Page 65 of Captivating Anika

Livingston reaches back in the box and pulls out a second plastic bag holding Kim’s phone. I recognize the purple cover.

Whatever faint hope I held on to, perhaps she’d purposely left her car there, evaporates. I don’t see why Kim would toss her own purse and phone in the lake.

Then it occurs to me Evans said they recovered them from the lake, which implies they were looking for something, and I’m guessing it wasn’t necessarily the purse. Suddenly my throat feels thick and tears burn my eyes, but I fight them back.

“Was anything else found?” I manage in a strangled voice.

“Actually, there is one more thing we’d like you to have a look at.”

Livingston produces a third plastic bag, this one with a black glove inside.

“Does this look familiar?”

He shoves the bag across the table and I pull it closer.

“We use gloves like this in the salon for coloring. There’s a box or two in the supply room. It looks the same.”

Livingston nods, then he pulls another glove in a baggie out of the second box.

“What about this one?”

I’m a little confused, because the two look identical.

“They look the same to me,” I tell him.

“Right, me too,” he agrees. Then he lifts the first one. “But here’s what’s curious. This one was found on the floorboard of Kim Cooper’s car.”

He lifts the second glove.

“Guess where this one was found?”

An uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me a little nauseous.

“I have no idea.”

“The lab recovered this one under the pile of roadkill in your Mazda.”

He’s looking at me like that should mean something to me, but it doesn’t.

“Don’t you find it odd we find one in your car and another in the car of a missing woman?”

“No,” I snap, getting to my feet. “Not when we both work in the same salon. If you were to look at everyone else’s car, or purse, or coat pocket, or even trash can at home, you might find some too.”

I jerk my purse over my shoulder.

“If a customer wants to pay, or the phone rings, or I need to look something up on the computer, and I have gloves on, I take them off, stuff them in my pocket or drop them on my desk. Half the time I forget about them and find them later, at home when I’m doing laundry, or in the car when I’m digging for my lip balm. To suggest anything more sinister is offensive.”

With that, I swing around only to find Bill Evans blocking the doorway.

“The man is just doing his job.”

“Accusing me of having anything to do with Kim’s disappearance is his job?”

“I’m not accusing you, Anika,” Livingston says behind me, and I swing around.

“Then what the hell was that just now? And for you, my name is Ms. Jones,” I add, madder than a wet hornet.

My mood doesn’t improve when he bursts out laughing.

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