She chuckled. “So you weren’t just passing by and saw my door ajar, huh?”
I shook my head. “Did you know there was someone murdered at your husband’s office recently?”
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look guilty. She didn’t suck in her breath or suddenly run away or reach into her purse and pull out the gun that had killed me. Instead, she frowned and reached up to rub her chest, just above her heart. Though maybe she simply had an itch. Either way, those chucked eggs of ours seemed, for the time being, safe—though sound was another matter entirely.
“You knew him?” she asked. “Nord, I believe, was his name.”
I nodded. Clark nodded. Eve shrugged. “Tangentially, yes,” I replied. “We think your husband was involved, either directly or also tangentially.” I pointed at the scarf again. “Would
