Chapter 58 Andrea Kendal
Andrea Kendal
Body Found in Prestigious Neighborhood
The newspaper was in the center of the kitchen counter, right beside the thermos with Andrea’s coffee.
Eric had left a rose from their garden beside the paper.
She picked up the delicate pink bloom and smelled it.
The scent was faint. She buried her nose deeper into its soft folds and inhaled again, then lowered it toward Ryder.
He was strapped into the carrier on her front and grabbed at the flower and shook it.
“Careful,” she cautioned, taking it back and checking it for thorns.
Eric was such a good husband. Always had been.
Very few men were as thoughtful as he was, especially when they had as many things to think about as he did.
She withdrew a small vase from the cabinet and filled it with water, then threaded the rose through the thin stem, placing it beside the prep-sink faucet.
Settling onto one of the stools that hugged the counter, she pulled the paper toward her and popped open the top of the thermos. She opened up the paper and there, below the fold, was a story on David.
At the bottom of the article was a phone number.
Detective Palentick’s, who had yet to call her back.
Rather than be comforted by this omission, Andrea was concerned by it.
Maybe they were digging deeper. Building more of a case.
Getting curious about what else she might be hiding.
She rubbed her hand over Ryder’s leg, squeezing his ankle and humming to him.
The lack of new information in the article was disappointing.
Tony probably knew all the nitty-gritty details, but he was the last person they’d call to get a scoop.
She took a long sip of coffee, which was especially strong this morning.
Good, she needed all the caffeine she could get.
Last night, she’d tossed and turned the entire time.
Around three, Ryder had started to cry, and she’d moved into his room and rocked him until around five, when they had both fallen asleep in the giant double recliner.
She had woken up with a line of drool down her cheek and a crick in her neck.
May 5, 2021. So that was the date he’d been killed.
She stood up and went around the bar, carrying her thermos with her as she walked down the hall and to her office.
Office was a strong word for the space, which was mostly used to hold mail and packages.
Once a month, she paid bills at the desk, and used the desktop computer on rare occasions when she had to return emails or complete school registrations.
Roxanne had been attacked on February 2, three months before David was killed.
She logged onto the computer and pulled up Eric’s work calendar, which was synced with her cloud account.
Scrolling back five years, she got to May and slowed down.
His calendar was a grid of meetings, an alibi, but exhausting if you wanted to chase down your husband for a romantic evening.
The date in question stood out, as did the entire week around it, every single cell empty. She stared at the block of uninterrupted time and then leaned back in her chair, trying to think back.
May 2021. An entire week where Eric had been gone.
There was only one possibility, and she didn’t have to pull up her personal calendar to double-check the time frame.
It was when he’d come to see her in Los Angeles. The week they had buried Roxanne.