ELEVEN

 

       Angie’s front door opened. Gloria and Bud entered, laughing. “I can’t believe you said that to him,” Gloria said.

“I just made sure he was listening to you.”

They laughed again.

Angie rose from the chair and went to greet them. She took two plastic bags from her mother and set them on the hall table. She hung Bud’s coat in the closet. He held the door open with a spindly leg clad in sharply creased Levis, while he hung Gloria’s coat. He wore a blue flannel shirt, open at the neck, a fluff of white hairs protruded from the vee.

Had the dark circles under his eyes deepened since yesterday? Did he look a little frailer? She took his arm. “Come sit down. Mom, will you make us some tea?”

While Gloria busied herself with the request, Angie spoke softly in Bud’s ear. “I think you should be in the hospital. I can take you there and introduce you to—”

“No!” His sharp bark brought Gloria whirling around. “No more hospitals.”

“I already tried to get him to go,” Gloria said.

“I don’t want to die connected to tubes and wires.”

Angie couldn’t blame him. “What about the pain? They can make you feel better.”

“I have everything I need. Thank you for your concern.”

“Where were you two last night? You weren’t here when Jarvis and I got back.”

“We went to a movie and dancing,” Gloria called from the kitchen. “This morning he dropped me in Meredith so I could shop.”

With a smile, he gestured at the pile of bags bearing names of different stores. “I hate shopping,” he whispered. “This way, I don’t have to pretend I’m having a good time, and she doesn’t have to rush.”

Gloria laughed. It was nice hearing her happy.

“Always worked with my wife.”

The whistling kettle had her mother scurrying back to the kitchen. Angie and Bud followed. Gloria poured water into three cups. She plopped teabags after it and moved them to the table. They sipped tea while Bud and Gloria regaled her with their exploits of the previous evening. Bud’s pale blue eyes shone whenever he looked at Gloria.

At one point he asked on the progress of the case.

“It’s not moving. All we have a lots of suppositions.”

“I don’t understand why you all can’t leave it be, and let the authorities handle it,” Gloria said.

“I can’t expect you to understand, Mom. It’s personal.”

“I know you’re worried about Jarvis, but really, aren’t the cops trained for things like this? Besides, they carry guns; they can handle the bad guys.”

“One bad guy is dead. The others have left town,” Angie said.

“You can’t know they’re gone. They could be living in the next apartment. Smiling to you every morning, but watching …waiting for a chance to—”

“Gloria,” Bud said sharply.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” Gloria concentrated on squeezing water from another teabag.

“She’s got a point, though,” Bud said, “People are rarely what they seem on the surface.”

He was right. Angie changed the subject anyway. “What are you two up to today?”

Bud swallowed and set the cup down. “There’s a concert in Boston. We thought we’d stay the night and go to the aquarium before returning here tomorrow. Unless there’s something you need us for.”

“You two go along and enjoy yourselves.” One less thing for her to worry about. She wanted to ask Bud if he felt well enough to go, but didn’t.

“Why don’t you go get packed? I’ll clean up the tea things,” he told Gloria.

She kissed him on the cheek and left the room. He watched her and, as soon as her bedroom door clicked closed, said, “Will you please go into the hallway and bring the large envelope from the breast pocket of my coat?”

She did. He sat on a stool, opened the envelope and slipped out a stack of color printouts that Angie recognized as automobile models.

“I got these off the Internet,” he said. “I thought it would be quicker than going around to each dealer.”

“What a guy.”

He’d printed copies of hatchbacks, of every make and model over the past five years. Each displayed from several angles. He’d even used a special program and made every car a bright blue color. She kissed him on the cheek. “These are wonderful, Bud. Thank you. You’ve saved me and Jarvis a lot of time and energy.”

“Are you going to see if John’s neighbor can identify them?”

“Yes.”

“Wish I could be here to help.”

“You’ve done plenty.”

“Bah, this is nothing.”

“You’ve saved me hours of legwork because I never would’ve thought to use the Internet.”

“What else are you doing today?”

