Murder Deja Vu

didn’t do it vindictively. It was a slip of the tongue. Later he said he couldn’t believe he’d done it. I remember seeing the look on your face and feeling terrible.”
    “Not as terrible as I felt. You think either one of them could have killed her?”
    Reece had barely touched his beer. Mark finished his before he spoke. “I don’t know, and that’s the truth. I’ve learned I’m not a very good judge of character. I used to trust everyone, then I opened a practice and found out differently. Even in upscale Wellesley.”
    “I don’t want to get you in trouble, Mark, but I need Steve’s address. Jordan’s too, if you have it.” He steadied his gaze on Mark. “I won’t be railroaded into prison again.”
    “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been.” He patted Reece on the shoulder. “I haven’t seen or heard from Jordan in twenty years. He could be in Mongolia, for all I know. But I have Steve’s address somewhere.”
    Reece looked around the office while Mark rummaged through the top drawer of his desk. Pictures of the Cabrini family covered the mantel; golf trophies and tournament memorabilia filled the bookcase. What he saw spoke of a man who’d attained his success through hard work, because he knew Mark came from a working-class family with little money. He imagined he’d have a similar room in his house if things had gone as planned, with pictures of a wife and kids in silver frames, grouped on the mantel. He’d always tried not to think of that life, but the contrast of what he saw in this home office posed a stark reminder.
    Mark handed Reece a piece of paper with Steve Yarrow’s name, address, and phone number. “He has a vet practice in Cohasset with another guy. I always thought he and Jordan would go into practice together—they talked about it—but it never happened.”
    Reece glanced at the paper, folded it, and tucked it into his jeans pocket. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.” He got up to leave when a well-dressed, attractive woman walked into the study.
    “Mark?” She stared at Reece for an uncomfortably long time. “Jesus, are you nuts? His picture’s all over the news.”
    “He’s a friend, Sandy, and he’s innocent.”
    “So what? This makes you an accessory. Harboring a fugitive, or something.”
    She went for the phone. Mark put his hand over hers on the receiver. “Don’t.”
    “I’m going. Thanks, Mark.” Reece turned to Sandy Cabrini. “I can’t stop you from calling the police, Mrs. Cabrini, but I hope you won’t.” He nodded at Mark and left the same way he entered. He trusted Mark not to mention where he was going, but like his friend said, no one ever knows who’s trustworthy.

Chapter Thirty-Two
Uninvited Guests

    D ana’s heart leapt when she heard Reece’s voice. “Where are you?”
    “Two down, two to go,” he said. “I’m on my way back. It’s too late to catch number three at work, and I don’t dare go to his house and come face-to-face with his wife. Number two’s wife recognized me. I’m still not sure she hasn’t phoned the police, which is another reason why I want to wait. Have you heard from Jeraldine ?”
    “No. Why would I?”
    “Because she knows Frank is the only person I’d go to, same as the cops.”
    “She doesn’t want to know. If anything bad happens, they can say she aided and abetted in a crime. That’s not covered in her rights as your lawyer.”
    “I know, but nothing’s going to happen. Have Lana check the street for cops.”
    “Okay. Reece?”
    “Yes?”
    “Be careful.”
    “I will. I’m getting the hang of this on-the-lam thing.”
    Dana repeated what Reece wanted Lana to do.
    “Good idea,” Frank said. “It’s a nice day. Why don’t we walk over to the beach and watch the sun go down? I’m slow, which means we can get a good look around without arousing suspicion.”
    “Are you up to it?” Lana asked.
    “Sure. You’ve heard of bed sores? I’m getting recliner sores on my ass. I need to walk. It’ll do me good.”
    Lana helped him to his feet. Dana’s insides twisted as she watched. She kept envisioning the tattooed man swooping down like the wrath of God to save Reece and comparing that man with the picture before her. The contrast flooded her with sadness.
    “Don’t you get all weepy on me, girl,” Frank said. “I’m weak, but it ain’t got me yet. Has it, Lana, my sweet?
    “Not yet, love.”
    “Still got some hugging and kissing in me for later. The other