“A gift? How lovely. Who gave it to you? Glen has amazing taste.”
Winnie looked down at the pendant, a misty expression on her face.
“It wasn’t Glen.” She touched her ear with her right hand. “Usually, I wear it with the matching earrings. It’s a set, but I’ve misplaced one somewhere. I’m sure I’ll find it. I’m a bithaphazard about organizing things. It’s probably rolled under the bed or into a drawer. I’m sure I’ll find it.”
Trying to hide a shaky breath, Cat could feel the blood drain from her face, but she kept a smile pasted on, hoping she didn’t look like she’d just found out something she probably shouldn’t know.
Winnie had to be WinHeights.
Tyler and Winnie? Winnie had a husband. They’d been married, supposedly happily, for years.
“It’s a beautiful piece,” Cat heard herself say, swallowing hard. “Really stunning. I’ve always been partial to opals.”
“It’s my birthstone.”
Even if Winnie was WinHeights, it didn’t mean she’d shot at Tyler. Yes, she’d threatened him, but as Finn had pointed out, that didn’t mean she’d done anything about it. People made threats every day, and few actually followed through. Winnie didn’t look like a killer.
Still, it was awkward knowing Winnie had been cheating on Glen.
She needed to send a message to Tate and Finn that she’d found the person who was probably WinHeights. After all, how many women in Winslow Heights could Tyler have been sleeping with at the same time?
Maybe I shouldn’t ask that question. I might not like the answer.
Cat pulled out her phone and, as inconspicuously as she could, sent a quick text to Tate.
“Well, the person obviously has immaculate taste,” Cat responded, taking a couple of pictures of the backyard before tucking it back into her pocket. Let Winnie think that it was all about the house. “What a wonderful birthday gift…from a friend.”
“It wasn’t a birthday gift. It was a just-because gift. How about we go see the kitchen?” Winnie said, sliding open the glass door. “If you don’t already love to cook, you’ll want to in this kitchen. It’s perfectly designed. Check out the backsplash. The tile is handmade.”
The kitchen was gorgeous, done in splashes of green and blue with white cabinets and a marble island large enough to prep food, but not too large to get in the way of the flow between the sink, refrigerator, and stove.
Gleaming copper pots hung over the island, while a few small appliances dotted the long countertops. Clearly, the kitchen was well-loved. She wasn’t much of a gourmet, but she could pull together a decent meal when the occasion called for it.
It was all lovely, but the fact was, she wasn’t going to buy this house. If anything, it made her more sure about moving in with Tate. He had a house that already felt like home. Yes, this place was great, but it wasn’thome.
Because Tate wasn’t here.
She couldn’t picture herself cooking in this kitchen, or lounging around the living room watching television, or reading a book. Someone was going to love living here, but it wouldn’t be her.
Cat needed to wrap up this home showing, get back in her car, and call the sheriff’s office.
The identity of WinHeights just might be the break in the case Finn was looking for.
“I was hoping to get a cup of coffee,” Finn said. It was too early for the tavern to be open yet, but Tate had unlocked the frontdoor for deliveries. “I usually get it at the bookstore, but their coffeemaker is on the fritz.”
“No problem. I brewed a fresh pot not long ago. For here or to go?” Tate asked, heading behind the bar.
“To go, I’m heading out for some business.”
“How do you take it?”
“Just plain black.”
The sheriff shifted on his feet, clearly impatient to be on his way. Tate filled the paper cup and slapped a top on it.
“I hope they get the coffee machine fixed soon. That and their snacks from Piper are a huge part of their business.”
“They had some angry, caffeine-deprived customers from what I could see. Lucy and Jane were giving out free cookies to try and keep them calm.”
