Free Where Truth Lies by Christiane Heggan

busboy placed two tall glasses of water in front of them and disappeared. “A few members of the planning board went,” Lucy replied. “One professor from the college, a few students. The rest of us attended a mass conducted by Father Donnelly here in town. Several people showed up, other business owners, suppliers, town officials.”

    “What about Denise?”

    “She didn’t go.” Lucy looked suddenly uncomfortable as she started reading her menu, but Matt had perfected the art of observing people over the years, and he could read Lucy like a book. She was hiding something.

    He took a sip of his water. “Why do you think that is?” he pressed.

    “I don’t know.” She kept her eyes downcast.

    “That’s odd, don’t you think? Considering her relationship with Steven?”

    “The people in this town haven’t been very nice to her these past couple of weeks. That’s why she thought it best to stay away.”

    A waitress stopped by their table and greeted Lucy by name. Although Matt had never seen her before, she seemed to know him quite well. “You’re Matt, aren’t you? I’d recognize you anywhere.” She gave him an enticing smile. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like George Clooney?”

    “Who?”

    “George Clooney. The actor?”

    Matt unfolded his paper napkin. “Never heard of him.”

    “You’re kidding, right?”

    Lucy was laughing softly. “You must forgive my brother, Renée. He doesn’t get around much, but she’s right,” she told Matt. “You do look like George Clooney. Especially when you smile.”

    Matt cut short the conversation by handing Renée his menu. “We’ll have two BLTs on wheat toast and two Cokes. Is that okay with you, Luce?”

    “Sure.” As soon as the waitress was gone, Lucy’s face turned serious again. “How are you going to help Dad?”

    “By talking to people, poking around, that kind of stuff.”

    “What do you hope to find out?”

    “If Steven was expecting someone the night he was killed, and if he or she showed up. The problem is, at this time of year, the downtown businesses start to wind down at about four. I’ve talked to a few people so far, and everyone closes at six sharp, if not sooner, which means they didn’t see or hear anything.”

    “Did you talk to Elizabeth Runyon? She was steaming mad when Steven welched on his promise to feature her in a one-woman show.”

    “I did talk to her. She didn’t do it.”

    “What makes you so sure?”

    “She has an airtight alibi. She and her aunt were out to dinner that night. At least fifty people eating at the same restaurant can vouch for that, including the waiters.”

    “People sneak out of public places all the time with no one noticing.”

    “How would you know that?”

    “I watch Desperate Housewives. ”

    He gave her a blank look.

    “Oh, my God, where have you been? Desperate Housewives is the hottest show on television. It’s filled with intrigue, sex and hanky-panky.”

    He smiled. “It’s a little different in real life, honey.”

    The frown between her blond eyebrows reappeared. “Are you saying that Dad’s case is hopeless?”

    He took her hands in his. They were cold. “Absolutely not,” he said with more optimism than he felt. “I don’t expect it’ll be easy, but I doubt our killer committed the perfect crime. Few murderers do. It’s just a matter of finding out where he screwed up.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Would you like to help?”

    Her face brightened, just as he knew it would. “To clear Dad? Are you kidding? What do you want me to do?”

    “Tell me what you know about that Boston curator. I understand that she inherited Steven Hatfield’s gallery.”

    “That’s what I heard.”

    “Have you met her?”

    “No, but Denise has. She says she’s nice and very pretty.”

    “How did they meet?”

    “Denise went to the gallery and introduced herself. They sort of hit it off.”

    Matt wasn’t surprised. Denise