Haylee stilled. “Those are the two dead women.”
Laurel swiveled to face her. “How do you know that?”
“I subscribe toThe Killing Hour, as part of the streaming news,” the young woman said, her eyes wide. “They had a big story on earlier this morning. It sounds like we have a serial killer here again. I remember seeing you on the news after the Snowblood Peak murders. Are you investigating another serial murderer?”
“Two murders don’t make a serial,” Laurel said. Apparently Huck’s ex had run with her story after their dinner the night before. What had he told her? How could he trust her after she’d betrayed him? “Did you know the victims?” How close had Tommy been to either woman?
“I was working in my office but did hear part of the podcast.” Jason shook his head. “I never met the mayor’s sister, but we remodeled Dr. Rox’s office last year after Harvey died. She hired him but allowed us to complete the job. She’s the shrink, right?”
“That’s correct,” Laurel said. “Did Tommy work on that job?”
Jason sighed. “Both Tommy and Davie assisted with the demolition of the former office, as did I. We work with several contractors, and they often need help, and we’ve needed money for the business. But you’re barking up the wrong tree with Tommy. He’s a good kid.”
“He really is,” Haylee said. “Very helpful and always polite. Whatever you’ve heard about him, if it’s bad, isn’t true.”
Laurel’s mind started drawing connections. “What about Dr. Abigail Caine? Have you done any work for her?” She’d need to speak with her half sister later.
“Never heard of her,” Haylee said. “Is she another victim? Are there actually three instead of two?”
“No. I was just curious,” Laurel said, brushing snow off her jeans.
The door opened and the snow-covered boys stomped inside. “Got the measurements outside,” Tommy said, a notebook in his hand. “We’ll do the inside now, if that’s okay.” His cheek was red as if he’d been hit with a snowball.
Davie wiped snow off his face, and more chunks fell off his jacket. “Then we’ll take you two on. No mercy, man.”
Tommy snorted and moved toward the far corner. “Definitely no mercy.”
* * *
Late that afternoon, Laurel pulled to a stop in Abigail’s driveway; she’d learned the subdivision’s gate code the previous month so hadn’t needed to call ahead. The wind had finally abated, leaving the sky a cyan blue and the sun a mellow yellow that sparkled off the mounds of snow. The driveway and walkway had been shoveled, so she easily approached the front door and rang the bell. It echoed hollowly through the angles and open spaces of the expansive home.
The door opened. “Laurel.” Abigail stood in a yoga outfit with a zippered jacket. “What are you doing here?” Her reddish-brown hair was piled on her head.
“I had a couple of questions for you.” Laurel had wanted to catch her sister by surprise. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“You could care less about interrupting,” Abigail said without heat. “Come in.” She opened the door and allowed Laurel inside.
Laurel looked out the wide wall of windows showcasing Snowblood Peak in the background and then removed her jacket and boots. “Did you shovel your walk?”
“No. The homeowners association takes care of it.” Abigail hung up Laurel’s wool coat. “Why did you ask?”
“Just wondering.” She’d contact the association later.
Abigail rolled her eyes and walked across the hard white tiles to the sparkling clean kitchen. “We use Philips Snow Removal, and a very nice man named Brutus does my driveway and walk once a day. He’s around sixty and brings me homemade wine, whether I want him to or not. Philips Snow Removal is owned by Brutus and his three brothers, Joe, Jake, and John. Apparently, Brutus was a surprise years later, and his enterprising mama decided to throw caution to the wind and not use aJfor his name.” She reached into a cupboard and brought out a bottle of red wine. “Does that tell you everything you need to know about my walkway?”
Actually, it did. “Have you or your neighbors ever used either Greenfield Architecture and Landscaping or Harvey Brewerston to plow your roads or shovel your drive?”
“Not in the years that I’ve lived here,” Abigail said, opening the bottle.
So much for that idea. “I don’t need wine.”
“Nobodyneedswine.” Abigail drew out two large wine glasses and poured generously. “Wine is a desire. This is a Leonetti Cabernet, and it costs more than you make in a week. Please at least enjoy it.”
The cabernet was fragrant and enticing. Laurel sighed and drew out a silver stool at the tall granite bar counter that fronted the kitchen. “I’m here on a case, Abigail.” Even so, she accepted the glass and sniffed in appreciation. One thing she’d learned about Abigail was that the woman did appreciate good wine. Really good wine. She took a sip and the potent brew detonated on her tongue. Her gaze caught on a high-end silver kettle next to an apothecary jar containing her mother’s tea.
Abigail followed her gaze. “I subscribe to the monthly club. The destination city theme this year is a smart marketing idea. Yours?”
“No.” Laurel took another drink.
