Page 15 of Over the Edge

“Yes.”

“In the meantime, call if you want to talk.”

“Will do. Thanks for checking in.”

Once they said goodbye, Lindsey plunged back into the task at hand, doing her best to ignore the throb in her finger. Thank goodness she was right-handed—and at least the cut hadn’t bled through the bandage. She ought to be able to finish up here within the hour.

And barring any other glitches, she’d be in that hot bath surrounded by scented candles and soft music fifteen minutes after she walked through the door.

HEIDI ROBERTSONwas a mess.

Jack paused on the threshold of the gargantuan living room and surveyed the woman with the bowed head and slumped shoulders who was sitting beside the chaplain.

Talking to grieving next of kin, forcing people in pain totry to carry on a rational conversation, was the worst part of the job.

But it had to be done.

While it was possible the victim had surprised a robber and ended up dead, it was also possible this had been a deliberate crime with a specific target.

And if anyone would know about a man’s enemies, it ought to be his wife.

The chaplain glanced his direction, touched the back of the new widow’s hand, and spoke softly.

She met his gaze as he walked toward the duo, and he gave her a rapid but thorough perusal.

Chic outfit with designer written all over it. Highlighted hair cut into one of those complicated layered styles. Flawless manicure. Slender figure.

If not for the red-rimmed eyes and streaked mascara, she would have been photo-shoot ready.

He stopped three feet away, introduced himself, and took a seat across from her.

“I’ll be nearby.” The chaplain rose and exited.

“I’m sorry to have to disturb you further today, but I do have a few questions.” Jack pulled out his notebook.

“I understand.” She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with the tissue wadded in her fingers.

“Did the chaplain give you any details about what happened?”

Her irises began to shimmer. “Only the most important one. That James is g-gone. That someone k-killed him.” A tear spilled over her lower lashes, and she wiped it away. “Do you have any idea who did it?”

“We’re hoping you can help us answer that question. Let’s start with what happened today from your perspective. What time did you leave the house, and where did you go?”

“I left about eleven for a salon appointment, then met afriend for lunch in Kirkwood. After we finished, I stopped at a small boutique. I was there awhile, trying on several dresses. When I found one I liked, I bought it and came home.”

“Do you usually leave your garage door open when you go out?”

“No, but sometimes I forget to close it. Why?”

“Lindsey Barnes said it was open when she arrived.”

She rubbed at her temple, as if a headache was forming. “I saw her as I drove in. She wasn’t supposed to be here today—but I did see two missed calls from her after I finished at the salon.”

“She said she came by to get a knife roll she forgot.”

“That’s possible, I suppose. She was here yesterday. Did she see the person who did this?”

“Briefly. But their clothing masked their features and gender. Is your husband often home in the middle of the day, Ms. Robertson?”

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