 
A SILVER LINING

By

BLISS ADDISON

Published By Bliss Addison

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2010 Bliss Addison

First Electronic Publication May 2010

Second Electronic Publication July 2012

*Previously Titled _Tomfoolery_ and

Previously Published by Write Words, Inc.*

This book is a work of fiction based entirely on the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental. Real places mentioned in the book are depicted fictionally and are not intended to portray actual times or places. All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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License Notes

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* * * *

Other Books by Bliss Addison:

A Battle of Wills (Shannon Murphy – Book I)

With Malicious Intent (Shannon Murphy – Book II)

Restless Souls

Wolfe, She Cried

Murder at the Villa Maria-Sedona Retirement Home

A Waning Moon

One Millhaven Lane

Deadly Serum

Prophesy

An Equal Measure

Sleight of Hand

Watching Over Her

A Little Rain Must Fall (The Monahans – Book II)

A Mistaken Belief (The Monahans – Book III)

* * * *

Summary:

Months after her disappearance, the body of Maggie Monahan is found buried in a shallow grave less than fifty yards from her home. Homicide Detective Eugene Jerffries has a suspect - Sonja Monahan, the daughter-in-law of the deceased, but his chances of making an arrest are slim. Not only is the trail of evidence cold, but Sonja's husband, Jack, provides his wife with an undeniable alibi.

The more Jeffries looks into the case, the more he's convinced Sonja is the murderer. Days into his investigation, and just when he's about to give up, he uncovers irrefutable evidence as to the identity of the killer. Case closed for the murder of Maggie Monahan, but not for him and Ivy Ajax, the owner of the dog who unearthed Maggie's remains. Neither of them are looking for a romantic relationship, but their friendship soon morphs into the unexpected for both of them.

* * * *

Contents:

Chapter One – The Unearthing of Maggie Monahan

Chapter Two – The Investigation Begins

Chapter Three – Jack Monahan Looks Back on the Past

Chapter Four – Autopsy Results

Chapter Five – Photo Shoot

Chapter Six – Wrong First Impressions

Chapter Seven – Moments of Reflection

Chapter Eight – Make the Most of Every Second

Chapter Nine – All Through the Night

Chapter Ten – Paper Work

Chapter Eleven – Offspring Conscience

Chapter Twelve – Leave No Detail Unexplained

Chapter Thirteen – My Li'l Bert

Chapter Fourteen – A Chew of Gum

Chapter Fifteen – The Mishap

Chapter Sixteen – What Had Possessed Her?

Chapter Seventeen – Morbid Curiosity

Chapter Eighteen –The Impossible

Chapter Nineteen – Some Detective He Was

Chapter Twenty – No Alcohol. No Caffeine. No Medication. No Tobacco.

Chapter Twenty-One \- Friendlies

Chapter Twenty-Two – The Ajax Special

Chapter Twenty-Three – First We Eat

Chapter Twenty-Four – Things Are Not Always What They Seem

Chapter Twenty-Five – Lifetime Friends

Chapter Twenty-Six – Bits and Starts

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Jeffries Updates the Chief

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Real Slow and Clear

Chapter Twenty-Nine – A Change Over Time

Chapter Thirty – We Have a Winner

Chapter Thirty-One – Strangers Knocked.

* * * *

I see ye visibly, and now believe

That he, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill

Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,

Would send a glistering guardian, if need were

To keep my life and honour unassailed.

Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night?

I did not err; there does a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night,

And casts a gleam over the tufted grove.

~John Milton

# * * * *

## Chapter One

Detective Eugene Jeffries hadn't ID'd the body yet, but his gut told him the remains the Terrier had uncovered was Maggie Monahan, missing from her home since June of last year.

He'd known this day would come.

He'd also known he'd be investigating her death when the day came.

He parked his car on the right-of-way facing the crime scene and looked at the two-story, cedar-sided house that had once been his second home, the threshold of which he never crossed since the night Maggie disappeared.

The Truscotts, the owners previous to the current owner, claimed Maggie's ghost walked the halls of the house, her mournful cries echoing off the plaster walls. Jeffries didn't give any credence to the story. Not that he didn't believe in ghosts, but that Maggie wouldn't waste precious moments in the hereafter feeling sorry for herself. If anything, she'd be proactive and guide him to the whereabouts of her body and lend him clues to her murderer, if she thought he needed them.

His attention turned then to the house next door, sheathed in darkness. At least, Jack would be spared the agony of watching his mother's remains pulled from the ground.

No one in the neighborhood had been alerted to the find. He wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Jeffries couldn't delay any longer and opened the car door. With a firm grip on his flashlight, he walked to the makeshift grave, plainly cursing at the commercial blue tarp serving as her shroud.

He took a deep breath and looked at the corpse. The gold bracelet encircling her wrist caught his attention first. He recognized it as Maggie's. It was not an official way to confirm ID, but he had no doubt this was Maggie.

He thought he'd prepared himself sufficiently, but almost lost his stomach when he lifted the tarp and saw the knife protruding between her shoulder blades. Her skeletal hand rested beneath her face, her lips parted. In prayer, perhaps. Yes, he thought. Maggie's last words would have been to pray for her attacker, her last thoughts would have been of her husband, sons and grandchildren she would leave behind. The earth would eventually reclaim her remains, but after a proper farewell and with all the respect, reverence and love Maggie richly deserved.

He knew her like he did his own mother and loved her as much. Whoever robbed her of the rest of her life would pay.

Jeffries reacted like a jittery child to the hoot of an owl and looked around to see if anyone witnessed his fright. Thankful there wasn't, he shone his light around the partially excavated grave.

"I'm sorry, Maggie," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

An orb of blue light danced in the darkness before his face. Not knowing what to think, he jerked to his full height, startling late-night birds from their perches in the trees, their wing-flapping unnerving him even more.

"Are you the police?" the woman holding the flashlight asked.

"You put in the call?"

"Uh-huh. Ivy Ajax."

He asked her to wait for him by his car while he phoned for the crime scene techs.

And so it began — the murder investigation that had taken thirteen months to get underway.

## Chapter Two

The truth was staring Ivy in the face, yet she had a difficult time believing a body had been buried on her property. If Bogie hadn't fancied hiding his ham bone in that particular spot, the body might never have been discovered. She could have lived happily in ignorance of the fact, but was thankful the family of the victim would have closure.

While she waited for the detective to return, she stood to one side, away from the traffic of emergency response vehicles, reporters and police personnel, attempting to stay inconspicuous. She didn't want to draw anyone's attention, particularly the media, which there seemed an abundance of, considering the population of Grimsby.

The chatter from the crowd came to an abrupt stop when the coroner's assistants lifted the decomposed body from the earth. A moment of silence was observed by everyone, even the birds and squirrels perched in the neighboring maples and oaks previously agitated by the disruption, stilled. The zip of the body bag shivered her fevered flesh. There was no sound so nerve-grinding, no act so final. She forced her concentration on the flashing lights from emergency vehicles and the growing number of onlookers.

"Let's go somewhere quiet," the homicide detective said as he walked past.

Ivy turned and followed him through the throng of spectators to her back fence.

"How long have you lived here, Mrs. Ajax?" he asked.

He had identified himself, but she couldn't recall his name. "Two weeks, and it's Ms. not Mrs."

"Was there a particular reason you chose this area to plant a flower, Miss Ajax?" he asked, waving at the red lobelia propped against the garden shed in her back yard.

"I had no intention of planting anything there. It's my garage lot. As I said, my dog was digging at something, and I investigated." Anticipating where this line of questioning led, she said, "I had nothing to do with that person's death."

"Really?"

She watched him rock on his heels and felt compelled to say, "The woman died months ago. Long before I moved here."

"How do you know the victim's female?"

"Her clothing."

"Your attention to detail astounds me, considering the shock you must have experienced when you found the corpse. 'I didn't touch anything. As soon as I realized I'd uncovered a body, I ran in the house and called the police. I wanted to put as much distance as I could between the body and me.' Isn't that what you told me?"

She ignored his question and out waited the silence.

"Have you noticed anyone on your garage lot who looked like they might be up to no good?"

"No." She watched him study her and determined he suspected she hid something from him.

"You're new to Grimsby?" he asked.

The question sounded more like a declaration than query. This was an average size city with a small town mentality. Everyone knew everyone and their business. "I moved here mid-spring."

