Olivia had said no. Her stance was firm and there were definitely businesspeople who disagreed with her. But would any of them resort to murder?
Jack didn’t think so.
The more he looked at Olivia Stuart’s life, the more he thought the answers had nothing to do with her position as mayor. Olivia Stuart was a cautious woman. Eve reported that the house was kept locked at all times, even when Olivia was home. The mayor had attended a number of self-defense classes and insisted the security guard at City Hall walk all female employees to their cars after dark.
Yet there was no sign of forced entrance into her home nor any indication of a struggle. The back door had been unlocked when Josie Reynolds had arrived.
A lone woman didn’t just open her door for anyone on a stormy afternoon. And the use of poison…
Jack kept coming back to the same inevitable conclusion: Olivia Stuart had been killed by someone she knew. Someone she trusted.
And it bothered Jack that he couldn’t learn more about Olivia’s private life. Eve was as vague as Hal. She’d been away from home for five years. She spoke to Olivia by phone, of course, but she couldn’t remember Olivia ever talking about anyone new or special. Olivia hadn’t seemed to have any problems with her friends or associates. As for romantic interests, Eve agreed with her brother—Olivia didn’t date.
Their father had died in an accident when Eve was only a toddler and Hal ten. They’d had an older brother, Roy, but he’d run away and never been heard from again. As Eve told Jack proudly, Olivia had decided it was time to get control of her life and take a stand. She’d thrown herself into supporting Hal and Eve, going back to school, becoming a lawyer and eventually running for mayor. She’d become a single mother and a career woman at a time when those things just weren’t done, and she’d been good at it. If Olivia had made enemies, she kept them as secret as the rest of the details of her life.
The only lead Jack had left was Josie Reynolds. She’d been close to Olivia. She matched the vague description of the woman Jessie had seen in her visions. She could be called Jo.
At 9:00 p.m. Thursday, Jack told himself he was just taking a small detour when he went by Josie’s house. All the windows were dark. He didn’t bother to lie to himself when he turned around and headed for City Hall.
The light was on up in her office. He sat in his car for a minute, simply staring at the single lit window. Everyone agreed on two things about Josie Reynolds—she looked like an angel and worked like the Energizer bunny.
Conscientious public servant?
Ambitious treasurer, now angling for the empty position of mayor?
Marjorie certainly would’ve plotted on becoming mayor.
The thought came out of nowhere and unsettled Jack. He was an honest enough man that he didn’t want to think he was placing Marjorie’s crimes on Josie’s doorstep. On the other hand, maybe the instinct was sound.
Or maybe you’re not as objective as you think when it comes to Josie Reynolds.
Jack got out of his car, took a deep breath and prepared for round two.
* * *
Josie was so deeply engrossed in her work, she didn’t hear the sound of footsteps ringing in the empty hall. The knock on her door got her attention. She bolted up and smeared a line of red ink across the report she’d been editing.
“Damn.” She stared at her door mutinously. It was after nine o’clock. What did a girl have to do to get some peace and quiet around here? Then she got nervous. Exactly who would be knocking on the town treasurer’s door at this hour?
“Mr. Stevens?” she called out, referring to the aging security guard who’d started work last month. She’d never seen him stand, much less walk, but maybe his hemorrhoids had flared up or something.
“It’s Detective Stryker.”
“Oh,” she said, then with more feeling, “damn.”
She eyed the door warily—why did some part of her perk up at the sound of his voice?—then grudgingly threw open the door. She didn’t look her best and she knew it. It was after hours, she’d had a long day, and a woman could handle only so much. She’d taken off her navy blue double-breasted jacket at five, her heels quickly following. When the last person had left at eight-thirty, she’d pulled out her white blouse from her skirt, unfastened the cuffs and high collar and pulled the hairpins from her hair. Now at approximately 9:35 p.m., she was a mussed, wrinkled mess and she refused to feel bad about it.
Of course, Jack Stryker leaned against the doorjamb without a short-cropped hair out of place. His charcoal gray pants were pressed razor-sharp and did his tall, trim figure justice. He wore an appropriately conservative yet elegant dark burgundy-and-gray swirled tie.
Oh for crying out loud her mouth had gone dry. Since when did Josie Reynolds get hot and bothered by clothing?
“Can I come in?” Jack asked.
She pursed her lips. “I haven’t decided.”
“I have a badge.”
“Why do you think I can’t decide?” She crossed her arms over her silk blouse. That made the unbuttoned collar gape, revealing a weakness for expensive French lingerie no accountant should have. She dropped her hands quickly to her side, but it was too late. Jack’s gaze was definitely no longer on her face, and his cheeks appeared to have gained some color. “Don’t you have some teenage delinquents to torture?” she demanded with a scowl.
“I’m a homicide detective. I only get to deal with gang members who have close encounters with assault weapons.”
“Well, I’m a treasurer. I only get to deal with credits and debits, so go away and let me get my job done.”
“Tough day at the office?” He arched a brow.
“Yes,” she fired back. Her hands had come up on her hips. She said with genuine regret, “My plants died.”
“Your plants died?”
“The two vines over on the gray filing cabinet?” He still looked blank. She shook her head. “Why am I bothering with this conversation? You’re a man. Men never notice anything, not even homicide detectives.”
“Wait a second.” Now she’d gotten his goat. It occurred to her that she’d been trying to all along. All women needed a form of entertainment. “I remember those two plants,” Jack said with a frown, “They were already dead.”
“No. They were in critical condition. But with the right amount of water, sunlight and care, they would’ve sprung back. Of course, they’re trapped in a dimly lit office with a woman who’s trying to repair flood damage. Have you ever noticed that the more you talk about floods, the harder it is to even drink a glass of water? I find myself staring at it like it’s the enemy, just waiting for my guard to drop.”
“You have been working too hard,” Jack said seriously.
“Absolutely. So go away, I don’t need any more interruptions in my day.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You just turn around, walk down the hall and nod at Stevens as you exit the building. You strike me as a former Boy Scout—”
“Eagle Scout.”
“Eagle Scout? Of course.” Now her tone was dry. She waved her fingers at him. “So you ought to be able to find your way just about anywhere without getting lost. Toodle-oo.”
She reached for her office door, he blocked her move with his arm.