Page 32 of Accidental Murder
How she hoped he was right.
He tapped her chin fondly and, unable to maintain composure, tramped to a bench by the pond.
Kayla searched for Taylor Simmons, who had been sitting on the same bench a few minutes before, but saw no sign of him. Memorials, she knew from experience, weren’t for everyone. If she had the nerve, she would run away, too.
“Ashley? Hi. The name’s Jacob Feinstein.” He advanced, arm outstretched. He took her hand in his. For once, he had spiffed up, as opposed to dressing in his normal shabby chic, and looked handsome in a charcoal gray Armani suit, pale gray shirt, and silver tie.
Baker and Hoffman had accompanied him but were holding back. Kayla understood. They barely knew her. What could they possibly say to her sister?
“I’m sorry for your loss. I have to tell you Kayla was dynamite. The best at computers I’d ever met.” Jacob released her hand. “However, she was wrong.”
“About?”
“About you being so-so in the looks department.” He offered a crooked smile.
Kayla frowned at his bad attempt at levity and took a quick peek at her uncle, sitting on the bench.Dump Jacob and go to him, a voice screamed in her head, but right then, Dennis approached David and, after a brief exchange, sat beside him, cutting off any possibility for Kayla to console him.
Jacob touched her forearm. “Did she ever mention me?”
“Yes. You’re an entrepreneur who makes potions that will help humanity.”
“That’s right.” Jacob’s right foot started tapping with pent-up energy. “Did she reveal any of my secrets?”
Kayla cocked her head. “I’m not sure she knew any.”
“Everyone has a secret.” He chuckled, but it rang hollow. “I’ll see you around, Ashley.”
He rejoined Baker and Hoffman, and Kayla wondered whether he’d just hit on her. Or had he been trying to dig for information? The notion that he could’ve killed Ashley, believing she was Kayla, took her aback. Had he thought she’d seen critical data at Guys Like Us? Or when she’d last accessed his home computer?
The flutist stopped playing, allowing the pastor to intone, “Ladies and gentlemen, gather round.”
When the pastor concluded the ceremony and people started leaving, Kayla realized she hadn’t heard a word, too deep in thought about who had killed her sister.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kayla had agreedto have a reception at Eve’s aunt’s place following the memorial. A few attended, including clients and Ashley’s agent. The police had stayed away. So had her uncle. No one pressed her for information. They continued to express their sorrow and kept their conversations to a minimum.
Before heading to her uncle’s cabin, she went to Ashley’s place and changed clothes, after which she made a brief stop at an office supply store. With Ashley’s credit card, she purchased the latest HP Probook. Later she would begin the next phase of her investigation.
The drive through soupy fog across the Golden Gate Bridge made Kayla tense. As she ascended the hills past Mount Tamalpais and the fog lifted, her spirits didn’t rise. She turned onto the long dirt driveway leading to her uncle’s cabin and rolled the windows down, hungry for fresh air and eager for a new beginning. How she had enjoyed exploring the cabin and discovering its nooks and crannies. How she had relished crisp days traipsing through the forest collecting natural treasures. Her most prized moments with her uncle included showing off new tricks she’d mastered on her Yamaha. He had been her staunch supporter.
Now, driving along the road in an Acura pretending to be Ashley, she felt dirty and deceitful.
Soon the cabin came into view. The noxious odor of diesel wafted in her direction. She parked in the driveway, exited the Acura, and ran toward her uncle, who was riding a tow-behind rototiller, turning over dirt in his annual vegetable garden.
He caught sight of her, turned off the machine, and waved. He removed his facemask. A layer of grime coated his face. “No problem finding the place?” He dismounted the machine.
“No problem, thanks to GPS.” Bittersweet memories tugged on her emotions.
“Good. Follow me.” He led her to the porch.
On top of a round wooden table sat a bottle of cabernet, a single wineglass, and a platter of sharp cheddar cheese. He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her.
Kayla looked at it and her stomach soured. She didn’t drink wine. It made her ill. She preferred beer. But Ashley did drink wine, and if Kayla didn’t have a sip, her uncle would question why.
Or would he?
“I’m going to pass on the alcohol,” she demurred. “I want to keep a clear head.”
