Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

again, though, it’s not going to be good.” He paused. “And I won’t be able to help you because they’re not that fond of me, either. Guilt by association.”
    “I. Know.” I forked a little more lemongrass chicken, some of which was burning hot and some of which was ice-cold, into my mouth. Damn that cheap microwave. “And I know the definition of ‘trespassing.’ ”
    An audible sigh let me know that we were heading into an area where the wrong word would start a fight. Crawford and I don’t generally argue but the proposal had become the elephant in the room, and I suspected that any movement in that direction, conversationally, would bring one on. I didn’t have to wait long to find out if he was going to bring it up. “So are you ever going to give me an answer?”
    I played dumb, something I do quite well after years of practice. “About what?”
    “Don’t play dumb, Alison.”
    “Did I mention that I got pushed in the river yesterday?” His silence on the other end of the phone was troubling. I kept chattering so that I wouldn’t have to listen to dead air. “I really don’t want to have this conversation on the phone … I’ve had a lot going on and we really haven’t had time—”
    “We’ve had all the time in the world. You don’t want to have this conversation, ever. That tells me a lot.”
    I sputtered a little bit, trying to figure out a way to disagree with him, but when I thought about it, he was right. I didn’t want to talk about it. “There’s a lot to discuss, Crawford. For one, where would we live?”
    “I don’t care.”
    “I think you do. Do you really want to move to the suburbs after you’ve lived in the city all of your life?”
    “We could move by St. Thomas. It’s half suburb, half city. We’d both be happy.”
    Wow, he’d really thought this through. That was a mighty fine solution but I was loath to agree. “Well, maybe you would, but my life is here. I have friends …”
    “Who?”
    “Well, Jane, for one. And …” I couldn’t come up with another one who lived in the area. “Greg?”
    Again, the pregnant pause.
    “Really, do we have to talk about this right now?” I asked, bending over at the waist to restore my equilibrium. I had felt fine all day; all of the sudden, the taste of the Lean Cuisine clogged my throat and I stood up and flung the half-full container into the sink. “I don’t feel very well.”
    “You never feel well when we start talking about this,” he said softly. His next sentence hit me like a punch to the solar plexus. “Maybe we should take a break.”
    “From talking about this?” I asked hopefully.
    “No. From everything,” he said. His voice was barely a whisper. “I’m not Ray, Alison.”
    “I know you’re not!” I said, feeling the tears spring to my eyes. “I just need time. There hasn’t been enough time.”
    “There’s been plenty of time,” he said. I heard the usual commotion of the Fiftieth Precinct detective squad in the background. “I have to go.”
    And then he was gone. And I was alone in my kitchen with my beautiful dog and a half-empty container of lemongrass chicken.
    It was hours before I moved from the kitchen table and into the hallway where I found a single sheet of paper that had been slipped under the front door. It was written in the same handwriting as the note that I had received the night before. This time, the message was a little more insistent and a little less cryptic.
     
    GET OUT BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.
    Funny thing was, I think I just had.

Fourteen
     
    The next morning, I considered my options. I couldn’t call Max because I have found her to be absolutely no help in these situations; her attention-deficit disorder always gets in the way of her giving any sound advice. And Kevin? Well, he was my go-to guy on matters of the heart but he was missing. Jane, my across-the-street neighbor, is a good friend, divorced like me, but in a very stable and loving relationship with her partner, Kathy. I decided that she was my best bet.
    I wrote her an e-mail from school asking her if she was available for an early dinner that evening. She wrote me back a few minutes later to accept, suggesting a little bistro that was walking distance from our houses. That set, I decided to turn my attention to other matters, mainly, the disappearance of Kevin. I sent him an e-mail to his St. Thomas account, something I hadn’t thought of doing the day before. It was returned to me