Chapter Two
Carmel Valley, San Diego, California
Sam liked Detectives Kevin Marshall and Alf Ashton. He really did. Kevin often joined Sam and Connor Robinson at the lanes for bowling night, and the Ashtons had sent a fruit basket to Sam’s parents in Scottsdale when Sam’s father had had a mild stroke six weeks before.
Sam had been very grateful for that basket because the fruit was the only nutrition he’d gotten while his father was in the hospital. A man could only eat fast food for so long.
He not only liked Marshall and Ashton, he respected them, too. They were good cops. Smart and loyal. They had Kit’s back.
But at the moment, they were getting on Sam’s last nerve.
He’d sat in relative silence in the McKittricks’ living room watching Kit answer the same questions a third time.
She looked pale, sitting on the sofa with her legs propped up and one of Betsy’s homemade quilts pulled around her shoulders.
She was shivering, too, and her jaw was tight.
“But why did you ask your sister to wait to contact the woman?” Marshall asked.
“I told you,” she said, far too quietly.
Sam’s Kit was passion and exuberance. Not this muted shell.
“I had a bad feeling. This woman calls out of the blue from a local area code saying she has info on Akiko’s mother.
Why now? She’s lived here for decades. Why call Akiko now?
It felt wrong, so I asked my sister to wait. ”
She was in pain and she was pushing through it so that Marshall and Ashton as the primary detectives on Mary Sherman’s case could get the answers they needed.
But enough was enough.
How many different ways could they ask Kit why she’d insisted Akiko wait?
“But why—” Ashton began.
Nope. No more.
Sam cleared his throat, interrupting the detective. “Guys, we know you’re trying to cover all your bases, but Kit needs to rest. She’s held off taking a pain pill so that she could talk to you. You’ve interviewed Akiko, me, and Kit. It’s time for you two to go.”
Harlan appeared in the doorway from the kitchen and gave Sam an appreciative nod. “You can always come back, boys,” the older man said mildly, but Sam could see the tension Harlan carried in his shoulders.
The man’s daughter had been shot today. He was worried and trying not to show it. He was always strong for everyone at McKittrick House.
Marshall looked aghast, as if he was seeing Kit’s pain for the first time. Maybe he was. Maybe Sam just knew her well enough that he could see it clearly.
“I’m so sorry, Kit,” Marshall said. “We didn’t realize.”
“And we should have,” Ashton said. “We’ll be going now.”
Kit smiled weakly. “Thanks, guys. You’ll pass on anything you find, right?”
Marshall hesitated. “As much as we can.”
Kit sighed. “I figured you’d say that.”
“At least none of you are suspects this time,” Ashton said brightly.
Kit glanced at Sam, then returned her attention to the two detectives. “Too soon, guys.”
Because Sam had been a suspect in a murder the year before. Several murders, actually. He’d been cleared quickly, but the memory was still a disturbing one.
Ashton nearly pouted. “Still too soon? God, Sam.”
Marshall smacked his partner in the arm. “Still too soon, asshole.” Then he winced when Betsy came through the doorway from the kitchen holding two plastic grocery sacks.
“Sorry, Betsy,” Marshall muttered.
“I’ve heard far worse,” Betsy said. “I made you boys some dinner to take with you. You will keep us updated.”
Marshall took the bags with a vigorous nod. “Absolutely, ma’am.”
“We will happily trade need-to-know-only information for your food,” Ashton added with a grin. “Nobody wants to be on your bad side, Betsy.”
Betsy’s lips twitched. “Drive safely.” She ushered them to the front door. “See you soon.” She sagged against the door when she’d closed it. “I thought they’d never leave. Thank you, Sam.”
“Looks like you had a plan, too,” Sam said. “To bribe them to leave—and to share info.”
“It’s what I do best.” Betsy pressed the back of her hand to Kit’s forehead.
“No fever.” She sat in the chair closest to her daughter and dug a bottle of pills from her pocket.
“They’re not the opioids the doctor prescribed.
They’re just over-the-counter ibuprofen,” she said before Kit could protest. “You will take two. Do not argue with me, Kit McKittrick.”
Kit snapped her mouth closed and held out her hand, scowling. But she took the ibuprofen.
“Where’s Akiko?” she asked.
“In the kitchen,” Betsy said with a worried frown. “Punching bread dough.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Kit said wryly. “You always bake when you’re upset, too. Akiko was rattled, seeing Mrs. Sherman’s body. Most people would be.”
“She’s more rattled that you got hurt,” Sam said. He sat at the end of the sofa, settling Kit’s feet in his lap.
“You’re right,” Harlan said. “She’s feeling guilty.”
