“We’re not going up there,” I assured her. “Even if the gate is open, that No Trespassing sign means business, and the last thing I need is to get arrested by Lieutenant Copeland for snooping.”
And why would I snoop, anyway? Sal wasn’t a suspect. He was Nick’s boss, his mentor, the man who’d taken him in and given him a trade. By all accounts, they’d had a good relationship.
Although Sal also owned a business that was being used for money laundering. Money laundering that Nick, according to Mendoza, was responsible for. History or not, Sal might justifiably be resentful of that.
And according to the sign, he might even own one or more guns.
Unless the sign was just for deterrence, of course. That was possible, too.
“Lieutenant Copeland will probably ask,” I told Edwina, “don’t you think? And then they’ll run ballistics tests and that sort of thing. And if there’s a match to the bullet they’ll probably dig out of Nick’s head, then Sal will be arrested.”
Edwina yawned.
I nodded. “Right, that’s not our problem. All we were asked to do, was prove whether Nick was cheating on Jacquie. We did that. We’re not responsible for what happens next.”
The murder investigation was out of my hands, where it should be, and so was the money laundering operation. The police were handling both, and didn’t need my help. Mendoza and Megan had their undercover gigs, and Lieutenant Copeland would figure out who had killed Nick. There was nothing more for me to do.
Except go home, pour myself a glass of wine, and try to pretend that this day had never happened.
“Come on, Edwina,” I said as I put the Lexus back in gear and continued down the narrow country road to the end of the cul-de-sac, where the map indicated that I could turn around. “Let’s go home and get a snack.”
Edwina wagged her tail in agreement, and put her snout back down on her back legs for the ride home.
Chapter Twelve
Sunday morning dawned gray and drizzly, the kind of November weather that made you want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over your head. I might have done exactly that if Edwina hadn’t decided that seven-thirty was the perfect time to start whining.
“All right, all right,” I muttered, throwing back the duvet and padding across the carpet in my bare feet. “Give me a minute.”
Edwina’s complaints intensified, accompanied by the scrabbling of paws against the hardwood.
I opened the door and she shot past me like a furry bullet, heading straight for the stairs. I followed more slowly, wrapping my robe around me as I went. The house was cold—I’d turned the heat down before bed—and I made a mental note to have someone come out and check the furnace before winter really set in.
By the time I made it downstairs, Edwina was doing her little dance by the back door, the one that meant nature was calling and it was calling urgently.
“I’m coming,” I told her, hurrying across the kitchen to let her out into the backyard.
She darted through the door the second I opened it, barely waiting for the gap to be wide enough to accommodate her compact body. I watched her race across the terrace and onto the grass, then turned away to measure grounds and fill the reservoir of the coffee maker with water.
The appliance gurgled to life, and I moved on to filling Edwina’s bowls with food and water while I waited for the Boston Terrier to finish her business and come back to the door.
I should call Rachel, I reflected, and let her know what had happened. She deserved to hear it from me rather than reading about it in the paper or seeing it on the news, and unlike Zachary, it probably wouldn’t ruin the rest of her weekend.
Edwina let out a peremptory bark, and I let her back in. She trotted past me to her food bowl, and I retreated to the kitchen island with my phone while the coffee finished brewing.
Rachel answered on the third ring, sounding slightly breathless. “Gina? Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Sorry to call so early. Were you in the middle of something?”
“Nothing I’m going to tell you about,” Rachel said.
Ugh. “No, please don’t. I don’t want to know what you and Daniel get up to in your spare time.”
“Then don’t ask,” Rachel said. It sounded like she was getting comfortable. “What’s going on?”
“It’s about the Costanza case. I need to fill you in on what happened yesterday.”
There was a pause. “That doesn’t sound good.”
