Free Deadly Nightshade by Cynthia Riggs Page B

something.”
    “Yes. A broken rum bottle.”
    Domingo slapped his hand on the glass tabletop. The vase of flowers clattered.
    Noreen stood up. “You can't let anyone else say a word, can you? Don't pay any attention to him, Mrs. Trumbull.”
    “No, no, honey,” Domingo said. “Do you understand what my girlfriend is saying? Three-quarters of the men on the New York force—men and women, that is—wouldn't have thought to do what she did. You realize that?” He looked at Noreen, then back at Victoria. “Go on, sweetheart. Where was the bottle?”
    “Off to the right side, under the rosebushes. Elizabeth picked it up with a paper and put it in the back of the car.”
    Domingo stared at her, his expression wavering between admiration and horror. “You've got to remember, I'm an ex-cop. You don't mess casually with evidence.”
    “We had no reason to think it might be evidence.”
    Domingo shook his head.
    “That's not all,” Elizabeth said. “Tell him the rest, Gram.”
    “What else?”
    “We were walking back to the car; I was turning things over with my stick, looking for interesting stones or shells....”
    “Go on,” Domingo said.
    “She's telling you just as fast as she can, asshole,” Noreen said. “Give her a chance to talk.” She turned to Victoria. “Sorry, Mrs. Trumbull.”
    “I turned over a clump of eelgrass, and found a plastic checkbook cover. No checkbook inside, but there were a couple of deposit slips that had not been filled out and a deposit receipt.”
    “What makes you think that had anything to do with the events of two nights ago?”
    “The plastic was still pretty fresh-looking,” Victoria said, “and the paper deposit slips and receipt were soaking wet, but not turned to mush by being in the water. I would guess it was in the water less than two days, maybe washed up yesterday.” Victoria looked at Domingo. “It probably has nothing to do with the murder. But who knows?”
    Domingo stubbed his cigarette out in the full ashtray and looked intently at Victoria. Noreen took the ashtray from him and went into the kitchen, then brought it back clean.
    “Where are they now?” Domingo said.
    “In the backseat of the car,” Elizabeth said.
    “The proper procedure is to turn evidence over to the police,” Domingo said.
    “But we have no reason to believe this is evidence,” Victoria said again.
    Domingo nodded. “Yas,” he said. “That is correct.”
    Noreen sighed.
    Elizabeth got to her feet and stretched. “I need fresh air. I'll bring the stuff in.”
    Victoria watched her lanky granddaughter slide the door open and head toward the car.
    The papers in the plastic cover were still soggy. Domingo carefully peeled the plastic flap away from them.
    “Get me a knife, honey.” He reached out his hand without looking at Noreen, and she went back into the kitchen. She returned with a thin-bladed knife, making a gesture for Victoria's benefit, as if she were going to impale her husband with it before she put it in his outstretched hand.
    “Thank you,” he said, eyes bright.
    Noreen went back into the kitchen and returned with a clear plastic cutting board and a handful of paper towels. Domingo looked up at her. Their eyes met. There was a faint smile on his face. Victoria felt a touch of electricity in the air. Noreen gave him a soft slap on his cheek and sat down again.
    As carefully as a surgeon, Domingo slid the knife under the corner of the top paper and carefully separated it from the one beneath. He laid paper towels on the cutting board and gently set the two deposit slips and the yellow receipt on top.
    “Can you make out any printing?” Victoria got up and leaned over Domingo's shoulder.
    “Still too wet, sweetheart.”
    Noreen left the room again and came back with a clear piece of glass, a small windowpane. Domingo made a kissing sound in her direction, and Noreen punched him on the shoulder. He sandwiched the wet papers between paper towels and the glass and