“I’ll check on Trynne, to see how she’s holding up.”

Just then, Gloria came from the bedroom toting an overnight bag and makeup case.

“That was fast,” Bud said. “My wife always took forever to get ready to go anywhere.”

“We have a tendency to do that.” Angie patted his arm. “We like everything to be nice for our men.”

Bud took Gloria’s bags to the hall. She and Angie followed.

After they left, Angie retrieved her keys, digital camera, and Bud’s printouts and went in search of blue compact cars. First thing on the agenda: see if she could determine the exact make of Donna’s car. But the vehicle was pulled so far into the driveway she couldn’t tell.

Will, on his way into the adjoining shop, spotted Angie and waved. She pulled up to the curb and got out. The scent of spring wafted in the air. Colorful narcissus, tulip, daffodil and crocus decorated Donna’s window. A trailing vine of green wove around the pots and up the frame.

The window of Will’s real estate office rarely looked any different. Pictures of available properties dotted the glass at eye level, replaced as properties sold or became available, but never changing the basic motif. She hoisted the purse strap higher on her shoulder and ducked under his arm holding the door open for her.

“It’s nice to see you,” Will said, setting some paperwork on his desk.

His slacks and shirt were neatly pressed, his tie straight. In all the years of their marriage, he hadn’t been able to get it right without help. She wondered who had helped him.

Will grasped her elbow and pointed her toward a chair. “Sit?”

She remained standing. “Could I ask you a couple of questions?”

“This about the case you’re on?”

“I’m not on a case. I’m just—”

“Just helping Jarvis out of a jam.”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug and started for the door.

“Don’t leave. I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “Look Will, I don’t want to get into a discussion about getting back together. It’s not going to happen.”

He grinned. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Can it, will you? You’re sorry you cheated on me. I’m sorry you cheated, too. Look, I just wondered if you knew what kind of car Donna drives.”

“Something blue, and small.”

“Make? Model?”

He dragged two chairs together and sat in one. Angie took the other, noticing he’d put them so close their knees would touch. She backed her chair a foot and sat.

“I don’t have any idea. Sorry. Why do you need to know?”

“A car matching that description was spotted a number of times at John Bloom’s house. Do you know if Donna’s seeing anyone?”

Now Will shook his head. “I haven’t seen a man around there. Not since Paul.”

“Darned if I can remember his last name.”

“Zimmerman.”

“Of course. Do you happen to have his number?”

“What’s he got to do with this? They think he got jealous and killed the guy?”

“Of course not. Did you know Donna breeds irises? Well, John Bloom was also an iris breeder. I thought I’d see if Paul could provide anything.”

“I see. You think that’s what might have gotten them together?”

“It seems worth looking into.”

Will spun his chair around and scrounged in the drawer. He came up with a square of Post-It notes, wrote, tore one off and handed it across. It was a phone number. “I don’t know his address in Portland.”

“Thanks.” She slid the paper into the inside pocket of her handbag. “Bloom owned a navy blue older model Jeep Cherokee. Have you seen it next door?”

Will gave her question serious thought. “I don’t spend a lot of time looking at cars parked out front.” He shook his head, slowly at first, then more rapidly as he made up his mind. “Can’t say I ever did.”

She stood up. “Thanks.”

Outside, Donna pushed a broom on the sidewalk. Angie switched on the camera.

“What are you doing?”

Angie spoke as she tiptoed to the window. “I want to show it to John Bloom’s neighbors.” She focused and clicked. The flash went off. Donna glanced up. Angie hid the camera behind her back and waved. The way Donna held the broom made her look like that old farmer on Corn Flakes boxes. She stopped looking like him when her expression of mild surprise changed to a glare.

Angie stepped away from the window the same time Donna flounced back indoors, dragging the broom through the pile she’d just swept.

“She’s not happy with you.”

“I can’t help it. She’s been acting weird. Two days ago, she practically dragged me into her greenhouse to show me her irises. When I asked to go again yesterday, she became very curt, and just about threw me out.”

“How did the picture come out?”

