"I want to see the employee records from the time leading up to when he was killed." I think of the police report, sitting on the table next to my computer. "And then I want to check the police file and cross reference them with your dad's records."
Hugo's nodding, already looking at Penn. "I keep a tab open here. Tell the server to add our lunch to it."
I grab the second half of my BLT. Penn and Daisywish us luck, and we weave our way back through the restaurant.
"Mallory, Hugo!" The call of our names brings us up short. Liane waves from a table of women right in front of us. No chance for us to continue, claiming we didn't hear her.
"Hi, Mrs. Rooney," Hugo says, polite smile in place.
"I keep meaning to make a trip out to Summerhill, but something is always keeping me from visiting. It's either a board meeting, a conservation society luncheon, or?—"
"Kissing babies," Hugo supplies. Normally a comment like this would be a joke, but his tone does not fit. It's as if his mind has gone where mine went when I saw that victorious saguaro and its victim hanging brokenly around it. Suddenly we both need to explore a possibility. And Liane Rooney is keeping us.
Liane laughs off Hugo's comment. "One of my many duties. I promise to make it out this week."
"Sounds great," Hugo says, pulling me along. "There's a new shipment of vanilla olive oil arriving tomorrow. You should be the first to add it to your collection."
"It was nice to see you," I say as we pass her table. The interaction is so harried, I don't notice who it is she's having lunch with.
Hugo helps me into his car, and when he slides in the driver's seat, says, "That woman has the worst timing."
"Forget about her," I say. "Is your mind where my mind is?"
"I'm sure the police questioned all the Summerhill employees. But, yes."
We pass Sweet Nothings as we drive down Olive Avenue. It brings to mind my last conversation with Sal. He'd said something about how not only did Simon not have enemies, he only had friends.
What about his employees? Were they more like friends?
And then the question. Did one of them kill the host?
Chapter 41
Hugo
Our first stopis my house for the police file. Mallory makes a stop at the bathroom. Just this week her gait has evolved to include a side to side sway as her center of gravity shifts with every step.
I never saw myself in love. I never saw myself with a pregnant woman. I never saw myself in love with a woman pregnant with a baby we did not create. But here I am. Atypical and impossibly perfect.
Mallory comes to me where I stand next to the dining room table. Her arms wind around my waist. "Just because we had this little epiphany doesn't mean we have to roll with it. We can stand here and decide not to look into the employee records."
I appreciate how kind she has been every step of the way. How accommodating. She needs this story for the future of her podcast, but she's willing to let it go if it becomes too much for me.
Knowing she cares that deeply makes me want to giveit to her more. So I touch her face, cup her cheek the way I know she likes. Capture her mouth in a kiss because I won't miss the opportunity.
Pulling back, I look deeply into her beautiful eyes. "Let's go see if we can find something the police missed."
It'sthe middle of the day, and every Summerhill employee is hard at work. Claudette, the mill manager, emerges from her small office when we walk in. She's a stout woman with lips that turn down at the corners, which is really too bad because she's nice as can be. Claudette knows how she looks, and, in accordance with her good-natured personality, jokes it keeps the riffraff away.
"This is Claudette, my right hand at Summerhill. Claudette, this is my girlfriend, Mallory."
Mallory's eyes widen, cheeks tugging with a suppressed smile. She weaves her hand in mine, squeezes hard.
"I've always known Hugo keeps a tight lid on his personal life." Claudette's grappling with the metaphorical fastball I've thrown her, but she recovers well. "It's nice to meet you, Mallory."
"You as well," Mallory responds. Tucked under her arm is the folder holding every piece of known information relating to my father's murder.
Claudette retreats into her office, and I take Mallory into mine. I close my door with my foot, because I don't want interruptions or curious glances while we're digging through records. Or the police report.
