Free Summer Garden Murder by Ann Ripley

right. She’s upset at the news.”
    â€œDo you think this Jim Daley is going to be worthy of Martha?”
    â€œI thought you’d already answered that question.”
    Bill bowed his head until his chin touched her forehead. “Jim’s different than the other young men she’s dated. He acts much older than his years. I have a suspicion that he’s never thought of himself as a child, but only as a man. I hope he has some fun in him. It’s always good to have a sense of humor, especially in those moments when your life may be going to hell. Overall, though, I like him very much.”
    Louise laid her head on Bill’s chest. “So do I. And I think she’s just as serious as he is. Even when she was very young, she acted like an adult who had some kind of responsibility for the world. My guess is that they’ll go through life taking everything very seriously.”
    â€œThink of them there in Chicago. They’ll be immersed in politics and loving it.”
    She broke away from his embrace. “You’re distracting me. I’ll never get these suitcases emptied. And then I’ll never have time before dark to see how the back gardens have fared without us.”
    â€œI’m sure Sam tended them just as well as you would have,” said Bill.
    As she was gathering up a handful of articles meant for the bathroom, they heard the front doorbell. She set the stack down again in the suitcase.
    Bill frowned. “More neighbors come over to discuss the missing Peter Hoffman?” He went down the hall to the front door as Louise trailed behind. She hoped her always polite and gregarious husband wouldn’t be excessively gregarious, but would plead some excuse such as post-vacation fatigue if it was a neighbor just come to chat.
    Instead of a neighbor, though, she heard the resounding voice of Detective Mike Geraghty echoing down the hall. “Bill,” said the detective, “George Morton and I came by to have a word with you and Louise.”
    An unexpected thrill of fear passed through her. But why should she be afraid of the police? This must be a perfunctory visit, just so they could tell their superiors that they’d covered every single person in the cul-de-sac on the matter of Peter Hoffman’s disappearance.
    When she arrived at the door, however, the expression on Mike Geraghty’s red, embarrassed face told her otherwise.
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    â€œCoffee?” offered Louise. Mike Geraghty was fond of her strong Chemex-brewed coffee.
    â€œLove it,” said the big detective, nodding his white-haired head. “Best coffee in town.”
    â€œI know you take it with cream,” she said to Mike, looking straight into his marble-like blue eyes. This was the man with whom she had worked on half a dozen crimes, sometimes with his approval, sometimes without. Thanks to her, Geraghty’s reputation for solving murders was tops among Fairfax County detectives. Other officers reportedly rewarded him by calling him the “Blue-Eyed Wonder.”
    George Morton was another matter. Morton, a dark-haired, good-looking man, had an athletic body that unfortunately was set on a pair of short legs. He reminded Louise faintly of a clown in a circus, and each time he re-entered her life, she had to get used to his faintly comic appearance, especially since it clashed with his hyper-serious demeanor.
    Morton looked somewhere behind Louise, so that she nearly turned around to see if someone were in back of her. But it was merely the self-conscious policeman’s way of avoiding eye contact. He said, “I take mine black.”
    Bill seated the policemen in the living room and asked Janie and Martha in the adjacent dining room if they’d mind moving their wedding planning to Martha’s bedroom. Bill, too, must have sensed the two law officers were here for more than a few casual questions.
    â€œI suppose this is about the fact that Peter