question, Manziuk said, “Why don’t we go to my office where we can be comfortable?”

A few minutes later, seated in his office, Manziuk studied the younger man. Pale, definitely nervous. “You remembered something?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well?”

“Didn’t Nick tell you?”

“Nick hasn’t said anything that concerns you,” Manziuk replied.

Kendall relaxed. “I didn’t think he would.” He seemed to be putting his thoughts in order. “Okay. Nick called to tell me he’d been arrested. He says you claim the Coke he gave the police officer was drugged. I don’t know anything about that, except I was with Nick all evening up to a few minutes before he gave the officer the Coke, and I think you’re crazy to think he put drugs in it. When would he have gotten them? And how would they have dissolved so quickly? He came upstairs a couple of minutes after I did.”

“So you don’t think there was time?”

“No, I don’t. And I don’t believe Nick would have done anything like that, anyway. We’ve shared an apartment for three years. I think I’d know if he was capable of murder.”

“Or perhaps you would feel bound to help out a friend.”

Kendall stood up suddenly. “Never!”

“That’s what you came to tell me?” Manziuk sounded bored.

Kendall sat down again. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s about the garden. Nick wasn’t in the wrong garden.” He took a deep breath. “Jillian was.”

“And you know that because…?”