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Will Patton was in the middle photo. A young woman Trina didn’t recognize stood within the circle of his arm. She bore a superficial resemblance to Amy: she was also tall, although dwarfed by his height, and her hair was the silvery shade of ash-blond that had to be natural. Amy was prettier in a conventional way; the woman with him had a distinct bump on the bridge of her nose, ears that poked out a little, and a catlike slant to her eyes that gave her the look of an elf. Maybe not beautiful, hers was still the kind of face you didn’t forget.
Trina suspected that the fine-boned, moonlight-pale girl gazing up at Will Patton rather than at the camera was Gillian Pappas, the victim of the original murder. Her gaze lingering on the couple, Trina felt an odd squeezing in her chest she wanted to believe was pity but she knew was more complex.
“Those are my kids,” Marcie said dully from behind her.
“What a cute little girl,” Trina felt obligated to say.
Marcie came to stand beside her. “Amy is in some of these.” She picked up the most recent, framed in silver. “Right there.”
No Will in this photo. Trina wondered if he’d quit coming home, quit hanging out with his old friends. No, not entirely, because he’d been at J.R.’s with a couple of them.
“You stayed close friends, then.”
Although Marcie had given no indication of recognizing Trina, she seemed to assume that everyone knew she and Marcie were best friends. “Well, naturally. We didn’t spend as much time together, of course. I mean, I’m married and have kids. But we talked a couple of times a week and had lunch every week or two. She didn’t mind if I brought Vicki. Amy wanted kids.” Hit by the knowledge that Amy would never have a baby, Marcie began to cry again. Silently, with bewilderment.
Trina opened her notebook. “Had she mentioned anyone following her, some guy making her nervous? Anything like that?”
“No, I’m sure she didn’t.”
“Was she seeing a man?”
“She went out. But not with anyone special. She got divorced just last spring, you know.”
“Are you aware of her dating in the past few weeks?”
Marcie named a couple of men. “Plus she was hoping this guy we knew in high school would call her. Will Patton.”
Trina’s fingers tightened on her pencil. “Had he called, to your knowledge?”
Marcie shook her head, eyes wet. “Amy would have been on the phone instantly if he had. She had this huge crush on him. I mean, she always did. She said she saw him last week, that he’s moved back to Elk Springs.”
“Was there anyone who might have felt jealous if he could tell how she felt about Mr. Patton?”
“Felt jealous? Oh. Like, did she blow some guy off so she could concentrate on Will?” Marcie shook her head again. “Like I said, she’d see men, but it was casual. The only one who might be jealous was her ex, but he had his chance.”
Interested in her spiteful tone, Trina asked about the victim’s relationship with her ex-husband.
“I think he wanted her back. But he still didn’t intend to really settle down. You know? He’s this big outdoors guy. He wants to ski all winter and mountain climb all summer. He works up at Juanita Butte in the winter, but he never even looked for a job in the summer. He got mad when she had to work. Plus, she didn’t like to climb.”
“Her parents described the breakup as amiable.”
“It was.” Marcie shrugged. “But he kept coming around. She slipped a couple of times and had sex with him, which was dumb.”
“Did she have other sexual relationships?”
“You mean, did she screw guys? Sure.” Marcie sounded surprised, as if a single woman being sexually active was a given.
No, there was more to her tone, Trina suspected; she was just a little envious. Married almost ten years, with three kids, she probably lived vicariously through Amy’s tales.
“Anyone in particular?”
“Um…” Marcie thought. “Adrian Benson. She told me the other day he wasn’t that good in bed, even though he’s hot.”
Benson was one of the men she’d said earlier that Marcie might have dated in the previous week or two. Trina starred his name. He wasn’t anyone she recalled from high school.
“If she met a man over drinks and liked him, would she be likely to leave with him?”
“Yeah, why not?” The moment the words were out, Marcie’s mouth formed an O. Amy Owen had very likely paid an extreme penalty for trusting a dangerous man.
Trina steered her gently back to the final day. Yes, she’d talked briefly to Amy midafternoon. “I told her I’d try to get a babysitter Saturday night so Dirk and I could go out.”
Trina already knew that Amy had worked yesterday, leaving the salon about four. “Did she mention plans for yesterday evening?”
