Maggie looked at her watch. It was almost six, her shift was only minutes away from being over for the day. And then, thank goodness, she had a whole weekend to pull herself together.
“It shouldn’t take that long,” Josh said, fully comprehending the reason for Maggie checking the time.
“Fine,” she said stiffly.
“We’ll do it at my desk.” He walked away.
“I have to print something, then turn off the computer,” Maggie called to his retreating back.
He waved his right arm without looking back, an impersonal acknowledgment that grated on Maggie’s nerves. All but gritting her teeth, she printed, saved her work and then followed proper procedure to safely shut down the computer.
She also picked up the photographs, which she had arranged in order of importance. One small stack remained on her desk when everything else had been cleared away. Along with the printed image of the vague design she had just started to digest, she brought those with her, and strode to Josh’s office with an all-business look in her eyes. This meeting is not getting personal! If he says one thing that’s not related to the case, I’m going to let him have it again, and if he files a complaint with human resources about my bad attitude and conduct, I’ll tell them exactly what he said to me yesterday. How would he like that, huh?
He wouldn’t like it, and she knew it. But there were things going on that she didn’t like and still had to put up with.
For some unknown reason Maggie felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes. God, am I going to start bawling every time Josh says something to me? What in heck is wrong with me?
Josh looked up when she slipped into his little cubicle and took a chair. The case file was open in front of him, and he started the discussion with, “I don’t see a report on the coffee table.”
“It’s there. I examined every inch of that table and wrote a detailed report on it. The table is in the evidence room at the crime lab and the report is in that file.”
“Show me.” Josh slid the folder toward her.
Maggie pursed her lips. Was he calling her a liar? Doubting her efficiency? She grabbed the folder, opened it and began thumbing through the reports. She pulled out the coffee table report and held it out to him, but barely noticed when he took it. Another one had caught her eye, one she hadn’t yet read, and she stopped to scan it. Detectives Waters and Wilson had driven to the Gardner estate and talked to Mrs. Cecelia Gardner, Franklin ’s mother.
“Detective…let me see who signed this.” Maggie looked for the signature and continued. “Detective Waters indicated that Cecelia Gardner was at a charity function the night her son was killed, among many witnesses.” Maggie looked at Josh. “Do charity affairs last all night?”
“Time of death was set by the M.E. as having occurred before midnight.”
Frowning slightly, recalling that she had judged Gardner ’s death to have occurred at around that same time after her preliminary examination at the crime scene, Maggie chewed on her lower lip and thought about this new development. Mrs. Gardner was almost eighty years old, which certainly didn’t preclude an occasional late night. Maggie decided her imagination was going to extremes. She dropped her eyes to the report and read that Detective Waters and his partner, Detective Wilson, had made inquiries about Franklin ’s son, Stephen, age twenty-three, who wasn’t at home when they called.
“I didn’t know Franklin had a son,” Maggie murmured.
“There’s also a Lyle Gardner, Franklin ’s older brother. He lives at the Gardner estate, as well, but was home supposedly watching television that night.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow, pondering the Gardner family. “Everyone lives with Cecelia Gardner, except for Franklin. Was he a bit of a bohemian?”
“Probably just a little more independent than the other men in his family. Could be he liked his privacy.”
“He could have had reasons for liking his privacy.”
“Such as?”
“Late-night visitors? Maybe people of questionable character? People his mother might have objected to?”
“There’s still the chance the whole thing began as a burglary.”
Maggie sniffed. “I never did buy into that theory, and since you haven’t talked about it, either-not in my presence, at any rate-it appears to be pretty low on the motive totem pole.”
“What do you think could be the motive?”
“I believe that Franklin knew his killer and some sort of disagreement evolved into violence.”
Josh hesitated a few moments, then nodded. “I think the same thing. You’re pretty sharp, Detective Sutter.”
“Uh, thanks.” Maggie’s cheeks burned, not from the compliment but from what she’d just seen-again-in his eyes. Now, what was it she had been going to say if he became even remotely personal with her?
Josh leaned back and enjoyed the view. That glorious dark red hair of hers was a major temptation. She always wore it back from her face, and he would love to see it wild and free. Or tangled beneath her head on a pillow. Ah, yes, how could he deny the pleasure that would bring him?
Maggie’s interest in the case file had waned dramatically. In fact, she could hardly make out the typewritten words on the reports. Benton kept giving off sexual vibes, saying things with his eyes that he wouldn’t dare put into words. Not on the job, at least.
But how about in her apartment? Something had almost happened there. Could she make it happen again, only this time with her keeping things rolling along?
But what if he really was involved with someone? The last thing Maggie could ever see herself doing was carrying on a clandestine affair with a married or otherwise committed man.
How could she find out? An idea occurred to her. “This has nothing to do with the case, but I’ve been thinking about having a little dinner party. If I put you on the guest list, would you come or refuse?”
Josh couldn’t quite conceal his surprise. Or his instantaneous curiosity. What was really going on behind those stunning violet eyes of hers? Had she decided that his little speech yesterday had been more of a compliment than an insult? After all, wasn’t honesty always better than deceit, which was the game a lot of guys on the prowl practiced with women they wanted to bed? But considering the way she had bristled before getting out of his car, a dinner invitation was just about the last thing he could have imagined happening between them.
He regarded her for a long moment. “Are you and I becoming friends?”
Maggie knew she had perplexed him. “Does a dinner invitation indicate an offer of friendship to you?”
“Yes, but I was under the distinct impression you didn’t like me. You used to like me, but that was a long time ago and people change.”
“Yes, they certainly do,” Maggie drawled dryly. “Back to that dinner idea, should I put your name on the guest list, or not? I would include your wife…or girlfriend…of course.”
“My wife! Didn’t I tell you just yesterday that I’m not the marrying kind?”
“And I told you what I thought of such obvious malarkey, didn’t I? Why you still think that I’m backward enough to believe every word you say is beyond me. Do I really strike you as being a pickle short?”
Josh laughed. “A pickle short of what? Look, if you throw a dinner party and want me as a guest, I could probably scare up a date, just to keep your numbers even. That’s assuming, of course, that you would have a date of your own at the table.”
At that exact moment Maggie’s cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw Natalie’s name and number. “Oh, I forgot my promise,” she groaned. “May I take this call?” she asked Josh.
He shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” Maggie pressed the talk button. “Nat, I’m sorry but I’m very busy and can’t talk right now. You’re calling about tonight, aren’t you?”