“Well, you’re okay now,” Will said softly, running a hand over Jane’s glorious blond hair. Then he noticed Sunny and quickly brought his hand down. “Sunny! How are you doing?”
“I’m not sure,” she said aloud. “The cops came, and Martin’s receptionist just about accused us of killing him. I got stuck with a nasty little cop named Fitch, and Jane talked with an older guy named Trumbull.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Jane insisted. “He just took me through what happened, did up a statement, and that was that.”
“Trumbull is the best cop in the detective division.” Will’s face went from sappy to serious. “That’s what everybody said when I was on the force here.”
“Well, that was a couple of years ago,” Jane replied. “He barely paid attention to me. I think maybe he just wants to play out the string till he retires.”
As Jane said that, Sunny spotted Trumbull beyond the station’s glass door. Sunny didn’t think he was close enough to hear Jane’s dismissive comment, but he was close enough that Sunny could see the detective clearly. His hound dog face looked saggier and sadder than ever.
But his eyes were clear, cold, and coplike as he watched Jane in Will’s arms.
5
“We’d better get going.” Will finally tore himself loose from Jane. “The snow is really coming down, and it’s starting to stick on the roads.”
He led them off the porch and into the open air, where fat, feathery flakes drifted down. They’d already spread a white carpet a couple of inches thick on the concrete of the parking lot and the grassy verges. There was even an inch of accumulation on the windshield of Will’s pickup, even though he’d parked just a few minutes before.
They crowded into the cab, Jane cutting Sunny off so that she sat next to Will.
“I figured you’d want to be close to the door, since you’ll be getting out first.” Jane’s voice sounded reasonable enough as she talked over the rumble of the starting engine—or it would have, except for the smug undertone that Sunny picked up.
Will nervously filled the chilly silence with cop stories about Mark Trumbull. “About five years ago, a house burned down, killing the man and woman who lived there. The fire department considered it an accident. There were no accelerants; it appeared to be an electrical fire. But Trumbull suspected arson—and proved it. Turns out the guy’s ex-wife had a sideline making rustic lamps—wood base, very nice. She gave one to her husband, wired for low wattage, knowing the guy liked bright lights. Of course, he put in a heavier bulb, and sooner or later the damned thing went up in flames.”
In spite of herself, Sunny spoke. “How could Trumbull know that was intentional? More importantly, how could he prove it?”
Will shrugged from behind the wheel. “He kept at it. Figured out the starting point for the fire and traced the lamps. Apparently, it was the only low-wattage one the woman had ever made. She could probably have still claimed it was accidental, but when she saw the case he’d assembled, she confessed. Wound up getting life.”
Jane stirred from where she sat cuddled up against Will.
“Look, the guy could have been a regular Inspector Javert five years ago,” Jane said. “But when he was with me, he just looked like a sad old man barely asking any questions at all.”
“All I’m saying is, don’t be so quick to dismiss him,” Will warned. “Trumbull is very, very good. And if he has any reason to suspect you, look forward to being investigated within an inch of your life.”
After that, the only conversation was directions from Jane. She was efficient, if short. They soon arrived back at Martin’s office, where Sunny had left her Jeep.
“Should we stay?” Will began, but Sunny shook her head.
“Get Jane home,” she told him. “Whether she wants to admit it or not, she’s had a shock.”
Jane opened her mouth to protest and then stopped. “You’re probably right.” She sighed. “I came here tonight thinking I was prepared for anything Martin could throw at me. Finding him that way was the last thing I’d ever have expected.”
Will started up the pickup again, and they drove off. Sunny pulled up the hood of her parka. She still had to clear snow off the Wrangler before she could head home. Digging out the long-handled brush from under the front seat, she set to work on the windshield.
