“Gone With the Wind.” Eve followed their sister out the door.

“You guys are nuts.” Grace gave them each a hug. “But I love you anyway.”

“Mutual, I’m sure.” Cate squeezed her back.

“White Christmas.” Eve grinned.

“Go home. And drive safe.” Grace shooed them out.

“We will. Lock up.” Cate looked back at her, all levity gone.

“I will. Talk to you both soon.”

“Count on it.” Eve followed Cate down the walkway to the car.

Grace waved them off, then retreated into the house and locked the door, a smile lingering on her lips. The holiday hadn’t turned out half bad—or boring—after all. Reilly sisters get-togethers were always lively.

But tomorrow would be all business, beginning with Lorraine’s autopsy.

And depending on what she found, along with the results of the digitalis test on the sample from Mavis that Russ had sent to the lab yesterday, another conversation with the botanist at the university could be in her future.

While foxglove might not be the culprit in the deaths, the whole notion of botanical poison was intriguing. There were a host of readily available toxins found in nature that would never show up on a tox screen. Russ would balk at ordering dozens of random tests that strained the budget, but a forensic botanist could be helpful in this situation. Maybe her contact at the university would be able to recommend someone.

If Russ wouldn’t pay for that sort of speculative analysis?

She’d spring for the cost herself.

Because when murder was involved, there shouldn’t be a price on uncovering the truth.

22

LEE JORDAN DIDN’T EXIST.

At least not the one Dave Mullins thought worked at the hair salon.

But Jordan Lee Thompson did.

Nate tapped a finger against the steering wheel of the patrol car and scanned the lower-middle-class enclave Mullins’s former paramour called home.

The neighborhood fit with what he’d found out about her, but getting here had required more work than he’d expected after online and database searches yielded zilch. In the end, it had taken an early morning call to the owner of the salon—followed by an in-person visit to prove he was, indeed, the sheriff—to uncover Lee Jordan’s real name and address.

According to her boss, Thompson was the ex-wife of Alan Waters and former girlfriend of Corey Grant, against whom she’d had a restraining order. Hence the alias. No one in town but her boss knew her real name or history. Had it not been for the tax documents she’d had to fill out for the stylist job, the salon owner was certain she’d have kept him in the dark too.

Mullins hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the woman had had her share of tough breaks.

And they might not be over yet.

Nate slid out of the cruiser, locked it, and strode toward her apartment half a block away. Parking at a distance should minimize the link between his visit and the woman he’d come to see. Why complicate her life any more than necessary if she was innocent?