He showed her the receipt.
She stared at it for a moment, unimpressed. “So?”
“So you purchased shears from the hardware store two days before your husband’s murder. And you didn’t think it was necessary to say anything?”
“Honestly, I had forgotten all about it.”
Jack looked at her like she was crazy. “You forgot?”
“I used those to trim the stems of my roses,” she said, pointing to several red long-stem roses wilting in a vase. Her eyes filled, and she got choked up. “Brock bought those for me a few days before he was killed.”
JD and I shared a suspicious look.
“Where are the shears now?” he asked.
“In the drawer,” she said, pointing.
Tiffany grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter and blotted her eyes.
Jack pulled open the drawer.
42
Sure enough, the snips were in the drawer.
Jack pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from his pocket and snapped them on. He picked up the shears and examined them.
They were a different brand from the murder weapon, but a similar design.
“That’s clearly not the murder weapon,” Tiffany said. “You have the murder weapon in the property department. What’s the big deal?”
Jack put them back in the drawer. “I have a suspicious nature. You’ll have to forgive me.”
“I’ll forgive you after you fix the cracks in my drywall.” She shifted onto one hip. “What’s it going to take for you guys to move on to another suspect? You know I’ve got no financial incentive. I’ve passed your poly. You’ve got a person of interest who’s way more plausible than me. What more do you need?”
“I understand your frustration,” I said. “We just have to leave no stone unturned.”
“I guess everyone is guilty until proven innocent in your eyes.”
“Tell you what? I’ll take you permanently off my suspect list,” JD said.
She gave him a doubtful look. “Promise?”
Jack raised his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Her sultry eyes narrowed at him. “You’re no Boy Scout.”
Jack grinned.
“Matters not. If you want to think I’m guilty, go ahead. Just don’t get so preoccupied with me you let the real killer slip away.”
Tiffany strutted out of the bathroom, somewhat annoyed.
JD and I shared a look.
My phone buzzed with a call from Flynn. I answered, “What’s up?”
“Houston, we have a problem.”
