Page 91 of Pretty Poison

“Bullshit science,” Asher said. “What else?”

“The witness to the signature is a fake person, as far as I can tell. No one by the name lives at that address, and the phone number wasn’t valid.”

“Maybe they’re dyslexic,” Asher suggested. “A transposed number gets you a completely different address and phone number.”

“I thought of that,” Rocky said. “I’ve searched high and low for this person, but Rona Danielson doesn’t exist.”

“Is Rona a nickname?” Asher asked.

“I thought so at first, but I’ve called every Danielson in a two-hundred-mile radius. No Rona. I’ve accepted the forgery is real. I’m just not convinced Tess was behind it.”

“Okay,” Asher said. “If Tess didn’t do it, who did?”

“Someone looking out for her best interest, perhaps.” Rocky thought of Grant’s fierce protectiveness toward his mother. While he understood it, Rocky had to wonder if Grant wasn’t protecting something else. Hadn’t he said that they all had skeletons in their closets? What were Grant’s? And what about Helen? Rocky had reviewed Hamilton’s medical records at length and was confident the man had died as a direct cause of his illness. No one helped Arnold Hamilton to an early grave. Had Helen seen the writing on the wall and taken steps to ensure Tess was cared for?

“What’s the son say about all this?”

“I haven’t asked him yet. I’m saving his interview for second to last,” Rocky said as he turned into Joseph Tribble Park.

“Who’s last?”

“Tess’s friend, Helen Girard. She’s on the cruise with Tess, so I’ll chat with her next weekend. I want to assimilate the information from these interviews before I chat with Grant, even though I don’t anticipate he’ll be much help since he disapproved of his mother’s participation.” Rocky parked the car. “Enough chat about the investigation. I want to show you my favorite park.”

They got out of the car and walked around to the trunk. Asher hoisted the heavy picnic basket and Rocky grabbed the blanket while lusting after his husband’s bunched biceps.

“What’s in this thing?” Asher asked. “It weighs a ton.”

“I’ve never gone on a romantic picnic before and might’ve gone overboard.”

“What did you make? Feels like a Thanksgiving feast.”

Rocky laughed. “I didn’t make anything, but I did buy lots of yummy stuff from the deli.”

Asher leaned over and kissed his temple. “I’ll love it all.” He looked around at the lush space and commented on the many ways people were entertaining themselves. You could expect to find everything from bicycles to roller skates on the trails. More adventurous people enjoyed kayaks, canoes, pedal boats, and paddleboards on the lake. “Ever tried to kayak?”

“Once,” Rocky said. “It didn’t go well. You?”

“I’m afraid of getting stuck and drowning when it capsizes. I’m all in for canoeing, though.”

“We’ll look into buying one.” Rocky gestured to a replica of an old-fashioned schoolhouse on a post near one of the pavilions. “I want to show you something.”

Asher followed him over. “It’s a tiny library,” he said.

“My dad built and installed them all over the city. Queen Bea was a school librarian, and he wanted to honor her when she retired.”

“Roger is good people.”

“He is,” Rocky agreed. He opened the picnic basket, removed a stack of books, and set them inside the little schoolhouse. “Adult books on the top shelf and children’s books on the bottom.” Rocky had contributed some to each row. Then he selected a book someone else had donated to the library. Gesturing to the heaving bosom of the woman bent over a roguish pirate’s arm, Rocky said, “Marla will love this.”

He tucked it under his arm and watched Asher rifle through the picnic basket contents.

Asher looked up. “Is this chicken salad on croissants?”

“Yep.”

Asher linked his fingers through Rocky’s and headed toward one of the empty picnic tables. Rocky squeezed Asher’s fingers to halt his forward progress. “No?” Asher asked.

Rocky shook his head. “Not secluded enough.”