"From?"

"Sedgewick."

"Where do you work?" he asked.

"Unemployment Insurance." Patience, she coached herself. If Jeffries became suspicious, he had the means to find out everything there was to know about her. She didn't want him, or anyone, delving into her past.

"Met any of your neighbors yet?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I like my privacy and keep to myself." Hostility had crept into her voice. She'd heard it, and if his raised eyebrows were any indication, so had he. Jeffries was probably thinking she kept a secret. He wouldn't be wrong.

She diverted the questioning back to the body. "Was there any identification on her?"

"I ask the questions."

Fine, she thought. Be like that. "I'm done here," she said. The night air had turned chilly. That and this upsetting find brought out gooseflesh on her arms. "I'm going inside."

"I'll have more questions for you tomorrow, Miss Ajax," Jeffries said.

Without a break in pace, she flipped a hand in the air to acknowledge him and ran up the steps and onto the covered porch. "I'm sure you will," she muttered.

***

Come midnight, Ivy watched the last CS investigator, a straggler, leave the crime scene. Police tape roped off her garage lot, for how long she didn't know. This was her first corpse, and her first official crime scene.

She turned from the kitchen window and poured wine into a glass, eyeing the pack of cigarettes Suzie left behind this afternoon. If she had one, she'd have another. The second one would taste better, though. The fit of coughing, which the first two cigarettes inspired, would stop when she smoked the third.

Ivy wouldn't fall into that trap again.

Down for the night, Bogie snored in his basket. He didn't like to be disturbed after nine-thirty and usually didn't stir for any reason.

She grabbed her glass of wine and walked through the dining room and into the living room. From there, she strode through the foyer and hallway and re-entered the kitchen the back way, grabbing the bottle of Marechal Foch on her way past, turning back once to snatch the cigarettes and lighter from the counter. Just in case.

On the front veranda, she plopped onto a wicker chair and took a sip of wine, forgetting about her demolished plot of land but not the cigarettes and lighter that grew warmer in her hand with each passing second.

No, she wouldn't give in to the temptation.

She shook a cigarette from the pack.

_Don't do it._ _All those months of abstinence will have been for nothing._

She lit the cigarette and settled back in the chair to smoke her first cigarette in six months. Ah, sweet deadly pleasure. She didn't cough. Guilt, though, she experienced plenty.

"You had some excitement tonight," a strong male voice said from the veranda of the house next door.

Startled, Ivy choked and sputtered, one hand holding her heart and the other covering her mouth. Reclaiming her poise, she said, "I thought I was alone." She squashed the cigarette under her foot.

"Sorry."

"No apology necessary. Serves me right for assuming." She felt like a criminal caught in an illegal act.

"Do the police have any idea who it is?" he asked.

"She. The corpse is female. There was no identification on her."

"How did she die?" He sat on the side railing.

"She was stabbed."

"Murder, then."

"It would appear so. She was knifed in the back."

"Any — any idea how long she's been dead?"

"However long it takes for a body to decompose." She wondered whether his curiosity was morbid and if he had an idea who the victim was. Maybe she was a former owner of the property. The notion made sense. The victim was buried on the garage lot belonging to the property. Her property. "How long have you lived here?"

He crossed his arms against his chest. "Twelve years."

"My lawyer mentioned something about a mystery surrounding this house. I questioned him, but he shrugged off the comment, saying it was hearsay. Any idea what he was talking about?"

"The wife of the husband who owned your house previous to the Truscotts disappeared. He offered a twenty-five thousand dollar reward for any information that would lead to her whereabouts. It was the biggest story to hit Grimsby since the hanging in '43."

"You think the woman buried out back is that man's wife, don't you?"

"Don't you?"

She didn't know what to think. "I'm Ivy Ajax, by the way."

"Jack Monahan."

Later, Ivy would learn the reason for the sadness in Jack's voice.

## Chapter Three

The night his mother went missing had been the warmest night of the summer. They'd met by chance on their back decks. Jack Monahan remembered those few minutes well. It was the last time he'd seen her alive.

His mother remarked on the fullness of the moon and the clarity of the stars.

"They don't seem far away," she said.

He agreed. Perhaps it was the clear sky making them appear closer. Or maybe it was the moment. "I'm sorry about today, Mom," he said. His mother didn't deserve Sonja's snub.

"It's already forgotten."

"I almost have her convinced to see a therapist," he said.

Maggie nodded and said, "Good."

She could have said more, much more. A lady to her final breath, his mother.

They went back into their houses then, bidding each other a good night and pleasant dreams.

Sometime between then and daybreak, someone had robbed his mother of the rest of her life. No one in his family on either side or friends thought for even a second she'd run off on Dan. She loved him too much.

Jack turned at the sound of padded footsteps. "Sonja, what are you doing up?"

"I'm thirsty," she said, yawning.

He took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and handed it to her. "Do you want a sedative?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

He didn't think so, but knew better than to say anything. To disagree would only lead to an argument he wouldn't win followed by days of silent treatment.

"Did the police make an identification yet?" she asked.

"We both know who it was."

"It could be anyone, Jack," she snapped. "What did your brothers have to say?" She bit into a plum from the fruit bowl on the counter.

"They think it's Mom, too. An official identification will only confirm what we know in our hearts."

"Who were you talking to earlier?"

"What time? I was on the phone most of the night." When he wasn't thinking, that was.

"Outside at the front of the house."

Nothing made it past his wife. "Our new neighbor."

"What's she like?"

He shrugged. "All right, I guess."

"Did you question the cops?" she asked.

"Jeffries wouldn't let anyone past the police barrier." He looked at her, wondering if she would ask about his father's well being. She sipped her water and savored her plum. He waited several seconds more before saying, "Dad's holding himself together." If he hadn't been looking for some acknowledgment, the head bob would have slipped past him.

Sonja turned on her heels. "I'm going back to bed. Don't wake me in the morning. I'm working the evening shift. You can get Henry to school."

Jack didn't answer. There wasn't any need. She knew he would comply. He always did, whatever her demand. He turned and looked out the kitchen window. The candle he placed on his mother's grave after the police left burned steadily.

"We'll find out who did this to you, Mom. I promise." He peered up at the moon — the same moon he and his mother had gazed upon. Sadness overtook him. He turned off the light and, with a heavy heart, trudged upstairs to the bedroom he shared with a woman he wasn't sure he loved anymore.

## Chapter Four

At eight forty-five the following morning Jack told Jeffries to make himself comfortable in his office while he issued work assignments. The weekly newspaper was two days away from press and the recovery of his mother's body would be The Grimsby Tribune's lead story.

Jeffries was on his cell when he returned. "You have a positive ID," he said before his friend could express his sympathy. He didn't want Eugene's condolences. He wanted action. The same kind of action he'd demanded of the detective when his mother first went missing and didn't get. Now the trail was cold. His mother's killer might never be found.

"I just got word and came straight here."

"Dental records?" Jack asked.

Jeffries nodded. "Those and the x-rays of her fractured wrist. It's conclusive."

"Mom never broke her wrist," Jack said, his hopes soaring. Maybe the woman in the grave was not his mother. Maybe his mother was still alive. Maybe —

"She did, but never wore a cast. I checked with her doctor. He said the break was clean and had already started to heal when she came to see him."

"I didn't know." What else had she kept from him, from them? Jack swiveled his chair toward the bay, but the view of the Baristook did little to soothe the pain in his heart. Strange, but he'd thought once her body was found, he would be able to rest. Now, a whole new set of anxieties lined up in his mind.

With his back still to Jeffries, he asked, "What was the cause of death?"

"She was stabbed."

Jack noticed Eugene avoided calling her "Maggie" or "your mother". "In the back."

"Yes."

"Was her death instantaneous?"

"No."

"She bled out?" When Jeffries didn't answer, Jack turned and faced him. "What are you trying hard not to tell me?"

"She was asphyxiated. Doc said she wouldn't have had the strength — "

"Wait a minute." It took only a second for Jack to understand. "My mother was buried alive?" When Jeffries nodded, the full impact of his mother's final moments hit Jack like a battering ram. For the first time in his life, he wanted to slug someone, to take out his anger on something.

"Whatever you need, I'm there for you," Jeffries said.

