if Tessa had thought to put the postcard in there. Part of her did not want to know where it was.
Eddie interrupted her thoughts. "Mom says you have to come to breakfast tomorrow."
"Yeah?" Sara asked, drawing squares over the circles.
His voice took on a singsong quality. "Waffles and grits and toast and bacon."
"Hey," Jeffrey said.
Sara jerked her head up, dropping the pen. "You scared me," she said, then, to her father, "Daddy, Jeffrey's here-"
Eddie Linton made a series of unintelligible noises. In his opinion, there was nothing wrong with Jeffrey Tolliver that a solid brick to the head would not fix.
"All right," Sara said into the phone, giving Jeffrey a tight smile. He was looking at the etched sign on the glass, where her father had slapped a piece of masking tape over the last name TOLLIVER and written in LINTON with a black marker. Since Jeffrey had cheated on Sara with the only sign maker in town, it was doubtful that the lettering would be more professionally fixed anytime soon.
"Daddy," Sara interrupted, "I'll see you in the morning." She hung up the phone before he could get another word in.
Jeffrey asked, "Let me guess, he sends his love."
Sara ignored the question, not wanting to get into a personal conversation with Jeffrey. This was how he sucked her back in, making her think that he was a normal person capable of being honest and supportive when in actuality the minute Jeffrey felt like he was back in Sara's good graces he'd probably run for cover. Or, under the covers, to be more exact.
He said, "How's Tessa doing?"
"Fine," Sara said, taking her glasses out of their case. She slid them on, asking, "Where's Lena?"
He glanced at the clock on the wall. "About an hour away. Frank's going to page me when she's ten minutes out."
Sara stood, adjusting the waist of her scrubs. She had showered in the hospital lounge, storing her bloodied clothes in an evidence bag in case they were needed for trial.
She asked, "Have you thought about what you're going to tell her?"
He shook his head no. "I'm hoping we can get something concrete before I talk to her. Lena 's a cop. She's going to want answers."
Sara leaned over the desk, knocking on the glass. Carlos looked up. "You can go now," she said. Then, explaining to Jeffrey, "He's going to run blood and urine up to the crime lab. They're going to put it through tonight."
"Good."
Sara sat back in her chair. "Did you get anything from the bathroom?"
"We found her cane and glasses behind the toilet. They were wiped clean."
"What about the stall door?"
"Nothing," he said. "I mean, not nothing, but every woman in town's been in and out of that place. Last count Matt had over fifty different prints." He took some Polaroids out of his pocket and tossed them onto the desk. There were close-ups of the body lying on the floor alongside pictures of Sara's bloody shoe and hand prints.
Sara picked up one of these, saying, "I guess it didn't help matters that I contaminated the scene."
"It's not like you had a choice."
She kept her thoughts to herself, putting the pictures in logical sequence.
He repeated her earlier evaluation. "Whoever did this knew what he was doing. He knew she would go to the restaurant alone. He knew she couldn't see. He knew the place would be deserted that time of day."
"You think he was waiting for her?"
Jeffrey gave a shrug. "Seems that way. He probably came in and out the back door. Pete had disconnected the alarm so they could leave it open to air the place out."
"Yeah," she said, remembering the back door to the diner was propped open more times than not.
"So, we're looking for someone who knew her activities, right? Somebody who was familiar with the layout of the diner."
Sara did not want to answer this question, which implied that the killer was someone living in Grant, someone who knew the people and places the way only a resident could. Instead, she stood and walked back to the metal filing cabinet on the other side of her
Eddie interrupted her thoughts. "Mom says you have to come to breakfast tomorrow."
"Yeah?" Sara asked, drawing squares over the circles.
His voice took on a singsong quality. "Waffles and grits and toast and bacon."
"Hey," Jeffrey said.
Sara jerked her head up, dropping the pen. "You scared me," she said, then, to her father, "Daddy, Jeffrey's here-"
Eddie Linton made a series of unintelligible noises. In his opinion, there was nothing wrong with Jeffrey Tolliver that a solid brick to the head would not fix.
"All right," Sara said into the phone, giving Jeffrey a tight smile. He was looking at the etched sign on the glass, where her father had slapped a piece of masking tape over the last name TOLLIVER and written in LINTON with a black marker. Since Jeffrey had cheated on Sara with the only sign maker in town, it was doubtful that the lettering would be more professionally fixed anytime soon.
"Daddy," Sara interrupted, "I'll see you in the morning." She hung up the phone before he could get another word in.
Jeffrey asked, "Let me guess, he sends his love."
Sara ignored the question, not wanting to get into a personal conversation with Jeffrey. This was how he sucked her back in, making her think that he was a normal person capable of being honest and supportive when in actuality the minute Jeffrey felt like he was back in Sara's good graces he'd probably run for cover. Or, under the covers, to be more exact.
He said, "How's Tessa doing?"
"Fine," Sara said, taking her glasses out of their case. She slid them on, asking, "Where's Lena?"
He glanced at the clock on the wall. "About an hour away. Frank's going to page me when she's ten minutes out."
Sara stood, adjusting the waist of her scrubs. She had showered in the hospital lounge, storing her bloodied clothes in an evidence bag in case they were needed for trial.
She asked, "Have you thought about what you're going to tell her?"
He shook his head no. "I'm hoping we can get something concrete before I talk to her. Lena 's a cop. She's going to want answers."
Sara leaned over the desk, knocking on the glass. Carlos looked up. "You can go now," she said. Then, explaining to Jeffrey, "He's going to run blood and urine up to the crime lab. They're going to put it through tonight."
"Good."
Sara sat back in her chair. "Did you get anything from the bathroom?"
"We found her cane and glasses behind the toilet. They were wiped clean."
"What about the stall door?"
"Nothing," he said. "I mean, not nothing, but every woman in town's been in and out of that place. Last count Matt had over fifty different prints." He took some Polaroids out of his pocket and tossed them onto the desk. There were close-ups of the body lying on the floor alongside pictures of Sara's bloody shoe and hand prints.
Sara picked up one of these, saying, "I guess it didn't help matters that I contaminated the scene."
"It's not like you had a choice."
She kept her thoughts to herself, putting the pictures in logical sequence.
He repeated her earlier evaluation. "Whoever did this knew what he was doing. He knew she would go to the restaurant alone. He knew she couldn't see. He knew the place would be deserted that time of day."
"You think he was waiting for her?"
Jeffrey gave a shrug. "Seems that way. He probably came in and out the back door. Pete had disconnected the alarm so they could leave it open to air the place out."
"Yeah," she said, remembering the back door to the diner was propped open more times than not.
"So, we're looking for someone who knew her activities, right? Somebody who was familiar with the layout of the diner."
Sara did not want to answer this question, which implied that the killer was someone living in Grant, someone who knew the people and places the way only a resident could. Instead, she stood and walked back to the metal filing cabinet on the other side of her
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