“She said she was bored and might go get a drink. She didn’t say where or if she was going with a friend.”
Trina wrote down Amy’s favorite hangouts and then thanked Marcie. Handing her a card, she said, “Please call if you think of anything at all that you think we should know.”
The next friend of Amy’s on Trina’s list actually recognized her.
Bronwen Fessler had started a clothing boutique in town that Trina had heard was very successful. Daddy Fessler was a banker and had had plenty of money to bankroll her.
The clothes in the window were bold and bright-colored. Stuff that shouldn’t have gone together somehow did, like a hot-pink cashmere turtleneck and lime-green wool slacks. Maybe, Trina decided, studying the display carefully, the skinny loomed scarf worn as a belt accomplished the magic. Personally, she might have bought all three pieces and never in a million years considered putting them together.
Which, she guessed, was why she was a cop and not a fashion designer or owner of a boutique. And why everything she wore was boring.
She pushed open the door, making the bell that hung above it tinkle. Bronwen Fessler hadn’t changed much, just become more stylish. A petite brunette with short, artfully tousled hair, she sat on a high stool behind a glass case that held jewelry and on top of which was the cash register. She appeared to be attaching labels to chunky bracelets laid out on the glass top in front of her. Through the window Trina hadn’t noticed the two women browsing sweaters displayed in cubes on the back wall.
Bronwen glanced up with a practiced smile that she aborted. “Officer…” she began in surprise, then, “Wait. I know you, don’t I? From school. No, don’t tell me. Something like Teresa.”
“Trina. Trina Giallombardo.”
“Right.” She seemed pleased by her memory rather than by Trina’s appearance. “You’re a police officer, huh?”
“A detective.” Being able to say that still gave Trina a thrill. “I’m here to speak to you about a friend of yours.”
“A friend of mine?”
“Um, excuse me,” one of the women interrupted. “I’d like to try this on.”
“Certainly,” Bronwen told her. To Trina, she asked, “Can you wait a minute?”
“No problem.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Bronwen Fessler charmed and flattered the two customers, who looked about forty but were probably older. There was nothing like being loaded to help a woman keep her looks. These two had perfectly dyed and coiffed hair, suspiciously smooth faces, skillfully applied makeup and carefully tended figures. In the end, one bought two sweaters and the other a necklace, all for prices that made Trina gape.
Staring after them, she exclaimed, “Did she just pay almost seven hundred dollars for two sweaters?”
“And they were on sale. Sweetie, people do, you know.”
Not people in Trina’s circles.
“Wow,” she said, then flushed.
“I take it you dress from J.C. Penney?” Bronwen said with amused disdain.
“More like Eddie Bauer.”
“Jeans and flannel shirts?” Her practiced eye swept from Trina’s well-polished but sturdy black shoes to her unpierced ears. “Come in sometime when you’re off-duty and I may convert you. For old times’ sake, I’ll allow you an employee discount. The first time you come.”
Old times’ sake? Trina doubted they’d ever exchanged a word. She thought they might have been in a class or two together; she’d been advanced enough in math to often be in classes with students a year or two ahead of her.
Glancing at a mannequin dressed in a beaded bustier and a pouffy black skirt, she was tempted, though. Maybe the right clothes could accomplish magic. She could probably afford them if she wanted them….
Yeah. Sure they would. And why do you want to be transformed? she mocked herself. So that you catch Will Patton’s eyes?
Uh-huh. That was going to happen. Like he ever dated a woman who wore bigger than a size four and wasn’t blond.
“Thank you for the offer,” she said formally. “But I’m here in my official capacity today.”
“Right. I forgot. You wanted to ask me about a friend.” Her tone became flip. “Do I know someone who’s held up the bank?”
“I understand you’ve remained friends with Amy Owen.”
“Well, sure.” She laughed. “Amy’s not the bank robber type.”
“I regret to tell you that she’s dead. She was murdered last night.”
Bronwen stared at her with a complete lack of comprehension. “She can’t be dead. I saw her last night. We had a drink.” She reached for the telephone. “I’ll call her. There must be a mistake.”
Trina shook her head. “Her parents have identified her.”
“If they were upset…”
Voice gentle, she said, “I saw her body. I recognized her.”
