don't believe a car passed the entire while. Did you see one,
dear?"
He frowned, giving it careful thought. "No. No, I
didn't notice one."
"Then we lay down for a quick nap," his wife continued.
"I'd just begun thinking about putting dinner on."
Geoff thanked them gravely and closed his notebook. Natalie
carefully folded the afghan and laid it on the arm of the chair.
Standing, she smiled even as she felt the hot spurt of
tears. "You've been so kind. I don't know what I would have done if you
hadn't been home. Please, let me know if there's ever anything I can do for
you."
"Oh, my dear!" Mrs. Porter stood and came to
Natalie, taking her hand, hers dry but surprisingly strong. "We've wished
we could help you since your husband died! All by yourself in that big house.
You come see us anytime." She turned a commanding gaze on the detective.
"You will let us know when you catch the man who did such an awful thing,
now won't you?"
"It'll be in the newspapers," he promised.
"Assuming you do catch him," she said acerbically,
sounding like her sharp self for the first time tonight.
Geoff's expression became wooden. "We'll do our best,
ma'am."
"See that you do." She gave Natalie's hand a last
squeeze. "Warm milk does help you sleep."
"I'll remember that." Natalie was teary again as
Geoff escorted her out. She must still be in shock. She wasn't usually so
emotional.
"We will catch him," Geoff promised as they
crossed the street. "Count on it."
"I know you will." Natalie paused on the sidewalk
in front of her house and gazed at it, wondering if it would ever seem familiar
and safe again. She felt again the sense of wrongness, and this time, it raised
goose bumps on her skin. She rubbed her forearms. "I only hope you arrest
him soon. It's going to give me the creeps to go home, wondering why they were
in my house and whether he could get in again."
"Maybe you shouldn't go home." Frowning, Geoff held open
the car door for her. "Until we figure out for sure what they were
after."
She liked the way he worried about her. Even if his concern,
too, was for Stuart's sake.
"Yeah, but I don't want to develop a phobia about my
own house." Natalie sighed and climbed into the passenger seat of the dark
blue car. "We'll see how it goes."
He nodded, as kind in his way as the Porters had been. Voice
gruff, he said, "Just remember, there's a fine line between bravery and
idiocy. Don't push yourself to do something you're uncomfortable with."
"I won't," she promised.
John McLean emerged from the house carrying her overnight
bag and purse. Both she and Geoff turned their heads to watch him cut across
her lawn. She liked watching him move, with the discipline and grace of an
athlete, his stride purposeful and long.
What would she have thought of him if she were a normal
citizen who didn't know the investigating officers? Natalie wondered idly.
Would his physical bulk and the bulge of the gun he carried in a shoulder
holster have intimidated her? She certainly couldn't have known that he had a
dry sense of humor or that his eyes often held a twinkle even as his mouth
remained unsmiling. Or that this cop in a dark, well-cut suit would go home
most days to cook dinner for his children, help them with homework, supervise
baths and tuck them in.
Her mind roved further. If she'd never met Detective John
McLean, if she weren't a widow of barely a year, could she have been attracted
to him?
Jolted, Natalie uttered a small, startled sound that Geoff,
mercifully, seemed not to notice. Where in heck had that idea
come from? For goodness' sake, she'd known John for several years and never
once thought of him in those terms! He was Stuart's friend. Period.
No, not period. Of course he'd become her friend, too. Why
else had she needed him so desperately today?
Of course she wasn't attracted to him. She would have
noticed before now.
No, Natalie knew perfectly well what she was doing. John was
an excuse, that's all. What she was avoiding thinking
dear?"
He frowned, giving it careful thought. "No. No, I
didn't notice one."
"Then we lay down for a quick nap," his wife continued.
"I'd just begun thinking about putting dinner on."
Geoff thanked them gravely and closed his notebook. Natalie
carefully folded the afghan and laid it on the arm of the chair.
Standing, she smiled even as she felt the hot spurt of
tears. "You've been so kind. I don't know what I would have done if you
hadn't been home. Please, let me know if there's ever anything I can do for
you."
"Oh, my dear!" Mrs. Porter stood and came to
Natalie, taking her hand, hers dry but surprisingly strong. "We've wished
we could help you since your husband died! All by yourself in that big house.
You come see us anytime." She turned a commanding gaze on the detective.
"You will let us know when you catch the man who did such an awful thing,
now won't you?"
"It'll be in the newspapers," he promised.
"Assuming you do catch him," she said acerbically,
sounding like her sharp self for the first time tonight.
Geoff's expression became wooden. "We'll do our best,
ma'am."
"See that you do." She gave Natalie's hand a last
squeeze. "Warm milk does help you sleep."
"I'll remember that." Natalie was teary again as
Geoff escorted her out. She must still be in shock. She wasn't usually so
emotional.
"We will catch him," Geoff promised as they
crossed the street. "Count on it."
"I know you will." Natalie paused on the sidewalk
in front of her house and gazed at it, wondering if it would ever seem familiar
and safe again. She felt again the sense of wrongness, and this time, it raised
goose bumps on her skin. She rubbed her forearms. "I only hope you arrest
him soon. It's going to give me the creeps to go home, wondering why they were
in my house and whether he could get in again."
"Maybe you shouldn't go home." Frowning, Geoff held open
the car door for her. "Until we figure out for sure what they were
after."
She liked the way he worried about her. Even if his concern,
too, was for Stuart's sake.
"Yeah, but I don't want to develop a phobia about my
own house." Natalie sighed and climbed into the passenger seat of the dark
blue car. "We'll see how it goes."
He nodded, as kind in his way as the Porters had been. Voice
gruff, he said, "Just remember, there's a fine line between bravery and
idiocy. Don't push yourself to do something you're uncomfortable with."
"I won't," she promised.
John McLean emerged from the house carrying her overnight
bag and purse. Both she and Geoff turned their heads to watch him cut across
her lawn. She liked watching him move, with the discipline and grace of an
athlete, his stride purposeful and long.
What would she have thought of him if she were a normal
citizen who didn't know the investigating officers? Natalie wondered idly.
Would his physical bulk and the bulge of the gun he carried in a shoulder
holster have intimidated her? She certainly couldn't have known that he had a
dry sense of humor or that his eyes often held a twinkle even as his mouth
remained unsmiling. Or that this cop in a dark, well-cut suit would go home
most days to cook dinner for his children, help them with homework, supervise
baths and tuck them in.
Her mind roved further. If she'd never met Detective John
McLean, if she weren't a widow of barely a year, could she have been attracted
to him?
Jolted, Natalie uttered a small, startled sound that Geoff,
mercifully, seemed not to notice. Where in heck had that idea
come from? For goodness' sake, she'd known John for several years and never
once thought of him in those terms! He was Stuart's friend. Period.
No, not period. Of course he'd become her friend, too. Why
else had she needed him so desperately today?
Of course she wasn't attracted to him. She would have
noticed before now.
No, Natalie knew perfectly well what she was doing. John was
an excuse, that's all. What she was avoiding thinking