His Partner's Wife Read Free Page A

bail out your toothbrush and drop you at home right now."
    "But I can drive."
    "No." His pointed gaze took in her knotted fists
and the shiver she couldn't hide. "You're in shock. Mom's with the kids.
She'll enjoy babying you."
    Ridiculous to feel disappointed. Of course he wouldn't stay
with her. He had a murder to investigate. She knew the drill: he would probably
work for twenty-four straight hours, canvassing neighbors, supervising crime
scene technicians, following up on the tiniest leads. The older the trail, the
less likely that a murderer would be caught, Stuart always said. Homicide cops
did not drop an investigation to take the night off and pat the little woman's
shoulder.
    "I … that's nice of you, but shouldn't you ask your
mother?" Natalie had only met Ivy McLean a handful of times, the first at
Stuart's funeral. John was divorced and his two kids lived with him. His mother
must be baby-sitting tonight.
    Geoff cleared his throat. "You know Linda will give me
hell if I don't bring you home with me."
    Natalie doubted his wife would go that far. The two women
were casual friends because of their husbands, but they had so little else in
common, they'd never progressed beyond the occasional invitation to dinner.
    A tiny spark of bemusement penetrated the numbness she'd
wrapped around herself as snugly as the afghan. "I do have women friends
who can run me a hot bath and tuck me in. Really, you don't have to…"
    John's hard stare silenced her. "Yes. I do. I'd rather
know where you are."
    Because she was a suspect in a murder investigation? The
thought shook her. John couldn't really believe even for a second that she
would do something like that, could he?
    "Yes. All right," she said, sounding ungracious
but too discombobulated to figure out what woman friend would actually have a
spare bedroom without putting a child out. She would have to explain, too, listen
to exclamations of horror, perhaps endure avid curiosity. Ivy McLean was the
mother of not just one son in law enforcement, but three. She would have heard
it often enough before to imagine the scene without wanting the details.
Natalie didn't like the idea of putting out a near-stranger, but if she just
took a hot bath and went straight to bed, she didn't have to be much trouble.
    "What else do you need?" John asked. "Are you
on any prescriptions? What about a nightgown or clothes for morning?"
    Morning would be Saturday, and she wouldn't have to work,
thank heavens.
    "My purse," she said, explaining where she'd
dropped it. "The middle drawer in my dresser has jeans, and T-shirts are
in the one below that. I left a sweater draped over a chair in my bedroom.
Nightgowns are in the top drawer."
    "Underwear?"
    She could rinse out the ones she was wearing. But she'd
sound so missish if she suggested that, Natalie tried to match his
matter-of-fact tone. "There's a small drawer on top next to the
mirror."
    "Good enough." John left to go fetch her things.
He and Geoff had a brief discussion she couldn't hear at the door. A moment
later, Natalie heard Geoff telling the Porters he needed to ask them a few
questions.
    In the living room, they sat side by side on the couch, Mrs.
Porter clutching her husband's hand. She sat very straight, a dignified, tiny
woman whose dark hair was whitening in streaks, her husband a tall, thin man
whose color was none too good. Her eyes were bright, his dull. Natalie
remembered guiltily that she'd heard something about bypass surgery a few
months back. Had anybody in the neighborhood brought meals or even just
expressed sympathy? Their kindness today made Natalie feel terrible about the
way she'd shrugged off the casually mentioned news.
    Geoff's questions were routine. Had they seen or heard
anything out of the ordinary? Cars they didn't recognize?
    Shaking her head, Mrs. Porter said, "We grocery shopped
this morning, then had lunch."
    So they did actually go out.
    "This afternoon Roger mowed the lawn while I deadheaded
the roses. I