Angie checked the clarity. Donna’s arms were a blur of motion and a cloud of dust swirled around her feet, but her face was clear and aimed straight at the camera. “It’ll do.” She clicked the camera off. “Thanks for your help.”

He held the door and followed her outside. “Be careful with this investigating, okay?”

“I am.”

“It was nice seeing you.”

“By the way, you should get more sleep, you look like hell.”

“It’s this headache. I’ve had it for two days.”

Angie set down the camera on the front seat, opened her purse and handed Will a bottle of acetaminophen. He tapped out two then recapped the container. When he tried to pass it back to her, she told him to keep it. “Wash them down with something, they’ll work faster.”

“I will.”

“And go lie down. Let the pills work.”

“Yes, Mom,” he said wryly, and strode back into the building.

Angie got into her car and sped away. In the rear view mirror, she thought she saw Donna on the doorstep of the flower shop. Her hand hovered in the air. Had she been brushing hair out of her eyes or waving for Angie to come back? Or flipping her the bird?

She drove to Frank Chute’s but the car wasn’t in the driveway and nobody answered the door.

As Angie entered the theater, she thought about the manuscript Ring of Muddy Water. Perhaps, with Gloria out of town, tonight would be a good time to settle down and give it another read. Tyson called the cavernous room spooky, but she loved the boom of her voice through the auditorium. She loved thumbing through playbills, roaming the costume room, sifting costume jewelry through her fingers. Today though, something didn’t feel right. As though she wasn’t alone.

Cell phone at the ready, she tiptoed through the auditorium, turning on lights and systematically checking every corner and cubbyhole. Near as she could tell, the place was empty. The only two rooms she hadn’t checked were she and Tyson’s offices. Tyson had the only key for his, and it was locked up tight. She eased the key into her door, trying not to make a sound. In one rapid motion, she flung it open and flicked on the light switch.

And laughed. Of course nobody was there. How could they have gotten in? Angie closed the door, leaned on the thin panel, and laughed again. The last time she’d leaned against this door, Jarvis had been leaning just as hard.

She shook off the image and pushed away from the door. The manuscript lay in the middle of her battered wood desk. She took five steps and picked it up. A white sheet of paper slipped from inside the cover page and fluttered to the beat-up hardwood floor. She smiled. Tyson had left a note. Probably something about the playwright.

Angie stooped to retrieve the page. Not from Tyson. She didn’t recognize the handwriting. It said: Leave the case alone or you’ll be sorry. Dead sorry.

Knees trembling, Angie hurried from the theater, manuscript and note tucked under one arm. She headed next for Trynne McCoy’s. No car in the driveway. Angie remembered Trynne’s car was at the shop, so, taking her purse and the envelope from Mary Grayson—and ignoring the ominous note lying so innocently on the passenger seat—she went up the brick walk and poked the doorbell.

The door opened almost immediately. Trynne smiled. “I’m glad you came, I’m going stir crazy. I keep expecting the cops to come back.”

Angie stepped inside. “I thought you might be working.”

“I can’t work. Every time I look in the microscope, John’s face materializes on the slide.”

Angie followed Trynne through an arched doorway and into the living room that, through a wall of windows to the left, overlooked Lake Winnipesaukee. To the right, an enormous flagstone fireplace. The floor, tan Berber carpet. The stucco walls, white. The only notable furnishings were a sideboard at one end of the long room and a stereo system at the other. All the regular furniture would remain at the theater until the end of the month. Trynne sat on a folding chair in front of the fireplace. She patted a second chair to her right.

As Angie sat she recalled Blake’s reaction to her rather pointed questions, and warned herself to choose words carefully. “I can’t stop thinking about John either. The whole thing…” Angie clasped her hands and twisted the ring on her right hand, a silver filigree band with an oval turquoise stone. Will had given it to her on her thirtieth birthday. It seemed like so long ago. Then she smiled. It was a long time ago, almost twenty years.

They chatted about nothing for a while, each seemingly eager to leave behind the events of the past few hours. Finally Angie brought up the reason for her visit. “You never told me how you met Blake.”

