raised an intrigued brow. This John guy seemed nice—caring and responsible. Maybe he was someone she could really like.
Zachman: I can trust you, though, right?
Mntnbiker: With your life.
Zachman: What do you do for a living?
Mntnbiker: I guess you could say I’m sort of a security guard.
A security guard? That wouldn’t appear too impressive on a resumé. Tim would have laughed and told her she was stupid to befriend a $5/hour rent-a-cop. What kind of breadwinner could he be?
Good thing she and Tim had never measured success the same way. Good thing she wasn’t looking for a meal ticket. She could earn her own money. She might never be rich, but she’d get by. She wanted a man who cared about life and love and didn’t forget the simple things. Someone who valued her above his new BMW.
I’m having a good time, she wrote, marveling at the fact that she really was, but I have to go to work right now. Can we talk later?
Mntnbiker: You have to go in on a Saturday?
Zachman: I usually work graveyard, Tuesday through Saturday, but this week I traded with the guy who has the day shift on Wednesday, which gave me last night off and enough sleep to tackle some things I have to get done.
Mntnbiker: Like chase down that story you mentioned? The murder?
Zachman: Yeah.
Mntnbiker: How does a journalist track a story like that?
Zachman: It’s not easy. Right now, the county coroner isn’t being very helpful. He won’t give me any information on the body that was found last week, so I’m going to head over to his house with breakfast and see if I have better luck.
Mntnbiker: Maybe the police told him not to say anything.
Zachman: I’m sure they did.
Mntnbiker: But you’re a reporter. You’re not going to let that stop you, huh?
Zachman: Sort of. It’s my job to get the truth.
Mntnbiker: What if there’s a good reason for keeping you out of the loop?
Zachman: I’m not sure I’d buy it. Sometimes the police try to manipulate the media, just to make the department look good.
Mntnbiker: Everybody has a different perspective, I guess. Are you going to send me a message later?
Zachman: If you want.
Mntnbiker: I want. Do you work tonight?
Zachman: Yeah, I start at ten.
Mntnbiker: Then log on around seven o’clock, and I’ll take you on a cyber-date.
Zachman: What’s that?
Mntnbiker: You’ll see—I hope. I’m making this up as I go along.
Maggie typed LOL, the symbol for “laughing out loud,” then, teasing, told him she insisted on going Dutch. After that, she signed off.
MAGGIE HAD PLANNED to have her seventy-one-year-old neighbor, who normally watched Zach, come and sit with him while she visited the Atkinsons. But a denture crisis sent Mrs. Gruber off to the dentist, and Maggie decided that taking her son along might actually work to her advantage. She certainly couldn’t look too threatening with an endearing three-year-old in tow, not when he was carrying a box of donuts and she was toting a tray of coffee and hot chocolate. Besides, she liked having him with her.
She parked beneath one of the big, leafy trees that lined most of 36th Avenue, turned down the cop radio in her car and surveyed Lowell Atkinson’s house. She’d always admired it. It wasn’t large by modern standards but it definitely had class. Small, detached garage, well-tended shrubs, lots of flowers, big shady trees, and a new coat of paint on everything, including the fence. Maggie thought she might like to live in this neighborhood, if she could ever afford it. It was the kind of place where people bought and stayed. They mowed their own lawns, drove family cars and remembered to wave at the neighbors.
“Can I have another one?” Zach asked, lifting the lid and eyeing the donuts as she cut the engine. His face and hands were already covered with chocolate icing. Maggie considered his almost-clean shirt and decided not to tempt fate a second time.
“I think we’ve done enough damage already, buddy.” She retrieved a napkin from the glove box and did her best to spit-polish him, the way her grandmother used to do with her. When his patience ran out half a second later and he started squirming too much to make further improvements, she said, “Let’s go.”
Tall and willowy, Mary Ann Atkinson answered the door in her robe, but she looked as though she was in the process of getting ready, not getting up. Her dark hair was brushed back off her face and she’d already applied mascara and violet shadow to her brown eyes. “Hi, Maggie. Lowell said you’d be over today.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. Would you like to come in?”
Maggie didn’t answer right away. She was too busy wondering how Lowell might have known to expect her. She was a reporter, and he’d been dodging her questions. He could have made a simple assumption, but it was a little surprising that he’d been so specific about the day.
“How did Lowell know I was coming?” she asked.
Mary Ann smiled. “You didn’t call him?”
“No. Is he here?”
“I’m afraid not, but that’s no reason to let those donuts go to waste.” She stepped back. “Are you coming in?”
“Sure. Zach would love to see Katie. It’s been almost a year since we had that picnic.”
Katie, Mary Ann’s five-year-old, peered shyly through the railing of the balcony above as Mary Ann showed them inside. Mary Ann waved her daughter down and led them through a comfortable-looking brown-and-green living room, where her six-month-old son was sleeping in a battery-powered swing, to a large screened-in porch. They sat at an iron table on chintz-upholstered seats while Katie hung back, regarding Zach with wariness. Her reserve vanished, however, the moment he caught sight of her tricycle and appropriated it for his own use.
Mary Ann put a halt to her daughter’s indignant cries and found a smaller riding toy for Zach. Then she and Maggie watched their children play on the flagstone patio.
“The weather’s been great, hasn’t it?” Mary Ann asked. “I love this time of year.”
“It’s going to be a hot summer,” Maggie replied.
“Every summer is hot in Sacramento.”
“I’m finding that out.”
“Did you get air conditioning? I remember you spent last summer without it.”
“I decided to save two thousand bucks and bought a fan instead.”
Mary Ann laughed. “You should have saved the twenty bucks you spent on the fan because it won’t be nearly enough in another two weeks.”
“Even after I get an air conditioner I’m hoping to open my windows at night and use the fan to keep my electric bills down, at least on the nights I’m home.”
“Then you’re a braver woman than I am. After that Ritter murder, I’m keeping my doors and windows locked.”
Maggie set the cups of hot chocolate aside to cool for the kids and selected a tall Starbucks cup from her cardboard tray for Mary Ann. Then she opened the donuts. “Don’t let that scare you. Most murders are committed by a friend or relative, so unless someone close to you is unstable, you’re pretty safe.” She selected a chocolate cake donut and sat back to eat it. “In Sarah Ritter’s case, I’m guessing it was her husband. She was probably going to sue for divorce or something, so he freaked out and stabbed