When I pulled into Dean’s driveway, Anderson was already there, leaning against his car’s back end. It struck me as something my dad would do—be there early and choose your position for maximum possible effect. To thank him for his help, I could arrange a meeting for him with my dad when my parents came up for the wedding.
Anderson wore khaki pants and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. I smoothed a hand over my royal blue blouse and blazer. My clothes might be why I’d gotten such strange reactions. It seemed lawyers dressed a little more casually here.
I slid out of my car and tried not to catch my heels in the cracks in Dean’s driveway. It would have been just my luck to stumble at the worst possible moment and head butt Anderson in the stomach as I went down.
He was one of those people whose age was hard to guess. He might have been thirty-five, but he could have been as old as forty-five. I suspected when he reached his fifties, he’d still look the same.
He smiled at me with teeth so white they looked like he should be modeling for a whitening strip commercial. His sun-bronzed skin said he spent his off hours outdoors. It was such a contrast to Mark’s I-burn-from-watching-the-sun-on-TV skin that I couldn’t help but make the comparison. But Anderson’s nose was a bit too big, and noses grew until you died, so Mark still came out ahead in my estimation. Besides, I’d think Mark was the handsomest man on the planet even if he had buck teeth, a big nose, and ears that stuck out.
“Nice to finally meet in person,” Anderson said.
He held out a hand. His handshake felt too warm for comfort. So did the look he gave me. I didn’t linger in either.
Hopefully, after spending a few hours with me, whatever infatuation he felt would wear off. If it didn’t, I’d have to find a way to flash my ring at him or bring Mark up in conversation that wouldn’t be blatantly obvious as a shut-down. I still wanted to work with him in a professional capacity, after all, without any weirdness.
Anderson tilted his head in the direction of the house next door. “I’m guessing we’re planning on talking to the neighbor on this side. The other one’s been out working in his front yard, and he looks too old to be Sandra’s choice. At least, if Dean is representative of the type of men she went for.”
I snorted softly and turned it into a sneeze. My dad would be fainting back in DC if he thought his daughter snorted in front of a colleague.
“You guessed right,” I said when my fake sneezing fit subsided.
Anderson’s look was a touch too amused for me to think my cover held.
I headed for the neighbor’s house. “Do we know if he’s home?”
“His car’s there, and someone’s moving around inside,” Anderson said from behind me.
I tottered along in my heels to the front door. Either the heels or asking Anderson along had been a bad idea. Maybe both. Thinking about him analyzing me was making me nervous enough to wipe out and face-plant even if I was wearing flats.
Not in an I’m-attracted-to-you nervous way. It was more that I hadn’t had another attorney judging my work for a long time. All my old insecurities pounded on the inside of my chest like they wanted to make a hole for my heart to jump out of.
Anderson motioned for me to do the honors of ringing the doorbell.
The ding-ding echoed through the house, but no one came.
Before I could ring again, two cars pulled into Dean’s driveway. The woman who stepped out of the first one carried a black folder. A couple in their early thirties climbed from the other car. It had to be the real estate agent showing Dean’s house. Driving up, I’d noticed the new For Sale sign on his lawn, and there’d been one of those universal padlocks on his door that real estate agents used to show people around the house when the owner wasn’t home.
A hand brushed my shoulder and I jumped.
“I hear the sound of a lawnmower out back,” Anderson said.
We squeezed our way between the neighbor’s house and the one beside it and stopped at a gate.
I wasn’t tall enough to see over the fence, but Anderson was. He waved a hand at whoever was inside. The lawnmower’s drone stopped.
If Dean was Sandra’s type, then she hadn’t been having an affair with the man who opened the gate, either. Dean had gym-rat muscles, while this man was ropey like a runner. His hair was red, and freckles peppered his cheeks. But he was a similar age.
And he looked like I would have expected the man matching Hal’s report to look. According to the email I’d gotten just before leaving home, Ken had no criminal record. He didn’t even have a speeding ticket. Heck, he didn’t even have a parking ticket. His credit score would have gotten him a loan from any financial institution in the country.
Aside from what Ms. Nosy Neighbor told me, I was going in blind.
“Are you Ken Vasel?” I asked.
He pulled out his t-shirt sleeve and used it to mop the sweat off his forehead. He nodded, and his gaze bounced between us.
I needed to set him at ease—fast—or we weren’t going to get anything useful from him.
“We’re sorry to bother you. We’re attorneys working on the murder case of Sandra Scott, and we need to confirm some of the details you gave in your statement to the police.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed rapidly. “Did I say something wrong?”
“There is no right or wrong,” Anderson said. “We just want to make sure we understand the facts.”
He was good. He’d made sure Ken wouldn’t be afraid of his answers getting him in trouble.
