Bullet in the Night Read Free Page A

except for a few strands that had escaped the barrette.
    Two teardrops slid down my cheeks. I pushed them away with the back of my hand and focused on the pattern of the Berber carpet in the great room, the array of natural wicker and painted baskets strewn extravagantly on shelves, tables, on the floor next to furniture and in corner nooks.
    Not simply showy, her accessories held audiotapes, CD’s, tea, and napkins. This open, cozy setting reflected Lenora’s sense of beauty and practicality, making me even sadder.
    Tucker dropped into a chair at an oak dining table with carved legs massive enough to support a grand piano. Nick and I chose chairs on either side of him. The kitchen area with its maple cabinets was adjacent to us. Three bananas and two apples filled a wooden bowl on the table.
    I scanned the rooms quickly. My eyes focused on the ornate glass-faced gun cabinet. I jerked back around to find Tucker had followed my gaze. “I used to be a hunter,” he said, “but Lenora couldn’t bear for me to shoot the deer and wild turkeys on our property. Not even a rabbit, although I will say she nearly weakened when a pesky woodchuck kept burrowing under the house.”
    I tried to manufacture a smile.
    “Incidentally, the police checked my guns to see if the bullet came from one of them, thinking perhaps Kirk had used it. He hadn’t.”
    And to check you out, I imagine. Routine. Husbands were always prime suspects.
    Tucker brushed his hand across the polished tabletop. “Lenora enjoyed informal entertaining in this room. Unfortunately, because of my work, I missed too many events. She tolerated my schedule, but neither of us liked it.” His lips stiffened.
    I leaned forward. “You were away a lot, but I never knew her to complain.”
    “All the same, I can’t stop berating myself for being overinvolved at the university this past year and barely available for Lenora’s foundation work.” He shook his silver head. “I suppose you hear similar things in counseling all the time from grieving spouses.”
    “More than I’d like.” I nodded.
    Tucker shrugged. “At least I could bring the foundation paperwork with me and complete it in the city.”
    “I’m sure you were a big help,” Nick offered.
    I agreed. Why? Courteous response. How could I know? I disliked when I spoke automatically.
    Outside, an owl emitted a deep hoot. What night creatures were present during Lenora’s tragic shooting? If only birds or animals had voices to tell us now what happened that night.
    “Tucker, would you be willing to repeat what you told me earlier for my husband, Nick? As a lawyer, he may catch something in the sequence of events that I missed. Plus, I could benefit from hearing it again. I admit I was pretty much in semi-shock earlier when you told me.”
    He nodded. “I realize talking is supposed to help, but does it really? I’ve been over this several times, and it remains traumatic.” Tucker lifted his hands, palms up, in a helpless gesture. “This probably isn’t the last time I’ll ever have to speak of the horror of last night.”
    “I understand.” Nick averted his eyes.
    “Well, I took the train home for the weekend from my job in Illinois, arriving at my usual time, ten-fifteen p.m., just as paramedics loaded Lenora on a stretcher.” He turned his head as if to block the picture before completing the account of the chain of events.
    “And Kirk’s story?” I asked.
    “Says he had a seven p.m. appointment with Lenora but arrived late, around nine, due to a flat tire.”
    “He came for...?” Nick leaned toward Tucker, concentrating his gaze.
    “Kirk was to have had a coaching session with Lenora and review his first week on the job for her Second Chance Prison Rehab Foundation.”
    “She’d been counseling him for how long before giving him the job? Sorry, I’d never paid close attention when Lenora told me about her plan to hire him.”
    Tucker counted out loud. “Several months, maybe