Page 72 of Murder on the Page

“You should know she’s the one on my radar.”

“What?” I squeaked. “Why? You heard Dennell on Tuesday—”

“The delivery guy for Big Mama’s Diner didn’t see or hear her at Ms. Watkins’s apartment.”

“But he brought two cups of coffee.”

“Which Ms. Watkins could have ordered.”

“Tegan doesn’t lie.”

“Maybe not. Or perhaps you don’t know her very well.”

“Only all my life!” I retorted, taking umbrage.

Zach grew quiet.

I would not—couldnot—think Tegan was guilty of murder. The sheer notion made me shudder.

“Cold? Want my jacket?” Zach asked.

“No thanks. I was remembering . . .”

How mad was he going to be if I spilled the beans about me driving through Marigold’s neighborhood? Plenty, I decided,but I laid it all out, including the bit about Graham having a smoke on his porch. “He might have seen me, and he might have thought my presence meant I knew something, and he might have come to my place to frighten me.”

“That’s a heck of a lot ofmights,Allie. Why are you taking risks? It’s my job to investigate—” He sucked in air. “Wait! Hold on. He came to your place?”

“I’m not sure. Later that night, I heard aclackandthumpoutside my house, and then my front door flew open. I figured it was the wind and shut and barricaded the door. I did a tour of the house, peeking out windows. I didn’t see anyone lurking about. However, in the morning, I saw a muddy footprint on the porch that wasn’t mine, and my first thought was that Graham must have spotted me in his neighborhood and followed me home.” I waved a hand. “I’ve tried to dismiss the footprint, telling myself that my gardener left it, but I can’t shake the feeling about Graham.”

“You think he came to silence you because you were spying on him?”

“I wasn’t spying.”

Zach worked his tongue inside his cheek. “I could have my team take a look at the print.”

“I’m afraid that’s a bust, because I obliterated it. Accidentally. Not on purpose,” I added quickly. “I didn’t notice the print until I was on a ladder fixing a shutter, and seeing the print spooked me, and I tumbled off.” My shoulder still smarted, though icing it had been the best course of action.

Zach’s nostrils flared. With anger? Frustration? Concern? He collected his barely eaten food, strode to the nearest garbage receptacle, and tossed it in.

I followed and threw away my trash. “Zach, I’ve been meaning to ask why you sent me a frowning-face emoji when I texted you asking whether the poison that killed Marigold was found in the water bottle taken from the crime scene.”

“Look, Allie”—he whirled around—“I don’t want you butting in where you shouldn’t. I need you to stand down. You and, most particularly, Tegan.” His tone was crisp. Official. “Understood?”

I nodded, but I didn’t agree to his terms.

“By the way, you were right,” he said.

“About the water being laced with poison?”

“The mac-and-cheese pie wasn’t very good.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m heading home. Want me to walk you to your place?”

“No, I’m fine on my own. I’d like to catch more of the music.”

I watched him walk away, hands shoved into his pockets, and a sinking feeling formed in the pit of my stomach. Would he and I ever date again? If this really had been a date. Was I now persona non grata?

From behind, a woman hollered, “Allie!”

Expecting to see Lillian and Yvonne, I swung around. Vanna, in a faux-fur–collared navy plaid coat, slacks, silk blouse, and high-heeled ankle boots, was storming toward me. Her blue tam looked jaunty over her tresses of long blond hair, but her expression was filled with venom.

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