“Guess I didn’t,” Grace replied, matching the woman’s casual tone.
The visitor moved aside as Grace walked back into the showroom. “I’m Denise Baxter, by the way.”
Baxter. That made her the wife of Fred Baxter, the man charged with Steven’s murder.
“I figured I’d come and tell you the dirt about me before you heard it from the townspeople. That way you’ll know the real scoop.”
Grace wiped her hands on a paper towel. “You don’t need to tell me anything, Mrs. Baxter—”
“Please, call me Denise. Everybody does.”
“All right, Denise. As I was saying, you don’t owe me any explanation. And if it makes you feel better, I was never big on gossip, idle or otherwise.”
The young woman studied her for a moment more, then bobbed her head. “Yup, you’re exactly like Steven described you—straight to the point.” Her gaze shifted to a spot on the floor, halfway between the desk and the front door. “It feels strange being here. It’s my first time since…” She stopped, as though she couldn’t say the words.
Grace followed her gaze. “Is that where they found Steven’s body?”
Denise nodded. “Nobody was allowed near the place while the yellow tape was on. All I saw, a couple of days later, was the chalk outline. Then the investigation was over and Mrs. Hatfield had the entire gallery scrubbed clean.” She returned her gaze to Grace. “She hated me on sight.”
Grace smiled. “Don’t take it personally. Sarah is very hard to please. Trust me on that.”
“Steven blamed her for the breakup between the two of you.”
How like Steven to put the blame on someone else. “Did he really?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. He told me how he messed up, but he felt that if it hadn’t been for his mother being so hard on you, you would have forgiven him and stuck around.”
“In that case, he was deluding himself. I broke up with Steven because he cheated on me. Pure and simple. Call me old-fashioned, but trust and loyalty rank high on my list of priorities, especially between a man and a woman about to be married. As for Sarah, she had nothing to do with my decision. I had come to terms with her attitude toward me by simply ignoring it.”
Denise looked at her with undisguised admiration. “You have more guts than I have. One look at the woman and my knees turned to jelly.” She paused before adding, “I can see why Steven was so fond of you. You don’t take any crap from anyone.”
Grace smiled. “Is that what he told you?”
“No, that’s what I’ve been hearing all morning. The way you fought back that robber last night is the talk of the town. Where did you learn to kick like that?”
“In kickboxing class. When you live in the city and work until late at night, self-defense becomes a necessity.”
“Do you have to defend yourself often?”
“Actually, this was my first time. Hopefully my last.”
“Are you all right? Lorraine at the café says that you spent the night in the hospital.”
News traveled fast in a small town. “I’m fine. Just some bumps and bruises.”
Denise sat on the stool in front of the desk, making herself at home. “You seem like a good person.”
“You can tell that after only a few minutes?”
“I’m a good judge of character. How about you? Are you a good judge of character?”
“I like to think so.”
“Let’s put you to the test. What do you think of me?”
Grace laughed. The woman was relentless, and yet, there was something about her that was endearing. “I think you’re very pretty.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“All right.” Grace sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk and put her arms on the armrests. “I think you’re honest—a little insecure, perhaps, but that doesn’t seem to interfere with your candor. And in spite of what you say, I think you’re very gutsy. The fact that you’re here proves it.”
“Hmm.”
“Am I right?”
“Pretty much. You and I could be friends, you know. God knows I could use a friend. As you’ll soon find out, I’m not the most popular person in town these days.”
“Because of your affair with Steven?”
“That, but mostly because of Fred’s arrest. The people in New Hope worship him. He was so much more than their police chief. He was their friend, their champion, their advisor. They could talk to him about anything. Fred was always there, ready to help. I can’t even tell you how many marriages he saved, just by making each couple talk to each other. The residents revered him almost as much as they do Father Donnelly, who’s pretty much of a saint in these parts. And now, Fred’s in jail and it’s all my fault.”
“Guilt is a heavy burden to carry, Denise. And it doesn’t change anything. All it does is make you feel bad.”
“I wouldn’t feel half as bad if Fred was guilty, but he isn’t. He didn’t kill Steven!”
There was a conviction in her voice as she spoke those words that made Grace pay instant attention. “I don’t understand. From what I heard—”
“I know what you heard. None of it is true. My husband did not kill Steven Hatfield.”
“Wasn’t his gun found outside the gallery? With his fingerprints on it?”
“Pft.” Denise gave a disdainful toss of her blond curls. “Do you think for one second that anyone with an ounce of intelligence would drop the murder weapon as he fled? Which is what Chief Nader says happened.”
“It does sound a little…”
“Sloppy. And Fred is anything but sloppy. That’s what I told Josh. The man worked with Fred since the day he got out of the army. He knows him better than anyone.”
“But you said there was an investigation.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you can call that an investigation. The little Josh did, he did for show.”
“What do you think happened?”
Looking restless, Denise stood up and started walking around the gallery, stopping to look at a painting every now and then. “It all started at Pat’s Pub, where Fred likes to stop for a beer every evening, you know, just to shoot the bull with his friends. That evening, he walked in on a conversation that sent him into orbit. Cal and Lou Badger, two hopeless morons, were talking about me and Steven, apparently in vivid details.
“Fred would have killed them with his bare hands if Eddie—that’s the pub’s owner—hadn’t stopped him. Then he stormed out, and because he was in such a rage, everyone assumed he was on his way here, to the gallery.”
“He wasn’t?”
“Fred isn’t the type to make a scene in a place of business. He’s much too decent to do that. He went home to wait for me.”
“So you can vouch for him? You can give him an alibi?”
“No.” Denise’s shoulders slumped. “I was working on a new line. I make jewelry,” she explained. “And I didn’t leave my shop until about seven. When I got home, the police were there, handcuffing Fred.”
“If your husband