Trynne smiled. “Sounds a little cornball now, but we were in the same biology class at the Vo-tech. I felt sleepy, and tried to stay awake by gazing at things around the room. Blake sat across the room. I even remember what he had on: tan chinos and a brown and red plaid shirt. Our eyes met just that one time. I felt him looking at me the rest of the class. You ever get the feeling somebody’s watching you and every hair on your body stands on end? It’s creepy. This is going to sound really silly, so you have to promise not to laugh.”

“I promise,” Angie said, knowing that if it really was silly, she couldn’t hold it in. Trynne had known her long enough to know the same thing.

“I kept envisioning he and I on horses, riding up a mountain trail. The image was so vivid, I still recall the autumn leaves—even though it really was spring—they were brilliant reds and oranges. The air smelled like apple cider and bonfires. The horses were both white. Big stallions.” She stopped talking a moment as though to gauge Angie’s attitude. Angie smiled, not in condescension but nostalgia. She had similar memories. “Next,” Trynne continued, “we were lying in a field of daisies, the horses untethered, grazing nearby. Now here comes the silly part: I saw us walking out of our yard pushing a baby carriage to the park. When I close my eyes, I can still see that picture.”

Didn’t all young women picture themselves in similar scenes? Didn’t it mean the nurturing hormone was growing and forming? “You should keep thinking about that scene. Maybe it’ll push away the other one.”

Trynne nodded. “When class ended, I gathered my things and left. Passing the row where he sat, I saw he’d already gone. I can’t describe the emotion I had right then. It felt like someone told me all the people I cared about had died in some horrible catastrophe. He wasn’t in the hallway either. Though our eyes only met that one time, I felt like we’d formed an unbreakable bond. I pulled myself together and went to my car. And there he was, standing beside it.”

“Why hadn’t he approached you prior to that day?”

“You wouldn’t believe it, but he was painfully shy. He’s changed since then.” She smiled.

“So, what happened at your car?”

“He didn’t have a car then. We took mine and went to the pharmacy, one with a soda fountain—whatever happened to them anyway? We had cherry Cokes.”

“Where was John at that time?”

“In some agricultural class, I think. You have to understand, John and I were like an old married couple by that time. Yes, we were young, but remember, being brought up together we knew each other inside and out.”

“Literally?”

Trynne laughed. “God yes. We’d been sleeping together since we were thirteen.”

“So, you started seeing Blake.”

“We managed to keep it quiet for a few months. When it came out, you can imagine the uproar. Since Blake was so much older—twelve years—my father knew he had a wife and seventeen kids stashed somewhere. He hired a man to investigate Blake. I can imagine his, um…disappointment when he found Blake was squeaky clean. I’m going to make some tea.” Angie followed her to the kitchen, gleaming with copper-bottom pots and Danish design cabinets. Trynne filled the teapot and set it on the stove. “I didn’t find out till just the other day that my parents talked John into being patient and giving Blake and my relationship some time to fizzle on its own. When it didn’t happen, they threw out monkey wrenches one after another, doing things to keep us apart.” Trynne leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.

Angie slid onto a stool.

“Did I ever tell you, my father tried to pay Blake off?” Trynne turned to the cabinet getting out ingredients for tea. “That’s when I talked Blake into running away.”

“It was your idea?”

“Yes. You probably thought Blake wanted my money.” She set a pair of mugs on the granite counter and faced Angie. “Don’t say you haven’t, it’s only natural. I even wondered for a long time.” She shrugged. “After all these years…”

“Before everything blew up in your faces, did you ever talk to your father about bringing Blake into the family business? He was in the same field, after all.”

“Several times, but my father swore Blake was up to no good. I tried my mother, but she wouldn’t stand up against father’s stubbornness.”

Trynne poured boiling water over the teabags. The steam rose then dissipated, sending the rich aroma of Earl Gray into the air. For a second, the steam hid her face. She set the mugs on the center island counter. She was smiling. “So that’s the saga of Trynne and Blake.”

“And John.”

“And John.”

