I borrow Corrine’s phone again and walk into the kitchen. Corrine is in her office now, and I hear her clicking at her computer.

I tap in Hayes’s number.

“Molly? Thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you. I heard about Jay.” He draws a deep breath, and I picture him pushing his hipster glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I was so shocked. And so sorry.” His voice breaks. He was friends with Jay too and only missed the party because of a previous commitment. “How are you?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing really, Hayes. But it’s nice to hear your voice.”

“I just can’t believe it. Have the police found who did it?”

“Not yet. They have no idea. Who would want to hurt Jay? I just can’t figure it out.” I start to cry.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“I’m at Corrine’s. But I should be able to go home soon, I hope. I’ll call you.”

He takes a deep breath. “It’ll be okay, Molly. We’re here for you.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, and blow my nose.

Hayes clears his throat. “When is the service? Alice and I will be there, of course.”

The service? Right. I’ll have to do something about a funeral. Jesus. Is this my life? “Nothing’s planned yet, but I’ll let you know.”

“Alice was very upset when I told her,” Hayes whispers. I picture his eleven-year-old daughter sitting in the shop’s window seat, reading her annotated Little Women book, crying over Beth March’s death. She’s very sensitive. Knowing her father’s friend was murdered would be greatly disturbing to her.

“She’s sweet, but tell her I’m okay and I’ll see you both soon.”

“Will do, Molly. Please let us know what we can do to help.”

We hang up, and I place the phone on the granite countertop. I probably should try to eat something, so I peruse the fridge, but find nothing that appeals to me. So I pace the apartment instead. I need to get out of here for a while. But where can I go to avoid thinking of Jay? Nowhere.

CHAPTER 10

Rita

THE TACKLER BUILDING SITS IN DOWNTOWN GRAYBRIDGE, TWO BLOCKS off the square. It houses a pediatric practice, a law office, a couple of nondescript businesses, and Graybridge Family Therapy. There’s a small but comfy waiting room that’s empty at the moment and a counter where a young woman with sleek brown hair sits. She’s on the phone and has a smooth, practiced, sympathetic voice. Her dark eyes shoot up to acknowledge me as I walk up to the counter.

“We’ll see you on Thursday,” she says into the phone, ends her call, and smiles up at me. “May I help you?”

“Yes. I’m here to see Dr. Westmore.”

“Is she expecting you?”

“Yes. Detective Myers.”

Her expression changes, eyes dart toward Dr. Bradley’s closed door, but before she can pick up the phone, Elise Westmore walks into the waiting room. “Hello, come on in.”