Jack did his best to keep his emotions in check, but still his eyes watered. He pressed his fingers against his eyes and brushed the tears to the sides of his face, realizing how difficult this investigation would be on Eugene. They went way back, to grade school, in fact. They'd tango-ed on occasion, being on opposite ends of the spectrum, but they each respected the other's profession. On occasion, they'd found themselves in agreement on certain issues. That justice could be bound and gagged, for one.

He closed his eyes and asked the hardest question he ever had to ask, "When will my mother's body be released?"

"By the end of the week." Jeffries regarded him a moment before he spoke. "I won't question your family again. They've already suffered enough. I'll go through the file and my notes. I might need some elaboration or clarification from you."

"Anytime." Jack stood and walked around his desk. "Thanks, Eugene."

They man-hugged.

At the door, Jeffries turned. "Your next door neighbor's a feisty one, isn't she?"

"You made quite an impression on her, from what I gathered." When Jeffries raised his eyebrows, Jack elaborated. "We spoke last night after things settled down."

He walked Jeffries out. "I'll be away for most of the day," he said to his secretary Pam. "If it's anything urgent, you can reach me on my cell."

He had funeral arrangements to make; first, though, the family needed to confer.

## Chapter Five

A knock sounded on Ivy's office door.

"Yes," she said from behind a mound of files on her desk.

Suzie peeked inside. "They're here," she said.

Ivy groaned. She hated having her picture taken and always ended up looking like a poodle sans the long ears. But the time had come. Her excuse well had run dry.

"Do they know I'm here?" she asked, hoping to delay another few minutes. Maybe the photographer and his crew had a full schedule and be unable to wait.

"Jolson's already ahead of you. He said, and I quote, "We're prepared to wait all day, if necessary."

"Damn." Ivy sighed. Seeing no way out of the photo session this time, she said, "Might as well get it done." She stood. "I don't know why they need my picture. A write-up in the monthly newsletter would work too. Why did the feds suddenly decide to brighten their image? Not with my picture they won't. A photo of me will likely collapse the government. Isn't that some legacy?" She looked at her assistant. "What are you smiling about? Hey, I have an idea. Stand in for me. You can have the afternoon off, if you do."

Suzie shook her head. "I'm not that easy."

"All right then. The afternoon off with pay."

Suzie smiled over her shoulder, opened the door wide and motioned to the reception area outside Ivy's office. "She's all yours, gentlemen."

***

Fifteen minutes before noon, Suzie announced Laura Wallen was there to see Ivy. She rolled her eyes. Could this day get any worse? "Did she say what she wanted?"

"Nope."

Ivy's dislike for Laura had developed legitimately. She held a grudge against Ivy for procuring the position she felt she deserved, never mind that Ivy had competed honestly, scored highest and won the competition for the position fairly.

Laura had admirable qualities, but good sportsmanship was not one of them. She was vindictive and petty and always looking for ways to cause Ivy trouble. Ivy planned on watching her back where matters concerned Laura. She had a way about turning the littlest incidents into grotesque proportions, all the while undermining Ivy's position as manager. The woman would go to any length to get what she wanted, no plan too demeaning for her scheming methods.

Early on, Suzie alerted Ivy to Laura's devious nature, but Ivy had already determined Laura for what she was — a spiteful betch on platform soles.

"Does she know I'm here?" This was the second time this morning Ivy asked the similar question.

"I can tell her you're already late for an appointment," Suzie said.

"Thanks, but I can't ask you to lie for me. Let's get this over with." She drew in a deep breath. "Send her in."

Laura came into Ivy's office with the aplomb of an elephant tromping through a glass factory, knowing something would be broken and taking comfort in the knowledge. Ivy believed Laura wanted to see Ivy's head beneath her hooves and would accept nothing short of that. Laura would find fault with whatever Ivy did.

She greeted her adversary with a smile. "What can I do for you, Laura?"

Today, like many other days in the past few months, Laura had faced Ivy, prepared to do battle. Noticing the revised lunch and break time schedules clutched firmly in Laura's fingers, Ivy thought Laura probably considered the rescheduling a direct jab at her. More important details required Ivy's attention than for her to look for ways to antagonize Laura Wallen. Ivy would tell Laura that, but the woman wouldn't believe the truth if it stared at her, as Ivy did at the moment. Beneath the haughty exterior, beehive hairdo, penciled eyebrows and dewdrop eyes, Ivy believed there was a kind, caring person, a woman who could be liked and a friend who could be depended on. Not that she thought Laura would ever become her friend.

Without a word, Laura threw Ivy's memo at her.

In reply, Ivy invited her to sit. Laura declined.

"What's the problem?" Ivy asked, staring at the memo.

"I want my lunch hour changed back to the time it was."

Ivy's first instinct was to say, 'done!', just to be finished with the matter. On second thought, Laura would keep the tricks and manipulations coming to oust her from her job if she saw Ivy folded easily. Ivy needed to show Laura who was in charge. "Why?"

"My husband's lunch hour is from one to two. We always have lunch together and have for years," Laura said in a voice as hard as a desert's earth.

Ivy appeared to mull over the reason. After a suitable amount of time, she said, "Find someone willing to take your designated lunch hour time, and I'll ok the change."

"Fine."

Laura turned on her heels and stomped from the office.

Ivy took a full deep breath and sat.

"Why don't you transfer her cellulite butt out of here?" Suzie asked, strolling into the office. "You have the power."

Ivy chewed on the end of a pen. "I've thought about it, believe me."

"Why don't you?"

"She's a good worker, and exiling her is drastic. I'll give her a few more weeks. If her disposition doesn't change, I'll re-evaluate the situation."

Since Ivy had come on board, she'd been met with insubordination and slow-downs, which served to reinforce the message that her employees would prefer Laura over her. Ivy had gotten the point. Many times, in fact, but she wouldn't bow to their demands. She was qualified to do the job. True, she didn't have the seniority Laura had, but it didn't enter into account, not where matters concerned a government competition.

"You may be setting yourself up for a fall."

Ivy stared at Suzie a moment before answering. "She'll come around."

"Don't count on it. Do you have the Dumas file?"

"I dropped it on your desk earlier." Ivy waited for Suzie to leave before she let out a long breath.

***

Shouts and loud voices had Ivy jumping from her chair, running around her desk and out of her office. She ran into the reception area where two security officers from the front lobby had pinned a stocky man dressed in denim overalls, a plaid, flannel shirt and steel-toe boots against a desk.

Beneath their strong hold the man writhed and shouted obscenities about the government, cutbacks and politicians.

He lifted his head a couple of inches and spit.

"Stop your bellyaching." One of the security guys put a knee to the pit of the man's back and wrenched his arm upward to his shoulder blade.

The man cried out and attempted to wriggle free, but he was held too tight.

The security officer applying the chokehold said, "The police are on their way."

The man spotted Ivy and read her name tag. "Call off your dogs," he said, glaring at her with the eye not pressed against the desktop.

Ivy instructed the receptionist Cindy to cancel the call to the police. She knew what spurred the man's outrage. A night in jail would only make him more indignant.

"Take him into the conference room and leave us," she said to the security officers. She gestured to Mike Jessop, EI's liaison officer, a brute with the patience of Job, who could shame a zebra out of its stripes, to follow.

Behind the solid hardwood door, she poured the unhappy taxpayer a glass of water from the carafe left behind from this morning's meeting.

She understood his agony, especially after the latest news broadcast about the hundreds of millions of surplus dollars in the EI fund. Coming on the heels of a major restructuring of the fund, tightening qualification requirements and shortening the length of claims, the announcement was a bitter pill to swallow. For anyone.

"You can leave us now," she said to the guards. "He won't give us any trouble, will you, sir?" She kept her voice soft.

"No."

The larger security guard shoved him on a chair.

The man massaged his neck.

"Act up again and it'll mean a night in the tank," she said. "Understood?"

He nodded.

"Now then, what's the problem?" she asked, like she didn't know. There would be more unhappy claimants like him coming in, griping and complaining, getting rowdy and throwing insults, and all directed toward the employees, like they had something to do with the decisions of the politicians.

"I was refused an extension of benefits." He huffed a breath. "I wouldn't need an extension if the government hadn't cut back on the length of claims."

His gripes were no different than any other seasonal worker. Employer cutbacks and an increase in the number of hours needed to qualify for benefits made opening a claim difficult.

Ivy directed her attention to Mike. "Recheck the stats on an extension for him. See if he doesn't qualify."