“Did you ever speak to your parents again?”

“Yes. Blake talked me into calling. The first time, John answered and hung up on me. The second time, my mother answered. We had a long tearful conversation where she begged me to leave Blake and come home. I gave her our phone number in case my father changed his mind. No one called.”

“Did Blake ever work with genetics?”

Trynne paused from the up and down dipping of her teabag. “No. Though he’s mad about plants and growing things, he hates the idea of messing with their basic makeup. That was one conflict between us all these years. He couldn’t ask me to give it up, though; my work supported us.

“I suppose, a really good wife would’ve offered to move to another part of the country where jobs were more plentiful and higher paying.” She gave a wistful sigh and settled onto the stool across from Angie.

“So, you would’ve quit working for Monsanto if Blake had a higher paying job?”

“It wouldn’t have been easy, but yes, I guess I would have.”

Angie wondered how strenuously Blake had objected to Trynne’s work. Trynne seemed to read her mind, because she said, “Things between us haven’t been bad. It’s just…there’s always this tension between us. You know what I mean?”

Angie did know. She’d felt it often with Will. The times she overspent her budget. Most especially the time she bought the Lexus. She sipped her tea then put up a finger for Trynne to wait. She went to the living room and retrieved the iris society newsletter from the envelope and opened it to the Sondergaard photo. She pushed it across to Trynne. “Do you know this man?”

Angie watched her friend’s face giving the picture serious consideration. There was no recognition, no twitches that might indicate subterfuge.

“Who is he?”

“A geneticist. His name is Pedar Sondergaard.”

Sondergaard: one of the premier geneticists in the world. Trynne: tops in the US. She should know him. Angie trained her senses on the woman sitting so innocently across the table. “He’s from Amsterdam.” Still no reaction. “He and John were seen at the diner a few days before his death.”

Trynne leaned forward, her elbow banging the cup. Some tea sloshed onto the counter. Absently, Trynne slipped a napkin from the holder and dropped it on the liquid. Her eyes were on Angie. “Do you think he’s the one who—”

Angie nodded. “Far as I know he’s the only suspect.”

“You said his name is…what?”

“Sondergaard. Pedar Sondergaard.”

“The name sounds familiar. If he works with genetics, I should know him.” She scrunched her eyes shut, rubbing both temples with her index fingers. “In my files, I have almost as much industry information as John. Except mine’s in much neater condition. I’ll see what I can dig up on this guy.” She thumped the newsletter with her palm.

The doorbell rang making them both jump. Trynne stood up, her height especially obvious with the copper-bottom pots dangling from the wrought iron rack just a hair’s width overhead. “Excuse me.”

Angie peeked out the kitchen window and was surprised to see Jarvis’ Jeep parked behind her car. Trynne led him and Sergeant Wilson into the kitchen. Jarvis sat on the stool Angie had vacated. He motioned for Trynne to sit too. Wilson leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed, his demeanor all business. Angie’s heart began to pound. Thump thump, so loud she barely heard Trynne ask, “Is this an official visit?”

“Sort of,” Jarvis said.

A lightheaded sensation swept over her and she dropped back, letting the sink cabinet support her weight. “Do you want me to leave?” Angie asked, a small part of her wishing he’d say yes.

“You can’t, we’re parked behind you.”

“Would you care for a cup of tea? I think the water’s still hot,” Trynne’s voice had lost that self-confident air.

Both Jarvis and Wilson shook their heads. Slowly, Trynne slid her rear end onto the stool, her eyes darting back and forth from Jarvis to Wilson’s faces. Angie attempted to remain nonchalant, but with her throbbing heart and dizzy head, it became increasingly more difficult as the moments passed.

“I need to ask you about your work in genetics,” Wilson began.

“It’s a very complicated field,” Trynne replied.

“So I’m learning. Tell me what you do exactly.”

“In a nutshell, I examine ovine color genes. My job is to isolate specific colors which Monsanto can aggrandize, thereby creating alternative colors which occur naturally in the sheep.”

“Where do you get these genes?”

