Page 87 of Accidental Murder
“Or Kayla could be our killer.” Rodrigo’s mouth turned up slyly on the right. He was baiting her.
“Give it up, okay, man?” Megan shot a finger at the team. “Get going, people, but before you leave, does anyone have any antacid?”
Everyone in the room pulled out a tablet of some kind.
Megan accepted a few and reentered the squad room. She paused by Rodrigo’s desk and groaned.
“Problem?” he asked, trailing her.
“Yeah.” She gestured to Peter Vaughn, who was standing at the water cooler chugging water from a paper cup. “Kayla’s boyfriend didn’t split like I told him to.”
“Uh, correction.” Rodrigo wagged a finger. “He’s not her boyfriend. He’s the sister’s fiancé.”
“Ex-fiancé, and I’m telling you he’s got feelings for Kayla.”
“That’s messed up.” Rodrigo withdrew a bag of vegetables from a lunch bag and held them out to her. “Want some celery?”
Megan grimaced. Later on, if she was hungry, she would eat a chocolate bar from her private stash, but not until she was rid of Vaughn. He turned in her direction as if sensing her thoughts. Not wanting him to know she’d been sizing him up, she toyed with the San Francisco snow-globe on Rodrigo’s desk.
“If he’s into her,” Rodrigo said, “maybe he’s misdirecting us on purpose. What if he and Kayla killed Ashley to make way for their hot-cha-cha relationship?”
Megan detested so-called triangle plots. If a person wanted to leave someone, and children and vast inheritances weren’t involved, then leave. She cut a look at Vaughn. Was he above suspicion? Had Kayla killed her sister in order to have Peter Vaughn to herself? Why off the others? No. Megan didn’t buy Kayla as the killer.
“Hanrahan.” An officer hailed her from across the room. “Line one.”
She picked up the phone receiver. “Hanrahan.”
“Inspector Sergeant,” a man said. “I’m with Mill Valley County Fire Department. There’s a fire blazing at David Macintyre’s home in Marin. I was told you would want to know.”
“Are you frigging kidding me? He’s dead?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Who told you to contact me?”
“An anonymous source.”
Megan jotted down the address he provided and slammed the receiver into its cradle. “Rodrigo!” She felt a tap on her shoulder and whirled around.
“What happened?” Vaughn was pale. “Is Kayla okay?”
“There was a fire at her uncle’s cabin.” She rushed to her desk for her purse and badge.
Vaughn chased after her and grabbed her forearm. “I’m going with you.”
“Unhand me.”
“But—”
“Leave.”
“Inspector, another call!” The same officer from across the room waved and held up a forefinger. “Line one.”
Megan lifted the phone. “Hanrahan.”
“Is Peter Vaughn with you?” the chief of police asked. The first time Megan had met the woman, she’d been struck by the contrast between the chief’s petite, graceful form and her barmaid-style delivery.
“Yes, ma’am, he’s here.”