Mike nodded.

She directed her question to the complainant. "What's your area of expertise, sir?"

"I'm a bricklayer by trade, but I'll take anything in the meantime."

"That's great, because I happen to know a construction company put in a requisition for a couple of laborers only minutes ago."

"I'll take it."

"Super." Ivy peered at Mike. "Will you look after the paperwork?"

He nodded.

"I'll leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Jessop. Have faith. The economy will turn around."

She closed the conference room door behind her. Cindy flagged her down in the hallway. "There's someone here to see you."

"Who?" she asked.

Cindy jerked her head toward the waiting room. Ivy understood the reason for the young woman's wide-eyed look. Honestly. Did he have to clip his badge on the breast pocket of his blazer arousing everyone's curiosity? She could imagine the scuttlebutt at lunch — the new manager is in trouble with the law. Yay. It looks good on her. I knew she was hiding something. Ivy wondered if there was anyone in the entire building who didn't want to run the newcomer out of town.

She strode to him. "Detective. I have five minutes before back-to-back meetings for the rest of the day." She turned, knowing instinctively Jeffries would follow.

"You're not even breaking for lunch?"

"A working lunch. Sandwiches are being brought in," she said over her shoulder and catching him admiring her derrière.

"Must be an important meeting," he said.

"They all are. If you keep your questions brief and on point, we should be able to address all of your concerns in the time allotted," she said, closing her office door. She didn't like Detective Jeffries and wanted nothing more to do with him.

## Chapter Six

Eugene Jeffries always gave a wrong first impression. Anyone who took the trouble to get to know him knew his smile came easily, and his brown eyes were friendly not hostile, and that several cowlicks ruled how he kept his hair. He wouldn't complain. Closely cropped hair required little maintenance, which proved a bonus in his line of work.

He didn't keep regular working hours. It was wherever and whenever crime took him and returned him. Two things for sure were that he never made it home before nine o'clock and was famished and exhausted when he did, which bode well for his waistline but bested his endurance. The day had been horrendous for everyone who loved Maggie Monahan. Her murder would prove his most difficult assignment yet.

He'd made sure his investigation into her disappearance was above reproach and in some cases had gone beyond the norm of police procedural. Some of his colleagues had shaken their heads in disbelief, but he couldn't risk a misstep. Maybe he'd tried too hard, dotted too many "I"s and crossed too many "T"s and a clue had slipped past him.

Jeffries looked back over the past year and how his friendship with Jack had suffered. They weren't close as they once were. Jack didn't pick up the phone and call Jeffries with bits of interesting news, as he used to. Neither did Jeffries. Their weekly lunches turned into monthly fifteen-minute breaks and sometimes not even that.

He could have handled things with more finesse. He wasn't all to blame, though. Jack could have appreciated Jeffries position and been more cooperative and less accusatory. If the situation were reversed, Jeffries would have obliged him. At least, he liked to think so.

Shoulders slumped and his gait slower than usual, he trudged from the police station and into the lot where his unmarked cruiser was parked. He got in behind the wheel, took a moment to unwind, then started the car and pulled into the traffic on St. Andrew to head home. Housing was inexpensive in Grimsby. He doubted he could afford his recent house purchase otherwise, certainly not on his salary. With the planned closure of the mine come year-end and the work-two-weeks-home-the-other-two policy at the Grimsby Pulp and Paper, residents were moving away by the truckload. Soon, the once prosperous and well-populated Grimsby would turn into a retirement community. Looking on the brighter side, it could mean less crime, which was fine with him.

Jeffries had never married. He didn't have a girlfriend, either. Any woman he became interested in, dumped him like a hot coal once she found out what he did for a living, if he made it to the first date. He rarely did. And now he rarely tried.

Police work put a tremendous strain on a marriage. He saw it everyday in the lives of his fellow officers. He understood. The long, unpredictable hours and the potential for bodily harm was a difficult challenge for anyone.

He parked in the driveway rather than the garage and entered the house through the front door. The vaulted ceiling in the living room, dining room and kitchen and the open concept always gave him a feeling of freedom, not that he suffered from claustrophobia. A circular staircase between the entry and dining room led downstairs to a games room and an extra bedroom, should he have overnight guests. He didn't have many of those, either.

"Honey, I'm home," he called.

The little Ragdoll kitten, guaranteed to grow to at least thirty pounds, sprung from the sofa, scrambled across the hardwood floors and jumped into his arms. He scratched her ears. She purred her contentment.

Jeffries had thought long and hard before he gave Honey a home. He loved animals, all animals, but had favorites for pets. Since his choices were limited to those who required the least care and were somewhat independent, the Ragdoll caught his eyes. Love at first sight, it was for both of them. In a way, they'd adopted each other. He never regretted the decision a moment.

With Honey clutching his shoulder, he hung his jacket in the closet and threw off his loafers, then walked into the kitchen.

"What's on the menu tonight?" He opened the refrigerator door. "Salad, left over Chinese or eggs. What do you think?" With a lonesome meow, the cat jumped from his arms.

"I agree. Yuck." He grabbed a beer and headed for the living room. He wasn't that hungry.

***

Jeffries was asleep on the recliner in the living room in front of a television that blasted the late news when car doors slamming next door woke him. One downside to city living — the lots were small and the houses close together.

He listened to the young couple argue. Between their raised voices, he could hear heavy footsteps hitting the brick sidewalk. A moment later, doors slammed again and the sound of loud, angry voices escaped their open windows and entered his.

"Did you have to leer at Katie all night?" a female voice asked.

"What the hell are you complaining about, leaning into Bill and hanging on his every word like a love-sick teenager? You made a complete ass of yourself. Everyone was talking about you. It was damn embarrassing."

Then came the sound of glass splintering against a hard surface.

Jeffries shook his head. This went on two or three times a week. They'd argue for thirty to forty-five minutes, yell and smash things, and appeared to love the volatile exchange. All he could figure was that make-up sex must be mind-blowing for them.

Unlike his neighbors, he preferred peace and quiet and got off on good company, fine wine, and sweet music. If only he could find someone who shared his interests and wasn't afraid of his gun or wouldn't let his line of work intimidate her. A woman like Ivy, he thought.

H He liked how she'd stood her ground with him. Both times he'd spoken to her, though, she came off as standoffish. He usually garnered the reaction from everyone, but in Ivy's case, his attitude was only partly the cause. She covered well, but he knew she was hiding something, a secret she wanted no one to know. He also felt that something troubled her. Of course, finding a dead body in her back yard would trouble anyone, but he suspected the doubt and fear in her eyes came from a tragic incident in her past rather than a recent happening.

The argument next door was moving toward the final round. He could tell by the length of time between insults.

"Piss pot!"

"Grub!"

He could virtually hear the ringing bell, which would send each fighter to their respective corners.

But instead of the anticipated yet imagined _ding_ , _ding_ , _ding_ , he heard the explosive report of a gun being discharged.

Two shots in rapid succession.

Jeffries ran to the closet, grabbed his gun from the shelf and the two-way radio. He relayed the address and "shots fired" to dispatch as he stole across the lawn in stocking-ed feet to the Hutchinson-Allans.

At the door, his Beretta clutched tightly in his hands, he yelled, "Police," and kicked in the door. He got his first glimpse of the murder scene. Brenda Allan and Patti Hutchinson were sprawled on the living room floor with crimson-colored holes in their backs.

## Chapter Seven

Through the open window, a choir of crickets chorused their nightly ritual and in the distance, a dog howled.

Ivy closed the binder on EI protocol, feeling sufficiently prepped for tomorrow's meeting. She massaged her neck. An image of Jeffries face flashed in her mind. He was a curious man, one who was interested in her, which might become a problem for them both. He seemed the relentless and determined type, the kind who couldn't accept 'no' for an answer. He would have to this time, she thought, staring at the burgundy leather journal on the nightstand. She hesitated picking up the diary and rationalized her desire to read the woman's entries. If she didn't want anyone to read her journal, she should have kept better track of the book.

Good point.

Maybe that was the writer's intention — she wanted someone to read her heartache.

A valid possibility.

If that was the case, Ivy should accommodate her and read the journal. Besides, the journal wasn't whole. Full pages were missing and only partial pages remained of others and many of the pages hung loose and out of sequence.

