“Oh. Well, have you found the killer who is now stalking me?”
Laurel set down the glass. “No. Tell me how you’ve been stalked, besides the flowers on your front lawn.”
Abigail sighed. “I can’t explain it, really. Which as you know, is something of a new experience for me. I can explain almost anything.” She took a generous drink of the wine. “The flowers were an obvious sign. But the others, I don’t know. It’s as if I feel somebody watching me sometimes, and other times, things are off. Like the snow is brushed off my car before I get to it at school, or the bulletin board outside my office is slightly rearranged.”
“Any threats?”
“No. Also, no phone calls or hang-ups, which would be common, I think.” Abigail looked across her living room to the cold fireplace. “I don’t think anybody can break into my house, and I haven’t noticed anything here. But my office at work . . . I’m not sure. One day I felt as if things had been rearranged. Or not.” She shrugged. “Again, I can’t be certain.”
Laurel couldn’t help but take another drink of the wine. “Think hard. Did you have any relationship with either Dr. Charlene Rox or Dr. Sharon Lamber?”
Abigail stretched her shoulders back. “We’re all doctors.” She swirled her wine in the glass. “I’ve never met Charlene Rox, but I have met Sharon Lamber. She cochairs the Tempest Youth Ranch charity auction every year with the mayor’s wife, and I’ve coordinated donations from Northern Washington Technical Institute. So, I’ve met her in passing but know Teri Bearing much better.”
Laurel frowned. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “One of the faculty requirements at Tech is to work on two committees a year, and I’ve found the charitable committee takes up less of my time than the others. Universities are much more used to money flowing their way than the opposite, so it’s an easy gig. I assist with the charity auction and the holiday charity drive every year, and that’s it.”
Laurel sipped thoughtfully. “Have you met the mayor or his kids?”
Abigail shrugged. “Maybe during the setup for the auction last year. Also, Steven Bearing drew up the contracts for the Deep Green Grower’s Company for me and my partners. Well, now I just have one partner because, well, you know.”
“Yes. I know.” One of Abigail’s partners in the lucrative marijuana growing business was now dead; he’d been her half brother, and she’d shot him.
Abigail leaned toward her. “Why do you want to know? Please tell me the mayor is your serial killer. How delicious that would be. Politics and violence—they do go hand in hand.”
“Doubtful.” But she would need to check the mayor’s alibi once she received his sister-in-law’s phone records. Was it possible they had been having an affair? Even so, why would he also kill Dr. Rox? “You do need some protection, Abigail. More than the drive-bys by local patrol cars. You should let me put you in a safe house.”
Abigail shook her head. “I’m armed, and I can take care of myself. Unless you want to move in with me?”
“No.”
“Fine.” Abigail finished her wine. “I was wondering, since you’ve clearly stated you have no interest in Captain Rivers, would you mind if I asked him out?”
“Again?” The woman really was a narcissist. But what else was she?
Abigail smiled, her gaze intense. “Yes. Again. I do like his shoulders.”
“Go ahead, but I believe he might be seeing somebody.” Laurel kept her voice level with effort. She’d apparently grown attached to Huck and hadn’t liked seeing him with his ex the other night. She especially didn’t like that they’d been discussing her case and that facts had ended up in the news.
“Oh, my.” Abigail’s eyes gleamed. “Is that jealousy I see in your perfect eyes?”
They had the same eyes. “I don’t think so.” Laurel frowned. “I want him to be happy, and he says he wants to be alone, so I guess I should be concerned for him?”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want to be with you,” Abigail drawled. “That’s the logical conclusion, no?”
Apparently so.
Chapter Fourteen
Huck strode toward Laurel’s office, a coffee carrier in his hand and file folders tucked beneath his arm. He paused at the darkened computer room. “Happy Monday morning. I didn’t know what you liked, so I got you the special. Honey-oat latte.” He handed the cup to Nester as Aeneas padded past him to dive into the conference room.
The kid grinned and took the coffee while some sort of program ran on the monitor behind him. “Thanks, man. I like any latte so long as it isn’t peppermint.” He shuddered. “Worst ever. Who drinks that?”
Pretty much everybody. “How was the concert?”
Nester took a drink. “Excellent.”
“Good.” Huck moved on down the hall to the conference room, where Laurel was once again perched on the glass table staring at pictures on the wall. She’d added the mayor, both his kids, and the neighbor kid as suspects. There was another man, this one with bushy red hair and green eyes, also posted. “Morris Lamber?” The picture had been printed out from what looked like the college directory.