“From a number of sheep farmers in the state. Monsanto pays them to work with us.” She waited a second, her eyes still jumping from one cop to the other. “I’ve confused you,” she finally said. Angie didn’t miss the humor in her voice.

“Maybe you can demonstrate in your laboratory,” Jarvis suggested.

Angie had only a side view of her friend’s face, but the flicker of annoyance was unmistakable. Trynne didn’t like anyone—even Blake—invading her private space.

Even so, wordless, she stood and opened a door just off the kitchen. She led everyone down the steps. To the left was a large den. Though the only windows were tiny rectangles near the ceiling, Trynne had achieved an open and airy feeling with low, Asian style furniture, colorful carpets and wall hangings. At the far end was a pool table, the cue sticks crossed in an X on the green felt cover.

Trynne opened a door at the foot of the stairs and flipped on a light. A long narrow room came into brilliant focus. The laboratory looked exactly like ones on television: all white and bright. Walls of cabinets. A very long, shiny black countertop, broken only by a huge stainless steel refrigerator that took up a whole corner. The counters were decorated with test tubes and Bunsen burners. In the center of the room was a rectangular island counter atop cabinets.

Jarvis crossed his arms and strode around island, his eyes working like video cameras. Wilson stayed in the doorway, content obviously, to let his ex-boss head the discussion.

“As you can see, it’s nothing unusual,” Trynne said, her hand remaining on the doorknob.

“Who pays for this?” Wilson asked.

“Monsanto. Of course, I have some things of my own. This microscope, for example.” She gestured with her free hand, to an enormous piece of equipment on the right-hand counter.

“Looks expensive.”

“It cost as much as this house.”

Angie wondered if Blake knew.

What brought Jarvis here?

He walked slowly around the counter and stopped in the far corner. He picked up a black object about the size of a pound of hamburger. An electrical cord protruded from one end. It was plugged into a wall socket.

“Just some laboratory equipment,” Trynne said, finally letting go of the doorknob. She crossed to him and put out her hand.

Jarvis held it just out of reach. “It looks like some high-tech video camera.”

“Of course it’s not a camera. What would a camera be doing in a lab?” Trynne reached again. “It’s a complex piece of equipment. Be careful with it.”

But Jarvis wouldn’t relinquish the thing so easily. He set it on the counter with a gesture that said don’t touch. Wilson moved finally, ambling across the shiny tiled floor to stand beside Jarvis. For several moments, it was quiet while Wilson examined the find.

Trynne’s demeanor changed then. Her eye darkened to navy-blue slits. Her cheeks grew circles of red. Sharp claws snatched at his sleeves. In one motion, he pinned Trynne’s arms to her sides and walked her backwards to the counter. And let go. “Stay.”

He began opening cabinets. Trynne obeyed the growled command, her eyes avoiding Angie and shooting barbs at the men. “You asked to see my place, not inspect it.”

Jarvis became a cop version of the Energizer Bunny. He opened cabinets, pushed aside jars and bottles, peered into the dark recesses. Trynne took a half step from the wall, her eyes flashing like lightning. Jarvis spun around and halted her with a look.

Angie stepped between them. This search violated Trynne’s rights. Jarvis and Wilson had to know that. They were leaving themselves open for two monster lawsuits: one from Trynne and a bigger one from Monsanto.

Angie whispered in Jarvis’s ear, “You’ve got to have a warrant—”

But his arms and head were already buried in a corner cabinet. His shouted, “Aha” stopped Angie mid-sentence.

He moved aside three Hamburger Helper sized boxes and a large jar of some neon yellow liquid. Angie nearly wept because his hands were clutched around something that looked exactly like a television. He eased it forward to the shelf edge and twisted a knob on the front. The image on the screen was fuzzy, but not too blurred for her to recognize a laboratory similar to the one where they now stood. Except this lab on the screen looked like a tornado had struck. Angie’s heart stopped beating.

Jarvis unhooked his radio from his belt and flicked a thumb on a red button. “You there?”

Angie swallowed something desiccated and sour. On the screen, two State Policemen moved into sight. One gave a big smile and a thumbs-up.