She deduced that the most important entries had been removed and what remained, was subject to prying eyes, her prying eyes.

So, there was no reason for her to feel like a voyeur.

None whatsoever.

The box and everything inside was intended for the garbage. She checked the carton again.

'Trash' was written in large red letters on every side. There was no mistaking the intention. So there.

She grabbed the journal and flipped to the page where she'd left off last night. Unlike Sunday's entry, this one was unmarked. It didn't matter. The woman's plight called to her.

Ivy opened her heart and mind to this stranger and read.

Sunday

These are my moments of reflection.

I feel like I'm a teen again writing about boys, crushes and kisses. I'm way past those years, though the tribulations remain the same.

Wisdom doesn't necessarily come with age, I'm afraid. If only hindsight had been foresight. Even my "gift" didn't prepare me for what happened.

No, that isn't accurate. My amplified cognitive ability, or as my dear husband says, ACA, didn't fail me; I failed it. I saw how things were going to end and still I couldn't manipulate events onto the right path and the inevitable happened. Like a bystander, I watched the demise of my happy and close knit unit, unable to do anything about it, despite my many and, I thought, ingenious attempts to maneuver situations as they occurred. There isn't anything I can do about it now.

The best laid plans.

I should start where it all began — with the birth of my first-born.

He weighed in at exactly nine pounds. As broad as he was tall, he was a mean one, this child. His wail quieted raucous crickets and woke neighbors.

From his first steps at twelve months, he answered to no one, not me, not his father and not my mom. No matter how closely we kept our eyes on him, he managed to leave the house undetected and go for a stroll through the subdivision, stopping to "baby-talk" with whatever or whoever took his fancy. He was always pleasant and a joy to listen to, our neighbors said, which made us, the three adults in his life, who loved him more than life itself, realize it was us he despised, us he wanted to escape from.

My mom — God bless her sainted soul — who raised ten children, was at a loss, which frightened me to tears. If Mom didn't know how to handle this one-year-old, how could I?

The child slept very little, two hours a day to be precise. The remaining hours he spent on his "walkabouts", or engaging (our diplomatic word for 'destroying') his toys, or locked in his room.

It sounds cruel. We had to lock him in. Our baby gave us no choice. Not even God knew what mischief this child would get into when left to his own resources. And those child locks, well, they weren't Seth-proof. Lickety-split, he learned the intricate technique of releasing the annoying barrier keeping him from the treasures hidden behind the oak cabinet doors. Sugar, he loved. Flour made him sneeze, but he soon learned sprinkling water over the flour solved the "dusty" air throwing the powdery substance creates.

And the temper tantrums...well, they were unlike anything anyone had ever seen, his pediatrician included.

The locks Dan installed a few inches from the tops of the exterior doors only hindered our exit. My mom and I, shorter than Dan by five inches, needed help to reach the bolt.

Seth used the same three-step ladder to gain his freedom.

Nothing we did outsmarted him. He was always leaps ahead of our thinking. We were the adults and he the child, yet he ruled our household. This chunky toddler with the freckled chubby cheeks and soulful brown eyes lorded it all over us, his apparent subordinates.

Fearing he would fall and injure himself, we removed the locks from the doors. Imagine the irony — the prevention, which would keep him safe also had the potential to either kill or immobilize him. Without hesitation, we vetoed the obstacles.

No decision regarding Seth came lightly or easily. We discussed every aspect of every solution, giving simple matters the same careful deliberation world leaders did with the welfare of their countries.

As he grew older, we realized Seth had three sides:

The isn't-the-world-rosy side, kept strictly for strangers and the public;

The I'm-here-to-learn side, intended for school teachers only; and

The one he reserved for his family, the hostile, combative and recalcitrant side, the one which eventually did us in.

Ivy let the journal slip to her lap. Maybe she shouldn't read this woman's private thoughts. She rested her tired eyes. Just for a minute. Just for...

She fell into a deep and troubled sleep.

The shrill ring of the telephone severed her dreams. With another insistent ring, she forced open her eyes and looked at the bedside clock. 12:38.

Something bad had happened to someone she loved. Her father — the heart attack she warned him about. Her mother — the advice she refused to take about climbing ladders at her age. Her brother — how many times had she told him to slow down; the 101 was not a race track.

With a panicking heart, she answered the call. "Hello."

"You've got some nerve, I got to say," a scratchy voice said.

"Excuse me?" Ivy felt certain Laura or one of her friends was behind the call. She sat upright, switched on the lamp and looked around the room. The caller sounded close by. The idea seemed foolish for there was no way to judge distance on a telephone line.

"Stay away from him," the caller said. "He's mine."

"Who's him? I don't know who you're talking about. You phoned the wrong number. Good night." Ivy took the receiver from her ear. Mid-way to the telephone cradle, she could hear the caller say her name. Hastily, she placed the receiver back against her ear. "What did you say?"

"Ivy Ajax," the voice said. "Still think I phoned the wrong number?"

The caller laughed, a sound that chilled Ivy's skin.

"Do I have your attention now?"

"How did you get this telephone number? It's unpublished."

"Nothing is impossible, if you have the means. I know everything there is to know about you. For instance, I know you and your ex-husband separated on a bad note. Couldn't keep out of the beds of other men, huh? I know the temptation can be too much sometimes, but you should exercise control, especially when it comes to another woman's husband."

"I didn't — "

"Divorce was painful for you, wasn't it? Particularly that you didn't get one penny from dear hubby."

"I didn't — "

"You ran away, didn't you? Couldn't take the truth, huh?"

"I didn't — "

"If you know what's good for you, you should keep on running, get as far from Grimsby as you can before something terrible happens to you."

"I don't take kindly to threats."

"You should. I'm not someone you want to mess with."

"If you tell me who you are, I'll make sure to stay away from your man and you, for that matter."

She laughed again, crazy laughter that caused Ivy to think the caller had short-circuited.

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, of course not." Ivy sensed the woman's hatred for her. She didn't know Ivy, and she didn't know her, yet this anonymous woman hated her. Clearly, she was deranged, and Ivy would do well not to underestimate the woman or what she was capable of doing.

"Do all of us a favor and stay away from our husbands or else."

"Or else what?" Ivy didn't need the ultimatum spelled out, but she needed to know the depth of the woman's anger and what she'd do to protect her husband.

"Believe me, you don't want to know."

"But I do. That way, when you come after, the fight will be fair."

"You bitch!"

Ivy jumped, then felt silly at the reaction. She was safe inside her house. The doors were bolted and the windows locked. No one could get in.

"Tell me who you are, and we'll discuss this rationally."

"Rationally? You think I'm insane?" She guffawed. "You're going to wish you never said that."

The caller hung up.

From the roots of her hair to the end of her toes, Ivy's body shook. She wiped moisture from her upper lip and plunked the receiver in place. She stared at the phone, expecting it to ring again and praying it wouldn't.

After several quiet minutes, Ivy let out a long breath.

What a day she'd had and today wasn't looking any better.

She peered at the empty side of the bed and suddenly felt alone and scared.

No, she didn't need a man to feel protected.

First thing in the morning she'd sign up for a self-defense class. The bad feeling she experienced when the telephone rang became stronger, more intense, and the thought this would not end well rolled around in her mind. "Not well at all."

Maybe she'd pull the covers over her head and stay in bed all day, but as much as she like to, she couldn't. There were appointments she either couldn't or wouldn't cancel. She wasn't a little girl anymore and didn't need protection from anyone for any reason. She kept telling herself that until she drifted off around sunrise.

## Chapter Eight

With a close watch around the room, Jeffries stopped to check for a pulse in the victims. He found none.

A siren sounded in the distance. Back-up would arrive soon. He should wait. The killer might get away, though.

Make the most of every second, of every step.

Carefully and stealthily, he checked the remaining rooms in the house. No one jumped out at him, which made him think the perpetrator had fled the scene.

Keep an open mind. Take nothing for granted.

Jeffries found the rear door ajar. He stepped onto the deck and down the stairs. Under the security lights, he spotted trampled grass and followed the footprints. He kept a steady hand. The only attention he paid to the howl of a dog was to acknowledge the sound. The ground was damp beneath his feet, soaking his socks.

His search led him next door.

Aubrey Mason sat on a garden chair, a nine millimeter gun sitting benignly on the glass table top in front of him.

Jeffries had found his killer.

