“But don’t you see?” Lindsey protested. “Who has the most to gain from Robbie’s death? If it’s not you, then—”

“But Dylan didn’t know—” Kitty clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Didn’t know what?” Lindsey asked. “Come on, Kitty, you’ve come this far.”

“No!” Kitty raged. “Look, I promised Robbie I wouldn’t say anything and now that he’s gone . . .”

Her voice broke as if she didn’t have the strength to keep going and for the first time, Lindsey saw the grief that Kitty was feeling at the death of her husband and business partner. Lindsey felt sorry for her, truly she did, but Robbie had been murdered, which meant his killer was out there and Kitty couldn’t keep his secrets anymore.

“Kitty, have you considered the possibility that Robbie’s child might have figured out who his father was?”

Kitty looked at her. Her light-brown eyes were watery with unshed tears.

“Think about it,” Lindsey said. “How would you feel if you were a seventeen-year-old boy with a famous father who just abandoned you? Wouldn’t you be angry? Wouldn’t you want revenge?”

“No,” Kitty said. “I made a promise to Robbie to keep his secret safe. I won’t break it no matter what you say. It’s the last thing I can do for him.”

She strode out of the office, slamming the door behind her. It really didn’t matter. Kitty had confirmed enough for Lindsey to go and talk to Emma Plewicki.

She hated to think that Dylan had anything to do with Robbie’s death, but there was no way she couldn’t tell Emma what she knew if it meant catching Robbie’s killer. Even if the killer was his own son.

22

Emma was not in the station when Lindsey stopped by. The officer on duty let her leave a note for Emma to call her, and promised to get it to the chief as soon as she came in. Lindsey couldn’t deny that she was relieved. She really didn’t want to tell Emma about Dylan’s probable connection to Robbie, and even though she knew it was the right thing to do, she was loath to do it.

Dress rehearsal was scheduled for seven o’clock, and Lindsey knew it was an all-hands-on-deck sort of evening. She glanced at her cell phone and noted that she had an hour until she had to be at the theater.

There was a nip in the air and the temperatures were supposed to drop into the forties tonight. She glanced across the street at the Blue Anchor. She could feel the lure of Mary’s stuffed flounder calling her with the little cheesy potatoes and steamed broccoli on the side paired with a nice, crisp glass of white wine. Yes, definitely. If she was going to get through tonight, she needed to fortify herself.