Chapter 45
Mallory
I awake the next morning,invigorated. I can't wait to get my hands on my notes, and my whiteboard. Hugo makes us breakfast, and my decaf vanilla latte. He mentions he'll be late coming home for lunch today, he has a meeting at noon. I kiss him goodbye at the door, something good and sloppy that promises more later.
Settling at the dining room table with my latte, I check my email before getting started with work. David Boylan's response to my email jumps out at me, and I open it.
To: Mallory Hawkins
From:[email protected]
Thank you for your email. I'll admit, I looked up both you and Hugo following your visit. I was surprised to learn about your profession. As much as I would prefer to keep the past in the past, I recognizethe importance of seeking truth, and justice. Especially for someone like Simon. Yes, I agree to be interviewed for your podcast.
Best,
David Boylan
P.S. A thought occurred to me after you and Hugo left my house. What if the police could solve the murder after all this time? It always stood out to me that they were able to gather my blood at the crime scene from that small cut on my hand. Imagine what they could do if they used all their new technology?
Excitement zips through me, the thrill of making progress. Interviewing David will be huge for the podcast.
I set that aside, and for an hour I work on going through my notes of everything Hugo told me last night.
I add the red-haired mystery man to my whiteboard, drawing an arrow to Simon's name, connecting him to the redacted name from the file. It's not a certainty, but Jimmy Esteban said he'd given the man's name to the police. It's reasonable to assume it was his name redacted.
Cecily calls me midmorning, and we have a long planning conversation. I'd decided to take her phone call outside on the patio, and by the time we hang up, I'm regretting that choice. The sun has risen higher, tightening its grip on everything in sight. It's only May, but it's feeling like July all of a sudden.
I'm gathering my water, my phone, and my notes when a car bumps over the gently sloping hill. AMercedes sedan, white and sleek. It pulls up to a stop, and Liane Rooney steps out.
"Mallory," she calls, smiling in that regal way of hers. "Just the woman I was hoping to see."
"What can I do for you?" I ask. Summerhill is a good twenty-minute drive from Olive Township, and Hugo's house sits far enough back from the restaurant and store that people don't venture this way. This was Liane's destination.
Oh, no. I hope she's not here to ask me to serve on a board with her.
"First of all, allow me to apologize for showing up here unannounced. I was at the Summerhill store buying a few bottles of that vanilla olive oil Hugo talked about. I love to give things like that away as gifts."
"It's no problem. I just got off a phone call, so I have a little free time."
"Lovely. I won't take up too much of your time. I was just wondering if you have someone planning your baby shower?"
"Oh." My fingertips drum my lower lip. "I hadn't thought about it."
Liane gives a half-suppressed chuckle. "Then I suppose nobody else has either."
Now that she's mentioning it, the number of things I'm going to need to buy fall over me like an avalanche. I've done very little in preparation for Peanut. To be fair, I thought I'd be in Olive Township for the weekend, and now it's looking like my stay might be indefinite.
"What would you say about me gettingtogether with Vivi and Daisy and planning a little party for you? It doesn't have to be a full on baby shower. Think of it like a...sprinkle."
A sprinkle. I like that. "I think that sounds amazing, Liane. And so thoughtful. Thank you."
"Of course. Every baby and mommy deserves to be celebrated." She smiles.
I'm sure a part of her wants to be the one who hosts mysprinkle, but it's still sweet, even if it's not totally altruistic.
Liane fans herself, tenting her hand as she looks up at the sunny sky. "I was wondering, Mallory, if you wouldn't mind getting me a glass of water? I was not anticipating this heat wave, and I'm not dressed for it." She gestures at her tweed skirt and matching jacket before fanning herself.
"That does look like a hot outfit," I concede. "Come on in."
