Page 15 of Accidental Murder
If Kayla was going to pretend to beher sister, she would need Ashley’s phone, ID, and house key. “Inspector, my purse is in the kitchen. I left it when I went searching for my sister.”
“Why did you stop by?”
“She went on a date. A blind date. I wanted details. Could I go in and get it?”
“We’ll get it for you. Mrs. Tennyson and a few other neighbors claim Kayla worked on secret projects. Is that true?”
Every muscle in Kayla’s body tensed. The sole project she’d considered secret was the one for Guys Like Us, except Jacob had applied for a patent, so how hush-hush could it be?Jacob.She recalled the weird way he and Baker had stared at her earlier.
“My sister wasn’t a spy, if that’s what you’re implying,” Kayla said. “She worked as a computer consultant.”
“What does your tote bag look like?”
“It’s big and black. In the kitchen. It’s sitting next to—” Next to the Christmas lily. Kayla shuddered. “It’s on the counter.”
The inspector headed toward the steps.
Kayla yelled after her, “Would you get my sister’s datebook, too?”
“Datebook?”
“She was old school. Appointments needed to be in writing. It’s about this big”—she squared her hands—“and should be on the desk in the office. I’ll have to call all her clients. Also bring me her laptop computer. It’s damaged, but I can . . . ” She halted, having almost saidfix it.“I can get it repaired.”
“My associate will fetch your purse but not the computer. We’ll be taking that into evidence for now.”
Kayla watched as Hanrahan approached a young African American policeman. Cool air billowed from their mouths as they conferred. Given an order, the policeman entered the townhouse, and the inspector returned.
“Once our techs are through with the place, you can have access,” Hanrahan said. “Do you want a ride somewhere?”
Kayla balked. Had Mrs. Tennyson seen her pull up in her Jeep? Was Hanrahan testing her? She spotted Ashley’s blue Acura halfway up the block and said, “No, I have my own.”
The young policeman hustled out with Ashley’s tote bag. “Here you go.”
“What about the datebook?”
The officer shook his head. “Sorry. I couldn’t locate one. It didn’t go up in smoke, either. The desk was intact. By the way, Inspector, we didn’t find a cell phone for the deceased, and her ID seems to be missing.”
Kayla tensed. Would Hanrahan think to check Kayla’s evening bag?
“The robber must have taken them,” Hanrahan said, and dismissed the officer. She faced Kayla. “Ashley, I’ll need a statement before you go.”
“Of course.”
“Tell me, did the Hermes scarf belong to your sister?”
Kayla jolted. She had been so fixated on helping Ashley breathe that she hadn’t taken in the make of scarf. Ashley had asked Peter for a Hermes scarf at dinner last night. Did he kill her? No, not a chance. He’d flown to France.
She flashed on the painting impaled on the lamp. Easily explained. Whoever had killed Ashley was an admirer. Furious because she wouldn’t give him the time of day, he’d followed her to Kayla’s place, killed her, and destroyed the art her lover had painted. But that didn’t explain the Hermes scarf. Could an admirer have known that Ashley requested one from Peter? Maybe, if he’d been stalking her. Or the scarf was simply an old one of Ashley’s, one she’d tucked into her tote bag and thrown on when she’d changed into Kayla’s clothes.
Realizing her logic was faulty—Ashley wasn’t the killer’s target;shewas—Kayla dug her hands into her coat pockets and twisted the lining.
He wanted you. Said your name.
Hanrahan said, “How about the scarf? Did Kayla own one?”
“She wasn’t into fashion, but it could have been one of mine that I’d left there.”
The answer seemed to satisfy the inspector. “If you’ll come to my vehicle where it’s warm—it’s the aging Camry”—she pointed—“I’ll take your statement.”