“That’s just stupid.” Then Kit sighed. “And I’d be feeling the same way in her shoes. We need to figure out our next steps. I have faith in Marshall and Ashton, but Akiko’s scared. I can’t just sit here while she’s scared.”
“Yes, Kit,” Akiko said from the doorway. She leaned on the frame, wiping her hands with a towel. “You can just sit there, and you will. You got shot.”
“I know,” Kit said. “I was there. What are you baking?”
“Cinnamon bread. The girls are getting it ready to go into the oven.” The “girls” were the six foster children currently living in McKittrick House. Soon to be five, since Rita’s adoption would be finalized within a few weeks, and she’d no longer be a foster. “And don’t change the subject.”
“Busted.” Harlan took some wood and his carving knife from his pocket. “She’s right, Kitty-Cat. You need to rest. Let Marshall and Ashton do their jobs.”
Kit scowled and Akiko looked smug.
But Harlan jolted before either of the sisters could say another word. “Someone’s coming.” He frowned at his phone. “Cameras are showing a black Audi coming up the driveway.”
Kit opened her mouth, then snapped it closed.
Sam knew that expression. She’d done something that she didn’t want anyone to know about. “What is it, Kit?”
“Leo Sherman owns a black Audi,” she said.
Akiko crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you know? You can’t find that out in a normal internet search.”
Kit winced. “I might have checked them both out a little more thoroughly than I originally let on.”
Sam pushed himself to his feet. “At least forewarned is forearmed. Betsy, can you take Akiko back to the kitchen? Harlan, let’s see what this guy wants.”
Harlan nodded, stopping at his gun safe to retrieve a rifle before following Sam out the door.
“Hey!” Kit called. “You can’t just go out there by yourselves.” She flung the quilt off her shoulders and rose to her feet, her stance shaky.
Sam shook his head. “You’re not wearing any shoes.”
“Fine. Where are my shoes?”
“Where you can’t find them,” Harlan said. “Sit yourself back down. You can watch with the cameras.”
Kit looked outraged. “You hid my shoes?” She followed them anyway. “It’s not that cold.”
Harlan shook his head. “We don’t know what this guy wants. He could blame you, Kitty-Cat. You’re not as nimble as you usually are.”
“Sam is. And you have a rifle.” She pushed past them to the front porch. “Don’t let all the heat out. Close that door.”
Harlan sighed. “Stay in front of her, Sam.”
“Already planned to.”
Sam walked down the porch steps and put his body in front of Kit’s, unsurprised when he heard her rack the chamber of her gun. Together, he, Kit, and Harlan waited until the Audi emerged from the trees and pulled into the driveway, stopping behind all the McKittrick Subarus and Sam’s RAV4.
The driver sat in the Audi for a full minute before shutting off the engine and getting out of his car. He was five-eight at the most. He looked older than his wife, maybe mid-sixties. And, in the light of Harlan’s security spotlights, he appeared to be utterly exhausted.
“Hello,” he said quietly, then pointed at Harlan’s rifle. “I mean you no harm.”
Sam drew a breath. “You’re Dr. Sherman? Leo Sherman?”
Sherman nodded. “I am. And you’d be Dr. Sam Reeves.”
“I am.” Sam kept his tone gentle. Assuming this man hadn’t been involved in the murder of his wife, he’d sustained a terrible shock today. “How can we help you, sir?”
“I…” Sherman’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. But those detectives said my wife’s body was discovered by three people, one of whom was shot. That was you, Detective McKittrick.”
Sam felt Kit move from behind him to his side. He wasn’t going to look at her, though. He wasn’t taking his eyes off Leo Sherman.
“How do you know that?” Kit asked. “The news doesn’t have my name. Do they?”
Sherman shrugged. “I have no idea. I was in surgery when my Mary…” He closed his eyes. “When I came out of surgery, a lieutenant was waiting to talk to me. Navarro.”
“He’s my boss,” Kit said.
“I figured. He told me the bare facts but wouldn’t disclose the names of the three people who’d entered my home.
He said they’d been cleared of any wrongdoing, that one of the three had been shot, and that he was sorry for my loss.
I…I say that to every family whose loved one dies on the operating table.
No one’s ever said it to me. Not like this. ”
“I’m so sorry,” Kit said softly. “But if Lieutenant Navarro didn’t tell you our names, how did you know to come here?”
“Because hospitals are like beehives,” he said bitterly. “Everyone buzzing with gossip. In less than ten minutes I’d heard from three different people that Detective Kit McKittrick was in the ER after having been shot at the scene of a murder. I don’t think anyone knew it was my wife.”
“I see.” Kit started to take a step closer to the man, but Sam held her back. She didn’t fight him, and for that Sam was grateful. “What do you need from us, Dr. Sherman?” she asked.
“Answers. Why were you there? Why did you knock on my door?”