Chapter Thirty-NineOn Friday morning, Molly and Frances took their coffee cups to warm their hands, and walked around the frosty garden. The snow had half-melted, but it still lingered where the sun hadn’t struck it, and Molly could easily see how much shade everything got—good to know when planning what to plant, though that morning she was too distracted to pay much attention.
“I’ve decided to tell Ben,” she said, stopping by an oak tree that hadn’t yet let go of its brown leaves.
“I don’t know,” said Frances. “Shouldn’t he have to find out stuff like that on his own? Why do you have to do all the legwork?”
“You say that like it’s drudgery. I like finding stuff out. And besides, I want whoever killed those two women brought to justice as much as anyone! Don’t you?”
“Well, you’re not
