Page 10 of Fate and Fortune

“Is he that bad? You make him sound terrible.”

“Let’s just say he’s a complicated person,” Tara said.

Brian leaned in, voice lowered.

“Did you hear what happened to his wife?”

“No.”

She didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about, and he’d been telling her about this town for a few years now.

“She just vanished,” Tara said. “Ten years ago, almost eleven now. One day, she was the queen of Winslow Heights; the next day…poof. They found her car, but no body. Nothing.”

“After several years, Winslow had her declared dead. And then about a year ago, he remarried. To his wife’s sister.”

“Classy,” Allison said.

Tara’s voice dropped another notch, not wanting anyone to overhear.

“Some people think Joel did it. That he killed her and paid someone to hide the evidence. But there was never any proof.”

The server returned with their drinks, sliding them onto the table before disappearing into the back again without a word.

“That’s awful. Does everyone think this?”

“There’s talk,” Tara said with a shrug. “Some people think Joel Winslow is a great man, and others... She had six kids. The youngest was eighteen, getting ready to graduate high school. I hear that she hates her daddy.”

“Maybe he’s just a dick and not a killer,” Brian replied. “There are way more dicks than murderers.”

Their food was delivered, smelling too yummy to resist. They fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the clatter of the onion ring basket when the server dropped it off. Brian immediately grabbed two, burning his fingers in the process.

The door at the front of Tate’s swung open, letting in a gust of cold air that made Alli shiver.

The woman who entered looked like she’d stepped out of a faculty meeting at a high-prestige college. She was tall and athletic, carrying herself with a posture that suggested both yoga and perhaps the U.S. Marines.

Her blazer was tailored to within an inch of its life, and her dark slacks broke perfectly above the ankle. She wore steel-rimmed glasses that caught the neon and made her eyes unreadable. Her hair was short and silver, with not a strand out of place. Even her makeup was perfect, as in undetectable but somehow definitely there.

Without realizing she was doing it, Alli reached up to smooth down her own auburn curls that tended to do whatever the hell they wanted, no matter the weather.

The woman paused just inside, giving the room a tactical scan. Then she locked onto the Winslow table and made a beeline, weaving around other diners without a word of greeting or even a glance. Allison watched, fascinated by the efficiency. There was nothing Midwestern about the woman, not her walk, not her clothes, not the way she seemed to command the atmosphere just by moving through it.

Glancing around the room, it was easy to see that she’d drawn more than a few stares.

Brian followed Allison’s gaze.

“That’s Leigh Gabler,” he whispered. “She’s the one interviewing you on Thursday.”

Oh shit. That was one put-together woman who probably wanted another put-together woman to work for her.

Allison kept her focus on the scene. Leigh didn’t slow down at the Winslow table, just leaned down and spoke quietly into Sam’s ear. He glanced up, nodded once, then said something to Frankie, who made a face but didn’t protest. Sam pushed back his chair and joined Leigh a few feet away, near a high-top table stacked with empty pitchers.

They stood close, but not in the way of people who shared secrets. It was all business. Leigh’s arms stayed at her sides, hands open and still. Sam braced one hand on the back of a chair, his other jammed into his jeans pocket. Leigh spoke in tight, rapid sentences; Sam listened, nodded, and replied with just a few clipped words.

The whole exchange took less than two minutes. Leigh finished, gave a short, sharp nod, and reached out to touch Sam’s elbow. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t linger, either. Leigh turned and exited, the door banging once behind her. Sam stood by the table for a few seconds, then squared his shoulders and walked back to his booth.

Alli had been holding her breath during the exchange. She let it out slowly, picking up her tea and swirling the ice. She was now officially even more nervous about her interview. Terrified, in fact. She wiped her hands on her napkin and stood.

“I’m going to hit the restroom,” she said, grabbing her purse from the seat beside her. “I’ll be right back.”