Angie spared a glance at Trynne who’d slumped against the wall looking like a wilted flower.

Jarvis clipped the radio back on his belt. Wilson strode to Trynne, took hold of her arms and pulled them, none too gently, behind her back. “Trynne McCoy, I’m arresting you for unauthorized entry of John Bloom’s property, and criminal trespass. I soon hope to have evidence to arrest you for the theft by unauthorized taking. Might even be able to add stalking to the list. And…” he drew out the word, “maybe even murder.” He recited her rights.

Throughout, Trynne stared at him. Her eyes were glazed, but no tears leaked loose. “You can’t do this. My lawyers will eat you for breakfast.”

Wilson let go of her, whipped a folded piece of paper from his inside breast pocket and wiggled it in front of her eyes. “Search warrant.” He nudged her up the stairs, keeping hold of the short length of chain between the handcuffs.

Angie followed, stopping to throw Trynne’s coat over her shoulders. By the time Angie retrieved Trynne’s handbag and locked the front door, Trynne sat in the rear passenger seat of his car.

“It’s not what you think,” Trynne said, meeting Angie’s gaze for the first time.

Jarvis stretched the seatbelt across her chest then stepped between them, edging Angie away from the vehicle. “What is it exactly?”

“I just… I wanted to watch his process. I thought I could apply it to what I’ve learned in ovine genetics. You know, to help my work.”

The men waited. When Trynne didn’t say anything else, he moved to shut the door.

“Please, you can’t do this. I didn’t kill John. I didn’t steal his work.”

“Did John follow you to New Hampshire?” Jarvis asked.

Trynne’s eyes darted toward the street, as if she expected Blake to show up at any second. “I-I thought so, for a while.”

Angie wanted to warn Trynne not to say anything without her lawyer, but if her friend was innocent, there should be no reason not to talk.

“Did John try to renew your physical relationship?”

“H-he tried to talk me into leaving Blake. We had no…no physical relationship.”

“Did you think about leaving Blake?” Angie couldn’t help asking.

“No. Well, not seriously. I wondered—a person can’t help wonder—what it would be like not to—” Trynne sagged back against the seat.

“You obviously knew of John’s obsession with the red.”

She gave a weary nod. “My parents got him into it. I so wanted to be a success for Monsanto. I knew after twenty-five years, John had to be close to discovering the red. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about it. I had to know. One night while Blake slept, I sneaked over there and set up the cameras. In case you haven’t found them, there is also one in the main greenhouse and one in his office. I-I also linked our computers.”

Jarvis nodded.

Now Trynne talked over his shoulder, at Angie. “That’s it, I swear. I didn’t want to rekindle our relationship. I’ve been happy with Blake, really. I just wanted the genetic information. I was ecstatic for John when he produced the red—”

“Wait a minute!” Angie exclaimed. “Did you keep the tapes?”

“Yes. In the safe, in the lab.”

“Why didn’t you give them to the cops? The crook must be on there.”

“Oh god, I never thought of that. I was so worried you’d find the cameras and—”

Jarvis straightened up but didn’t speak; neither did he move to shut the door.

“I couldn’t let anyone know what I’d been doing. Angie, you have to believe me. Jarvis. Sergeant Wilson, please. Look, I’ll tell you the combination, go in and get the tapes.”

Wilson shut the door and somberly moved Angie away from the vehicle. She couldn’t take her eyes from Trynne, who’d been transformed into a small child, pleading her case to be allowed a new toy.

The groping fingers of surrounding trees reached out, clutched at her, just the way Trynne had grabbed Jarvis’s sleeve. A desperate act of a desperate woman. A desperate thief?

No. Angie wanted to scream the word to the heavens. Trynne was not a thief. She couldn’t be! She felt herself being shaken, and blinked several time to right herself.

Jarvis had hold of her shoulder, prepared to shake her again. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m fine,” Angie said as they rounded the front of his vehicle. “Aren’t you going to get the tapes?”

“We don’t have a warrant.”