MURDER on the ROCKS (Allie Griffin Mysteries Book 2) by Leslie Leigh Page A

loneliness here. An alleyway at night was an alleyway at night. Apartments or no apartments.
                  She looked at her friend. "Ok. You ready?"
                  "Why not?" Del said lackadaisically. "Bring it on."
                  Allie handed her a blue baseball cap. "Put this on. You're going to do a little acting for me."
                  "Oh boy. Who'm I playing?"
                  "A little boy. Hmmm, about seven years old."
                  Leaving the car running, and with the headlights on, she exited, telling Del to follow her.
                  Outside, she positioned Del in front of the car. "Ok, cap forward. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Now get down on your knees."
                  "Really? There's gravel and crap."
                  "Come on. This is important."
                  One of Del's strengths as an actress was that she knew how to take direction.
                  "Now what?"             
                  "Now you hang on a second. Don’t move."
                  Allie walked about ten feet away and stopped. She closed her eyes and put her hand over them to blot away any previous exposure to the headlights. Then she turned around.
                  Del was a vague silhouette in front of the lights. Allie walked toward her. She stopped in front of her friend.
                  "It's hard to tell."
                  "What?"
                  "The color of the cap. Bennett said the kid had a blue cap on. With headlights shining in the face, you can sort of tell. But with all the stress of the situation, the strangeness of it, the appearance of a child to collect the money, would he really be focused on the cap?"
                  "Can I get up now?"
                  "Yeah, I guess."
                  "He could have a really good eye for detail," said Del.
                  "True. But he didn’t notice Dougie dyed his hair."
                  "Who?"
                  "Douglas the bartender dyed his hair and Bennett didn't realize he'd done it. That's not a very good eye for detail. And noticing dyed hair on a guy that you see all the time is a lot different than noticing the color of a kid's cap when he's standing in a strange alley in front of headlights."
                  "Wow."
                  "Exactly. Let's go. This place is giving me the creeps."

11.
     
                  "In order to figure out who could've murdered your wife, we need to find out who could have benefitted from her death. And that means we should take a look at her will."
                  They sat in Bennett Reilly's living room, sipping coffee in the afternoon glow of a bright, clear day.             
                  "Oh, well, that's easy. I held power of attorney. I can tell you exactly who benefitted. There was myself and Sam Weller."
                  Allie started at the name. "Who is that?"
                  "There's a story there. How much time have you got?"
                  "All the time in the world."
                  "Ok, well... I don’t know if you know this, but when Honey was younger, she was sort of a free spirit. Your typical Burlington earthy crunchy type. You know what I mean?"
                  "I guess so."
                  "Well, that's what she was. She wouldn’t deny it, although she looked at those years with disdain. She became a diehard capitalist later on. Anyway, in those days – back in the 80s – there were a lot of causes for a progressive liberal. Reagan-era politics provided a lot of good fodder for those types. There were quite a few demonstrations in those days. Mostly peaceful. Right around the