"Sir," he said, approaching with caution lest the old timer's trigger finger became itchy again.

Mason looked over his shoulder at him. "You can put the gun down, Officer," he said. "I'll go quietly." He stood and held his wrists together in front of him.

Since Jeffries didn't have handcuffs on him, he spun Mason around and brought his arm up to meet his shoulder blade, but handled him kindly.

Crime happened in Grimsby, like any other place. Two murders in as many days had Jeffries thinking bad things happened in threes. He opted to stay in the moment rather than dwell on superstitions.

"I did what needed to be done," Mason said. "I couldn't take their incessant arguing one more minute. Every night it was the same dang thing." He turned and looked at Jeffries. "Why didn't you fellas do something? I called and complained and all I got for my efforts was the runaround. Didn't seem fair."

Jeffries found it interesting that the ol' geezer accepted the same sex marriage — many people, young or old, don't — but drew the line at couples, non-gender specific, apparently, who argued.

Figure that.

He walked Mason around to the front of his house in time with the arrival of two patrol cars and emergency vehicles. The uniformed police officers, who Jeffries recognized, hurried to him.

"Cuff him, read him his rights and book him for the murders of Brenda Allan and Patti Hutchinson." He handed veteran officer Chandler the murder gun wrapped in a hankie. "Bag and tag this," he said and left to put on shoes.

From the walkway of his house, Jeffries caught the attention of officer Shawn Farley, the son of the Chief of Police, and instructed him to accompany Jeffries inside the murder victims' house. The Chief had asked Jeffries to show his son all what Jeffries knew. Farley was being groomed for his father's job. Jeffries didn't mind. He had no aspirations for the position. Schmoozing, an almost mandatory requirement for the Chief of Police, nauseated him.

Standing on the circumference of the murder scene, Jeffries turned to Farley and asked him what he thought.

"They're dead," Farley said.

"How do you know?"

"Because you said so."

"I may be wrong." Jeffries folded his arms across his chest.

"But you never are."

"Who says?"

"The Chief."

It was nice to know his superior thought so highly of him. "Was he being facetious at the time?"

"Could be." Farley grinned, a smile that animated his lean and angular face.

"What else do you see?"

"The broken glass indicates a struggle."

"Does it?"

Farley looked around the room.

Jeffries jingled change in his pocket and watched the rookie's expression. He knew the moment light dawned in Farley's mind when his eyes opened wide.

"Maybe not."

"Walk me through the murder."

"The hood of their car is warm, so they arrived home not too long before the incident."

Jeffries gave the young fellow points for checking when he arrived on the scene. "Why are you saying 'they'? Maybe only one of the women came home. Maybe one of them was already in the house."

Farley shook his head. He pointed to the two pairs of shoes on the floor near the front door. "The soles of all four shoes are wet and bits of grass are still sticking to them."

"Excellent. Continue."

"There doesn't appear to be any blood spatter on the furniture, so that would indicate they were standing close together, probably only a couple of feet apart when they took the bullets in their backs. Mason came at them from the rear, bang, bang, and left. All business. The women never knew what happened."

"How about their positions on the floor?" Jeffries asked. "What do you make of that?"

He pondered the question a moment. "For them to fall beside each other, they would have had to be standing or walking side by side. They're facing the hallway, so they were probably on their way to the bedroom."

"Excellent. Motive?"

"Their sexual orientation."

"What makes you think they're lovers?"

"Two women living together." He shrugged. "What else could it be?"

"Twenty years ago women shared living accommodations without anyone giving the matter any thought. What you see is not always the way it is. Gather all the facts before making any determinations and keep an open mind." Jeffries moved outside with Farley with the arrival of the tech guys. He noticed Jack Monahan strolling up the walk and dismissed Farley.

"It's been a long time since you chased an ambulance," Jeffries said.

"I heard your plea for help on the police scanner," Jack said. "I thought the trip might be worthwhile. What've you got?"

Amid the buzz of the growing crowd of spectators, the click of cameras and the chatter of insects, Jeffries gave him a brief rundown of the slaying, then asked, "Is this what I should expect until we make an arrest for your mother's murder?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Jack. I know you, remember."

Jeffries had a good idea of the torment Jack was experiencing. For that, he'd give him some leeway.

"I'll keep you apprised of developments," he said, hoping to put his friend at ease. Trust had been established between them long ago. "I'll do my job. You know I will."

"I know," Jack said.

Jeffries nodded. "Go home to your son and try to get some rest." He could feel something else had brought Jack out tonight. Jeffries wouldn't push. Jack would say when he was ready. As it turned out, Jeffries didn't have to wait long.

"Do you remember the man who rented Noble's house the summer Mom disappeared?"

"Lantaine. The fella who abused his German Shepherd. Your mother got in his face about it."

Jack nodded. "What you don't know is he threatened her with a shotgun."

"Why wasn't I notified at the time?"

"Mom thought a complaint would exacerbate an already volatile situation."

Jeffries was miffed and made no attempt to hide his anger. "You should have told me regardless and certainly after your mother disappeared. Don't hold back on me again, Jack. Not ever."

Jack scoffed. "When my mother disappeared, you thought she'd run out on my father."

This was the reason their friendship had suffered in the last year. At the time of Maggie's disappearance, Jeffries had given Jack various scenarios to consider. Two of those possibilities Jack had held against him. Jeffries never believed for a moment Maggie had left Dan, and if Jeffries had the moment to do over, he wouldn't make the intimation.

Still, he defended himself for what he'd said. Human preservation, he supposed. "What did you want me to think?" he asked. "There was no evidence of foul play, and Lantaine skipped town in the middle of the night days before your mother disappeared."

Jack took a deep breath. "The night she went missing, which we now know is the night she was murdered, Mom and I met on our back decks."

"Uh-huh. I remember you telling me."

"Maybe she came back out and that's when the murderer made his move."

"Or her move." This was the other possibility Jeffries had set before Jack. He had wanted nothing to do with that notion either.

"Her? Anyone specific in mind?"

Jeffries raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. Jack was smart and would catch on to what Jeffries didn't want to say. A few seconds passed. Jeffries patiently waited. He'd do whatever it took to make Jack consider that his wife could have been responsible for his mother's death.

"Sonja," Jack said finally. He smoothed his hair off his forehead. "God, Eugene. Do you really think my wife killed her mother-in-law?"

"Why not? Everyone in town knew she despised your mother. She complained about her to anyone who'd listen, not to mention the despicable things she did to Maggie."

"But murder?" Jack shook his head. "I don't think so, Eugene."

"All I'm saying is not to put all your money on one horse." Jeffries suspected Jack kept something from him. Jack always averted his gaze as he did now when he told a partial truth or a fib. Whatever the secret, Jeffries would be sure Sonja was at the center of it. Jeffries decided not to press him for an answer. Jack had been through enough today.

Jack sighed. "It was just rivalry."

"Which you didn't take seriously enough." The retort came out more harshly than Jeffries intended, but the topic angered him, mainly because Jack let his wife run roughshod over his mother. He should have done something to stop her. The other hot point with Jeffries was that Jack corroborated Sonja's story that she never left their bed that night. Jeffries knew for a fact from Scouts that Jack hibernated when he slept. Sonja could have slipped out of bed and Jack would have been no wiser. If he had been more cooperative, maybe Maggie's body would have been found at the time. It wasn't something Jeffries would tell Jack. Ever. Jack harbored enough guilt as it was.

Jeffries thought about Jack's wife and what he'd learned about her, not as a cop, but as someone on the periphery of their lives.

Sonja showed a proclivity to cause physical harm to anyone she considered a rival. In her eyes, Maggie would have been an adversary. Sonja also didn't like anyone who had an opinion different from hers. Maggie was a thinker, who freely expressed her point of view and, apparently, everyone agreed but Sonja that Maggie was harmless.

There weren't many who didn't think Sonja wasn't running on all cylinders. Wherever she went, she caused upheaval. Everyone knew it. Grimsby was a city, but at its heart sat a small town.

Tomorrow, Jeffries would arrange to question Sonja. This time, he would not tolerate interference from Jack. He made a mental note also to check on the whereabouts of Lantaine.

_Leave_ _no_ _stone_ _unturned_.

"Here's not the time or place to have this discussion, Eugene."

