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“She was pretty clear about her feelings. Any idea what that was about?”
“Only what you saw in that picture and that Sophie quit her job and moved home with her parents about a month ago.”
He nodded. “What’s good?” he asked, eyeing the menu.
“Pretty much everything. You can close your eyes and point and probably won’t be disappointed. The lobster roll is amazing. They’ve won best in the state for a number of years. And order the potato chips instead of fries. The fries are great, but the chips are homemade and served warm. They’re to die for.”
“What are you having?”
“Probably the lobster roll with chips.”
“If they didn’t have the lobster roll, what would you get?”
“Probably either the steak frites or scallops and parmesan risotto.”
“I take it the risotto is good?”
“There’s only one better, and that’s Sudie’s.”
“Is there anything the restaurant cooks better than Sudie?”
Jessica laughed. She had a feminine laugh that reminded him of a summer stream tumbling over the rocks on its way to the sea and beyond to eternity. He thought it was very possible that he could get lost in her laughter forever. “Meatloaf. Sudie hates meatloaf. I, on the other hand, love meatloaf sandwiches so when I get a hankering for one, I come here.”
“I see the meatloaf but not the sandwich on the menu.”
“That’s because it isn’t on the menu—you have to just know about it.”
Their waitress came over and they ordered one each of the lobster roll and the meatloaf sandwich, both with the potato chips. After the girl went to get their drinks, a young woman who he recognized from the picture as Sophie approached them. In the picture she’d looked frightened. Now, she looked downtrodden and as if she believed her life was over.
“Hi, Ms. Murdoch. My mom said you and the detective wanted to talk to me.”
“Hi, Sophie. I’m Detective Wilder. I just have a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind sitting down with us. Can I ask the waiter to bring you anything?”
A wan smile. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Is this about Mr. Thompson’s murder? I didn’t do it, but I’m not sad that he’s dead.”
“It is, and I don’t think you’re alone in how you’re feeling,” said Thorn.
“And there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way,” said Jessica.
Deciding to let her take the lead on this one, he relaxed back and gave her an approving nod.
“In case you missed it, that was Thorn’s way of telling me I should do the questioning, because I know you and we’re both girls.”
God, she was good. Jessica was establishing an easy rapport with the scared young woman.
“I’m not a professional, although I write myself that way in my books.”
That elicited a grin from Sophie. “I love your books. I rarely figure them out before the end, but then I wonder why I didn’t.”
“That’s the exact goal of every mystery writer I know.”
“I have a friend who reads the last chapter first, so she knows.”
“Who is she? That’s sacrilege. I say off with her head.”
Sophie giggled. When he saw her mother’s head whip up from the corner of his eye, he wondered how long it had been since she’d heard that sound.
The girl visibly relaxed and said, “I know, right? I didn’t do it. Kill Mr. Thompson, I mean.”