Ken stepped out of the way and motioned us toward a picnic table resting on a patio of concrete pavers. His appearance wasn’t the only thing opposite of Dean. His yard and house were as well. Neither were big, but he clearly invested time in caring for them. If I had to guess, I’d say the differences in his personality compared to Dean probably outweighed the differences in his appearance. I know that, if I had to choose, I’d take a kind, responsible man over a handsome one any day. Thankfully, I hadn’t had to make that choice the way it seemed Sandra had.
Voices floated over the fence as the real estate agent showed the couple the back yard first. The man complained about how run-down everything was for the price, and the woman responded with how they’d have a lot of work to get rid of the monkshood because it wasn’t safe for the dogs or the kids if they ate it. Presumably the monkshood was the flower I hadn’t recognized, but it was good to know they weren’t safe for pets so that I didn’t plant them at home.
The couple moved on to talking about how much of the sagging fence needed to be replaced. With the state of the house, I’d have to check that Dean hadn’t listed it too high. I had no problem with listing higher than you expected to get to leave room for negotiation, but Dean hadn’t shown a lot of common sense. He might have put the house unreasonably high so he’d have some money left over after my fees and helping out Elise with Arielle and Cameron.
Ken sat at the picnic table. I took a seat on the bench next to him at a friendly distance. Anderson slid in on the other side. It was textbook perfect framing.
It gave me a strange sense of déjà vu, as if I was working with a younger, less arrogant version of my dad.
I rested one arm casually on the top of the picnic table and gave Ken an I’m-no-threat smile. Mark would have called it quasi-flirting. It was the smile I knew would soften Ken up enough that he might share with me things he wouldn’t share with someone else.
“Before we start, I wanted to say how sorry I am for your loss.”
Ken jerked slightly and his cheeks flushed, as if his heart rate spiked.
It told me all I needed to know about their relationship. They’d been more than friends. They’d also been trying to keep it a secret.
I’d taken a gamble in deciding to play it as if we knew and had evidence that he and Sandra were having an affair. Now I had to hope it worked.
“I’ve lost people I care about,” I said, adding the next layer—the one where we had something in common. “So we’ll try not to intrude on your grief for very long. In your statement to the police, you said you thought Sandra and Dean were having trouble in their marriage. Other than the obvious, did you have any reason to think that?”
He stared at me like I’d slapped him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I barely knew either of them.” He stood to his feet and angled toward the gate. “Everything I told the police is accurate, so I don’t know how much more help I can be. It’d be better if you left.”
Crap. I didn’t know which was worse, striking out so hard or doing it in front of Anderson. And basically wasting his time.
I trailed after Anderson out the gate and back around to our cars. I didn’t even want to look at him.
I pulled out my phone. I could delay facing him for a few seconds and try to pull myself out of the embarrassment gutter. Before I forgot, I needed to set Dean to work on fixing his place up some. “I just need to send a quick text.”
Get rid of the flowers in the backyard asap, I wrote to Dean. And fix the fence. Buyers are worried about both.
I put my phone away and turned my keys around in my hand. I should offer Anderson an out. He might not want to waste his Saturday on someone who called him out here to botch an interview—especially when interviewing was supposed to be my strength. Had I pushed too hard?
I wasn’t even sure if I should own up to my goof or pretend like it was nothing. My pride couldn’t decide which was worse. With the former choice, it meant acknowledging my failing, and with the latter, I looked completely incompetent because I’d screwed up and didn’t even know it.
I’d rather at least have him know I realized the damage I’d done. “I’m sorry for dragging you out here for nothing.”
Anderson had his keys out as well. “It wasn’t for nothing. That was gutsy. It’s the kind of move your dad would have made. I don’t know that I would have thought of it.” His smile contained too much admiration. “Where should we go for lunch?”
My skin felt squirmy, like it wasn’t comfortable on my body. His words came much too close to flattery. I couldn’t risk a continued misunderstanding if there was one. This was even worse than the failed interview.
I licked my lips. “This is a business lunch, right?”
He ran a hand around the collar of his shirt and stretched his neck out. “I might have thought it could be dual purpose until I saw the ring.”
I ran my thumb over the underside of the band. If I’d had more experience dating, I might have known exactly what to say. As it was, my mind had turned into a giant black hole.
He still had a hand behind his neck. “That’s not your fault. I’ve modeled my whole career off your dad, and part of what makes his business so successful is your mom. When you called the other day, I thought it might be fate.”
I let myself snort this time. “You might not have been so keen if you knew me. Interviews are usually my strength. I’m a mess in the courtroom.”
He made a you’re-only-trying-to-make-me-feel-better face.
“That’s not my only failing either.” I held my hand up beside my mouth like I was about to share a secret. “I won’t defend someone unless I think they’re innocent.”
Anderson laughed. He lowered his arm to his side. “That’s something I wouldn’t have expected from Edward Dawes’ daughter. How are you going to work with your parents if you won’t defend someone who’s guilty?”
For the first time since the initial call I’d made to him, it felt like he was talking to me, Nicole, rather than to Edward Dawes’ daughter. “If you’re still interested in grabbing lunch, I’ll tell you all about it.”