Kate wasn’t sure what he meant, but Sara’s and Jack’s faces were also blank. They had no idea what he was talking about.
“The funeral of Princess Diana,” Alastair said. “I remember it clearly. The team and I were in Naples that weekend for a training boot camp. The coaches were having fun seeing how much they could put us through before we fell down dead.” He looked at Jack. “You remember those camps, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Sara had pulled out the contents of the envelope. There were two newspaper clippings inside plastic slipcovers. Some of the players, like Alastair, were preparing for college in the fall, and they were the best from three counties. There was a banquet photo for the Friday night they were pretty sure Cheryl and her mother were murdered. The next morning Roy and Krystal had gone to the house. It was open and empty, the packed van in the driveway. It was possible that the bodies were buried just a few feet away. Had the tree been planted already?
Sara flipped through the pages. There was a copy of the week’s schedule. It went hour by hour, from early to late. The last page was a certificate saying that Alastair Stewart had attended every class every day. It was signed and had a gold seal on it.
“I guess it’s my alibi.”
“You didn’t need one.” As she spoke, Kate looked at Jack.
“I think everyone in this town needs an alibi for that night,” Alastair replied. He turned back to Jack. “Not to change the subject, but would you mind if I put dibs on the Morris house for my mother?”
“No, of course not.”
“And we’d like to name the meeting place the CV Morris Clubhouse. You think anyone would mind?”
“I think that would be very nice,” Sara said.
They had an enjoyable meal—Jack had wrapped the fish in banana leaves that Sara had pulled off a short tree in the garden—as they talked about Jack’s previous remodelings. When he told what he wanted to do with the six houses he had purchased, Kate noticed that he never revealed that he and Sara were partners in the business. Kate had his flash drive of accounts but she’d not looked at it. She told herself that she hadn’t had time. But what really kept her from looking was trust and a growing sense of loyalty.
The four of them sat at one end of the stone table near the outdoor kitchen. As Jack unrolled plans at the far end, Sara told them that he had designed the big table and had it made. The pride in her voice was almost embarrassing.
Alastair said he hated to be the voice of doom but his mother was going to want more: marble floors, glass-and-chrome built-ins, tiered ceilings, maple kitchen, gold bathroom fixtures.
“All that will cost you,” Jack said.
Alastair smiled at Sara. “Thanks to you, she can afford it.”
“All that glamour isn’t good for resale,” Kate said. “You’re overbuilding the neighborhood.”
“I know,” Alastair said. “I told her that, but Mother has been so affected by the horror of what was done in her little town that she wants to do something about it.”
“‘Her’ town?” Sara arched an eyebrow.
Alastair shrugged. “I know she wasn’t born here, but she feels close to the place.” He paused. “I shouldn’t tell this because it’s meant to be a surprise, but Mother has commissioned an Italian sculptor to make a double bust of the two women. She plans to erect it over the, uh, where the tree was planted.”
“That’s kind of her,” Kate said. “And I’m sure Cheryl would have loved marble floors.”
Alastair smiled. “From what I’ve heard of her, I agree. So, Jack, how about another bathroom on the side here? Mother may come to need live-in help.”
“I’m not sure the property is big enough, but I’ll work on it.”
It wasn’t until after the dinner, and after going over the plans, that Alastair turned his attention to Kate. “I don’t mean to impose on your evening, but you promised to show me around the house.”
The way he looked at her was so hot that her hair nearly stood on end. “Of course. We could—” She turned to Jack and Sara, feeling as though she was asking permission.
Sara gave a nod but Jack busied himself with rolling up the plans.
“I’ll show you my gorgeous suite,” she said, then led the way.
Kate felt a bit like a schoolgirl smuggling a man into her bedroom, but it was nice to think of something besides the murders.
She showed him her living room first, its big window looking out to the beautifully lit garden.
“This was my bedroom.” He smiled. “I used to sneak out the side door to meet Delia. Ah, those moonlight meetings.”
