“What would that be?” He raised an eyebrow, suddenly serious again.
“The missing murder weapon.” The police had never found the gun, which both played in her father’s favor, since they couldn’t directly link him to the crime, but also made him look guilty, since the autopsy indicated the bullet that killed Paul came from a 9mm Beretta, the same make and model weapon the general owned.
Hunter nodded in agreement. “It’s frustrating that we live in such a technological age, but technology can’t help us now. According to your father, the weapon was stolen over fifteen years ago from a hotel room when he and Melanie went on vacation. But the written report is missing and because it was in a small town that hadn’t yet entered the computer age, we have no documented proof of a stolen gun.”
Hunter swung one arm over the back of his booth. “Plus, with Melanie gone, there’s nobody to back up Frank’s claim that he reported the gun stolen. That’s another strike against us. The prosecution will claim that Frank remained in possession of the gun all these years, used it to kill Paul and disposed of it like the meticulous career army man he is.”
Anger swept over Molly at the thought. “Anyone who knows him would realize that’s an absurd scenario.”
“Unfortunately we won’t be dealing with twelve people who know and love the general. Twelve strangers could very well conclude the theory makes sense.” He lifted the bottle by its neck and took a long sip.
“Swell,” she muttered. “What else do we know?” She thought about the papers she’d read through today. “We know that Paul had the same type of weapon as my father,” she said, answering her own question. “Which means we don’t know whose gun actually killed Paul because his gun is missing, too.”
“Go on,” Hunter said, his gaze never leaving hers.
He appeared interested in her thoughts and she appreciated the fact that he didn’t brush off her ideas as unimportant.
She drew a deep breath. “So whoever had access to Paul and Sonya’s house in the days before the murder also had the opportunity to take Paul’s gun. That’s another scenario for your jury of strangers.” Molly folded her arms over her chest, proud of her deduction.
“Damn, I’m starving,” Hunter muttered, off topic. He glanced over his shoulder at the counter, but the big pizza ovens were still closed and Joe, the owner, stood talking to a waitress.
“Doesn’t look like it’s ready yet,” Molly said.
He turned back toward her. “At this point I’d eat it cold.”
She laughed. “Don’t tell Joe. He only serves his pizza steaming.”
Hunter frowned at that. “Look, there are more than a few problems with the fact that Paul had the same kind of weapon,” he said, suddenly back to business.
Her stomach cramped at his words and it wasn’t hunger causing the discomfort.
“First, one of the main people to have access to the house and Paul’s weapon is your father. He said himself he went over there to talk to Sonya some time before the murder occurred. Score another point for the prosecution.”
She knew he wasn’t placing blame on the general, merely working with the facts, so she played along. “Well, yes, but he wasn’t the only one who could have taken it. I mean, as stupid as it is, even Sonya had access and we know she didn’t kill him.” Molly blinked. “Don’t we?”
Her head swam with that painful to contemplate possibility.
“I haven’t spoken to her yet, but it’s unlikely since most of your family say they saw her during the supposed time of the murder. But that doesn’t mean Frank committed the crime.”
Molly’s heart beat faster at his words, at the hint that he wasn’t just her father’s advocate but someone who believed in his innocence as strongly as Molly did. “Hunter-”
A bell rang from the front of the restaurant. “Molly, pizza’s up!” Joe called out.
“Thank God. I’m starving,” Hunter muttered.
She tried not to laugh. A man with an empty stomach was a serious thing. “Do you want to eat here or bring it home?”
“Here, definitely.”
Molly gestured for Joe to bring the pie to the table instead of boxing it up for takeout. “Good choice. Dad said he was going to a V.A. benefit for disabled veterans at town hall.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “And Jessie should be leaving for a school party any minute, but I’d really hate to overlap and have any drama between us tonight.”
Hunter nodded. “Still, it’s good that she’s going out. Better than staying home moping.”
“I hope it means her friends are lightening up on her some.”
Joe strode up to the table, pizza in hand, interrupting their conversation, and seconds later, the waitress brought plates and silverware and they were able to dig in. Actually, Hunter was able to dig in since the steaming hot cheese didn’t bother him. Molly had to wait until the bubbling cheese and red sauce cooled off before she could eat, but she enjoyed watching Hunter practically inhale his food like the big, strong man he was. Finally she was able to enjoy it, too, and they ate in comfortable silence.
She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and suddenly realized how tired she was. “I am stuffed and exhausted,” she said, laughing.
“Ditto.” He gestured for the check.
She rose from her seat. “I’m going to go to the ladies’ room before we leave.” She wanted to wash the grease and smell of garlic off her hands. She glanced toward the restroom and caught sight of Sonya Markham.
Molly waved at the other woman, who stood picking up an order at the counter.
Sonya glanced away.
Molly shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t see me. Be right back.” She walked to the front of the restaurant and paused by the other woman’s side. “Hi, Sonya!” Molly said, pleased to see the recent widow out and about.
“Molly.” Sonya stopped fishing through her purse, looked up, then smiled.
Molly took in her drawn expression and the bluish tint under her eyes. “How are you doing?” she asked awkwardly.
“Not too bad, considering.” Sonya pushed her dark bobbed hair off her face. “Actually, I’m exhausted,” she admitted. “But I’m sure that’s obvious by looking at me. It’s hard to sleep and it’s harder to concentrate on anything at all.”
Molly couldn’t begin to imagine how Sonya was coping at all. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”
Sonya shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s actually good to get out and start facing the world again. And you and your family have been wonderful to me. Especially your father.”
For a split second, her eyes sparkled with a vibrancy Molly hadn’t seen since before the murder.
“Pizza’s up, Mrs. Markham,” Joe called from behind the counter.
Sonya turned and nodded to the owner, then glanced back at Molly. “I need to pick up my order.”
“I’d like you to meet someone first. Dad’s new lawyer, Daniel Hunter.” Molly gestured for Hunter, waving him over. He handed the waiter his credit card and started toward them.
Molly had wanted to pay for this meal but she’d just have to make it up to Hunter next time. He hooked his black leather jacket from one finger as he joined them. A smile spread over Molly’s lips as she was struck again by his handsome face and the comforting presence that accompanied him.
“Sonya Markham, this is Daniel Hunter, the attorney representing Dad.”
A flicker of gratitude swept over Sonya’s face. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She shook Hunter’s hand. “I swear to you that no matter what the police say, there’s no way Frank murdered my husband.” Her voice cracked on the last words.
“You have my deepest sympathies,” Hunter said. “I’ll do whatever I can to make this ordeal as easy on your family as possible.”
Warmth rushed through Molly at his compassionate tone. He instinctively knew the right thing to say and do, she thought. She was so proud of him, she could barely speak over the lump in her throat.