“But…” She seemed to deflate, her vivacity gone, her face five years older. “Did somebody break in, or…”
“We don’t know yet. We haven’t found her car. That’s why we’re talking to her friends.” Trina opened her notebook, hoping if she kept Bronwen talking to avert tears. “Had you made plans in advance to get together?”
Bronwen took a deep breath and straightened. “She called at about…oh, I don’t know, six o’clock? I had some bookkeeping to do, but Amy said she was bored and pleaded with me. I met her at the Timberline. She wasn’t hungry, but I had chicken wings and we both had a drink.”
“Did she have something she urgently wanted to tell you?”
Bronwen shook her head. “We just chatted. She seemed restless. She was bummed because this guy hasn’t called her.”
“Will Patton?”
“How did you know? Oh. I get it. You’ve already talked to other people. Yeah, Will. Otherwise, I talked about what I’m buying for spring for the store and she bitched about her ex because he won’t leave her alone. She thinks…” Bronwen’s voice stumbled. “She thought her parents were sympathetic to him, which annoyed her.”
“What was he doing to annoy her?”
“Not what you’re thinking! Doug is an okay guy. He’s just been regretting the divorce. He wouldn’t get violent.” She said it as if the idea was absurd, unthinkable.
“But somebody did.”
Bronwen’s fingers twisted together. “God. How was she killed?”
“We’ll know more after the autopsy. It appears she was strangled.”
“Was she raped?”
“Yes.”
“Doug wouldn’t have raped her,” she said with certainty. “She admitted to me that she let him spend the night not that long ago. He didn’t have to rape her.”
“Rape is only peripherally about sex. It has more to do with control and power.”
She kept shaking her head. “Not Doug.”
Trina didn’t really believe that the ex-husband would prove to be a serious suspect. This murder didn’t have the hallmarks of domestic violence. But it was also possible that they were dealing with a killer who had strangled Amy in a fit of rage, then remembered the murder from six years ago and decided to imitate it to throw the police off. An impulse killer who was also able to keep his cool. Not common, but conceivable.
“Is Doug a friend of yours, too?” Trina asked.
“Mine? Heavens, no! Like I said, he’s a nice guy. But honestly, he’s not that bright. Just kind of big and dumb and fun-loving. Not my type.”
No, Doug sounded like a lousy prospect to have kept his cool and used his head.
Trina determined that Bronwen and Amy had parted in the parking lot at just after eight.
“Do you think she might have gone back in?”
“No, we were parked next to each other and she pulled out of the lot right behind me. I had to get some work done, and I assumed she was going home even though she still seemed…I don’t know.” She visibly groped for a word and settled for the same one she’d used earlier. “Restless. Maybe a little unhappy. Not in the mood to go home and watch reruns and sip cocoa.”
She suggested other brewhouses and pubs where they might show Amy’s picture, other friends Amy might have called.
“Guys? Wow. Adrian Benson. Maybe. She was getting bored with him. I mean, they didn’t have that much of a thing, and she was losing interest, but just for something to do… Um, Travis Booth. They were sorta friends, sorta something more.”
“Travis.” Wasn’t he one of the friends Will Patton had mentioned being with the evening he ran into Amy at J.R.’s? “I remember him. He was a friend of Will Patton’s.”
“Right. Only he didn’t do high school sports because he ski-raced. He actually made the U.S. ski team, but then he was hurt really badly training for the downhill.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” Like most guys that age, Will had run in a pack. His buddies were jocks, but the smart ones. Most had gone on to college after they graduated. “I didn’t realize he was still in Elk Springs.”
“He’s head of the ski school at Juanita Butte. But he’s getting some success as an artist, too. Don’t you read your newspaper? They did a feature on him—I don’t know—a month or so ago.” Her voice changed, relaxed fractionally as she reminisced. “He used to draw really wicked caricatures. He did this fantastic one of Mr. Jones, only one of the teachers snagged it when it was being passed around, and he ended up in detention for a week.”
Mr. Jones, then high school principal and not a popular one, had been ripe for caricature with his double chins and beady eyes.
Trina forced herself back to more relevant subjects. Travis Booth, for one. He’d seen Amy fall anew for Will Patton, maybe resented it. Trina starred his name, too.