"You're right, and it's not as though we haven't had it before." Jeffries was sorry the second the words left his lips. He imagined not a day went by where Jack didn't beat himself up for not getting Sonja the help she needed. He'd asked Jack once why he stayed with her. Jeffries could still hear Jack's voice saying softly, "For Henry."

## Chapter Nine

Jack took Jeffries advice and went home, but not to sleep. He'd get little of that tonight. In his home office, he checked the copy for this week's paper. Not much time passed before his mind wandered to his conversation with Jeffries.

He'd read the doubt in Jeffries eyes. He suspected Jack hid something from him about the night Maggie was murdered. The truth was Jack had kept something from him, but not pertaining to his mother's death. He'd been open with Jeffries about that. The other thing, the one he preferred no one knew, especially not the police, he would carry with him until his end. Besides, the incident was isolated. He kept a close watch on Sonja from then on and was certain she'd never lost her temper with Henry or laid a hand on him in anger again. Sonja could be intentionally hurtful when provoked and had a mean streak he doubted therapy would purge. She was fine, if everything went her way and no one upset her. Unfortunately, those perfect situations came around rarely.

He thought back to the times Sonja had threatened him, and wondered whether Jeffries might be right. No. He shook his head. Sonja was not a killer.

Once, she'd joked she wasn't crazy, everyone else was.

He forced his thoughts from his wife to work, but that held his attention for all of two seconds before he asked himself when his marriage had become a means for him to be with his son. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to divorce Sonja and fight for custody of Henry.

"Daddy?"

Jack turned to the doorway where his blonde, blue-eyed five-year-old son stood, dressed in Spiderman pajamas and slippers. No one could make him smile and forget his troubles like his son.

"What're you doing up, Champ?"

Henry rubbed his eyes. "Grammy woke me up."

Jack swallowed a sob. "You dreamed about Grammy?"

He shook his head. "No. She was sitting on my bed. She sang to me."

"Come over here."

With his arms opened wide, Henry darted across the room to Jack. He picked him up and sat him on his lap. "Do you remember the talk we had about Grammy?"

Henry bobbed his head. "You said Grammy's in Heaven with Jesus."

Jack nodded. "What else did I say?"

"She's with the angels."

Jack watched Henry cross and uncross his fingers. Henry was nervous. Jack waited for Henry to tell him what bothered him. Only a moment passed.

"You're wrong," Henry said and pressed his lips together.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. Grammy isn't with the angels. She _is_ an angel." Henry turned and looked at Jack's face as though to determine his reaction. "Grammy has wings!"

A sob escaped Jack's throat before he could hold it back. To hide his sorrow from Henry, he pressed Henry's head against Jack's chest and held it in place with his hand. "What song did Grammy sing to you?" he asked, rocking the chair.

"All Through the Night," Henry said. "She used to sing it to me all the time. 'Member?"

"I remember." Jack could control his emotions no longer. His eyes watered over. Seconds later, tears soaked his cheeks.

Henry raised his head and looked at Jack. "Why are you crying, Daddy? Did I make you sad?"

Jack sang. "Angels watching, e'er around thee, all through the night. Midnight slumber close surround thee, all through the night. Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and dale in slumber sleeping I my loved ones watch am keeping, all through the night." He stood, holding Henry close to his heart.

In his bedroom, Henry asked, "Stay with me 'til I fall asleep?"

"You have only to ask."

In two minutes, Henry closed his eyes on the world for the second time that evening. Jack tiptoed from his room and entered the bedroom he shared with Sonja.

He didn't bother with lights; he could find his way around the room blindfolded. Despite his soft steps, he'd managed to wake her.

She rolled over and looked at him.

"I woke you," he said from his side of the bed. "I'm sorry."

"What time is it?"

"One-twenty."

"You're getting to bed late. Work or insomnia?"

"Work," he said and swallowed the lump in his throat that was guilt from the lie. "We should get away for a few days."

"We just came back from a trip. Why do you want to go away again?"

He considered the question a moment. Sonja was in one of her suspicious modes. There were different degrees of her distrust. The first level he called her 'curiously suspicious' \- still in the playful stage. Next came the 'suspiciously suspicious' - wary but open to acceptable explanation. Then came the most lethal of all, the 'full-fledged suspicion - gloves off-jugular pouncing' mode.

He decided this was a level two alarm and needed to exercise caution. He chose his words carefully. "That was business. I was thinking a weekend away just the two of us. A new B & B opened on the Jesspé coast." He kept his voice soft and without emotion. "A working fireplace in every room."

"Sounds nice. Just you and me?"

"Sure." He sat on the bed and turned to her.

"Who'll we get to look after Henry?"

"Joey, maybe." Beside him, her body stiffened, and he knew his mistake. A chill took over the air.

"You always want your family to look after our son," she said through tight lips. "Mom would look after him, too. Why don't you ever suggest her?"

Jack ground his teeth together. "Your mother, then."

## Chapter Ten

From the murder scene, Jeffries left to notify the next-of-kin of both victims, after which he went directly to the police station to write up the incident. He disliked paperwork, but hated it more when it piled up. His philosophy was that keeping up came easier than catching up. He applied the same reasoning to bill payments.

He ended the report by detailing the number of times Aubrey Mason had called the precinct to register complaints about Allan and Hutchinson and noted as well his written grievance against the women for disturbing the peace. The old man had spoken the truth and had a legitimate complaint, but it had never been pursued by the department. Jeffries found himself guilty, too. He lived next door to the women and heard them fighting and arguing many times and did nothing to put a stop to the disturbance. He could have. It was in his power to do so.

These murders would serve as a lesson to him and the Grimsby Police Department that all complaints, however minor, needed to be followed up.

Jeffries wondered then about his other neighbors on his street. Except for their names and occupations, he didn't know any of them. Sure, he knew what year and model of cars they drove, but any other information about them he gleaned from deductive reasoning. For example, he knew from the number of trash bags how little or how much each household ate and whether they recycled. How they tended their yards spoke to their character and work schedules. Across the street from Jeffries, Bill Mason mowed his lawn twice a month, not because he was lazy, but because of his busy work schedule — prosecuting criminals was an eighteen-hour job and Mason was one of the best ADAs on staff. Occasionally, Bill's wife, who also worked but part-time, would tend to the chore, which showed Jeffries she wasn't demanding but considerate of the burdens home ownership placed on her hard-working husband.

What he learned tonight about Brenda Allan and Patti Hutchison he'd found out from their parents when he notified them of their daughter's death.

With a few exceptions, the next-of-kin wanted to talk once the sad and tragic news had been delivered. Some offered tea. Jeffries always took the time to listen to them. Over the course of his career, he delivered his share of notifications and not once had he been asked for a detailed accounting of the injuries, but only whether their loved ones had suffered. Then they would tell him about their sons and daughters achievements, their likes and dislikes. At times like those, memories flooded back. Everything was important for them to tell, and more importantly, for the notifying officer to know.

Tonight, he learned Brenda Allan wore braces to correct an overbite and she had a birthmark shaped like a pair of lips above her left eyebrow.

"Did you notice?" Catherine Allan had asked.

"No, ma'am. I didn't," he said.

Catherine nodded and said, "The blemish bothered her. She always covered it up with bangs."

Jeffries found out from her mother that Brenda had died on her birthday. She turned thirty-two today. He realized it was Brenda's birthday the women had celebrated tonight, then came home to spend the last moments of their lives arguing.

Catherine didn't have the chance to give Brenda the gift she bought — a pair of pearl earrings. For as long as Catherine could remember, Brenda had wanted a pair. "Now she would never know the surprise. Never wait for tomorrow, Detective, what can be done today."

"Did she listen to my birthday wish I left for her on the answering machine?"

Jeffries never disappointed the grieving next-of-kin or let them carry an unnecessary guilt. "Yes, ma'am. She did." Catherine Allan's smile did his lie proud. "There were only old messages on the machine." The image of the red light on Brenda and Patti's answering machine blinked off and on in his mind.

At the Hutchinsons, he learned Patti's father had never accepted his daughter's way of life — the lesbianism, her mother had mouthed behind her husband's back — and for this reason, had been estranged from Patti. Her mother, Opal Hutchinson, loved her daughter regardless. Earl Hutchinson would never again have the opportunity to tell his daughter how much he loved her. His willful slight on his daughter would haunt him the rest of his life.

Catherine Allan's advice rang in Jefffries' mind: _Never_ _wait_ _for_ _tomorrow_ _what_ _can_ _be_ _done_ _today_.

Jeffries would get no sleep tonight. He'd knock off early tomorrow, which was now today he noticed with a glance at the time. He grabbed the Monahan file from the corner of his desk and settled back in his chair to go over his notes on Maggie's disappearance.

## Chapter Eleven

After an hour's sleep, Ivy showered and dressed with the scary feel of last night's telephone call never far from her thoughts. The drift of the conversation disturbed her. She forced happy thoughts and within minutes, her jittery nerves settled enough for her to consider the caller a crackpot.

On the kitchen phone, she hit one on speed dial. A second later, her father answered asking, "What happened?"

"Nothing's the matter, Dad," Ivy said, imagining her father's bushy brows drawing together.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. We haven't spoken in a while."

"That's all it is — offspring conscience?"

Her mother understood her, but her father knew her best, and it was pointless to try to keep anything from him. Without pause, she told him about her late-night call.

"You're certain it wasn't a wrong number?"

"The caller referred to me by name."

"Which one is that?"

"Ajax."

"Which would indicate it's someone from Grimsby."

"I never thought of that." No one in Sedgewick knew she'd reverted to her maiden name after the divorce, so anyone from her hometown would have addressed her by her married name.

"Isn't that why you called your old man, to tell you something you hadn't thought of? You can always count on me. You know that don't you, honey?"

"Yes, of course I do, Daddy."

"How about call display?"

"The number was blocked."

"Uh-huh. Did you get the home alarm I suggested?"

"Not yet, but I'll arrange it today."

"You know the reason for these precautions."

"I know, Daddy."

"Call the telephone company and have your number changed."

"If he wants to find me, he'll figure out a way. Besides, getting another unpublished number seems pointless, don't you think?"

"Why make it easy for him?"

Her father had diverted the conversation from her late-night caller to her ex-husband. Why? "The call last night doesn't have anything to do with Dean."

"Maybe not. Any new men in your life?"

Ivy grunted. "No, and I don't intend there will be either."

Her father, ritualed to military life, was up well before daybreak every morning and by this time had already eaten his breakfast — oatmeal and fruit, juice and coffee — and read the daily newspaper in its entirety, taken Rott for his morning walk and served his wife breakfast in bed, which he started to do since his retirement six months ago.

"Your mother and I will be up there this weekend."

"It isn't necessary — "

"Nonsense, besides your mother's been anxious to see your new digs, has all these decorating ideas she's been trying out on me. What do I know about interior design? You'd be doing me a favor. Have you been getting her emails? She's been wondering because you haven't answered."

"Apologize to her for me, would you?"

"I'd let you do that yourself right now, but she's in the shower."

Ivy looked at her watch. "Dad, I've got to run. I have a nine o'clock appointment I can't be late for. I'll see you this weekend. "

"One last thing, make a list of the places where your telephone number appears, who may have access to this information and have it ready for me."

"Okay." She said good-bye and hung up, feeling the best she'd felt in weeks. Thirty-five years old and she still ran to her father to make her hurt go away.

She walked to the sink, emptied the last of her coffee down the drain and put the cup in the dishwasher, thinking she hadn't given her parents much of her time lately or the attention they rightly deserved. No matter how busy they were, her mother with her teaching career, her father with his strategic military work, had always made time for her and Russ. Always.

Ivy's childhood was filled with happy memories of the four of them — playing board games, skating on a frozen pond, skiing, hot chocolate on a cold day, spooky stories around a campfire.

Strangely enough, her mother had been the main disciplinarian in their family. Ordinarily, Ivy was the mischief-maker and Russ, the obedient child. There was one occasion where her father had shown the level of his patience and the depth of his concern. She remembered the incident vividly — her father had refused to give her permission to attend a midnight movie playing at the theatre in downtown Madison, the small town where they were stationed during her early teens. She wasn't normally rebellious. That she refused to accept his answer stemmed more from not being able to see the harm than insolence. At thirteen, she was hardly a child.

Fifteen minutes to midnight that night, she'd snuck out of the house and met up with her friends on her street corner and walked downtown to the theatre.

Their trek back to their homes one hour and thirty minutes later was not uneventful, however. Ivy and her three friends learned that night the peril that might befall a young girl strolling down a street when a man wearing a ski mask and an ankle-length trench coat jumped from a bush into their faces.

The group scattered in different directions. The attacker chose to follow her. With him giving chase, she managed to outrun him and make it safely inside her house where she promptly thanked God for her speed and runner's legs.

She'd never spoken of the incident with her parents — to do so would be an admission of her disobedience — but years later, she'd come to believe, for no good reason, her father might have been the would-be attacker. She never asked. He never said.

Ivy had learned an invaluable lesson that night. Parents knew better; at least hers did.

## Chapter Twelve

Jeffries impatiently awaited the lab reports and the results of the house-to-house canvass, not that he expected much from the canvass. Armstrong had looked at him like he thought Jeffries's brain had gone AWOL when he requested the door-to-door. "The crime took place over a year ago, and you want a canvass now?" Armstrong's brows nearly reached his receding hairline.

"Maybe the body wasn't always buried where it was discovered. Maybe the burial was recent."

_Leave_ _no_ _detail_ _unexplained_.

"The coroner will determine that."

"True, but we'll only know in a few days. Memories are freshest now."

At eight-thirty, his protégé ran through the squad room, waving a sheet of paper in the air.

"Who's your best friend?" Farley asked.

Jeffries took a guess. "You."

"I'll be your best friend for life when you see what I have," he said.

"And what's that?"

"The partial print on the murder weapon you asked me to run but said it was probably a waste of time?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It wasn't," Farley said, smiling like he'd just won the lottery. "I just solved your case."

Jeffries said the obvious. "You got a hit. Let me see." He reached for the results. Farley clutched the sheet of paper and took a step back. Jeffries gave him a severe look. A second later, he was reading the results.

"Roberta Belanger. Shoplifting, DUIs, robbery, assault. Died six months ago at Chesterville where she was serving time for vehicular manslaughter." Jeffries leaned back, not believing what he read. Cases were never solved this easy. He remembered an article he read in a magazine not long ago. "Fingerprints are becoming less and less an exact science."

"No two people have the same fingerprint," Farley said.

"But in this case, we have a smudgy partial print."

Farley threw his hands in the air. "You just can't give me credit, can you?"

Jeffries shrugged. "Bring me indisputable evidence our gal Roberta here is the murderer and I will." For him to close a case, he needed irrefutable proof. He didn't have it yet. "Get me the dope on Belanger. If she has a next-of-kin, we'll have a talk to them."

Farley looked like Jeffries had sentenced him to death. He understood the kid's grief. "It's not all guns and lassoes, Farley. Much of our work is done on our asses and thumbing through sheets of paper. Tell me now whether you're up for the challenge." He'd seen Farley's expression before. From afar, detective work looked exciting and adventurous. Time would tell if Farley had the restraint necessary for the job. Jeffries prompted Farley for an answer. "Which is it?"

Farley took no time to answer. "Alibi or lack thereof coming right up, Detective."

"Good man." Jeffries got on the phone to Jack and without preamble, asked when he answered, "Does the name Roberta Belanger ring any bells?"

"No. Should it?"

"A partial print that analysis says belongs to her was found on the murder weapon."

Jack blew out a breath, which Jeffries took for relief. Jack thought Jeffries had solved the case.

"Maybe now you'll lay off my wife. She deserves an apology."

Jeffries wanted to set Jack straight, tell him he still considered Sonja a serious suspect. He composed himself, instead. "I'm not closing the case. Not yet." Jeffries could hear Jack's sigh.

"Let the grudge go. Sonja chose me, not you."

Jeffries barely held on to his temper. "You think I want to pin this rap on Sonja because she rejected me a dozen or so years ago? God, Jack. Think about what you're suggesting."

Jack inhaled. After he exhaled, he apologized.

Jeffries nodded, even knowing Jack couldn't see it from the other end of the telephone line. "It's already forgotten. Now then back to the fingerprint. It's partial, and it's smudgy."

"But you still got a hit."

"Maybe an inaccurate hit. Back to my reason for calling. Are you sure the name doesn't mean anything to you?" Jeffries repeated her name.

After a moment, Jack answered. "Never heard of the woman."

Jeffries knew how close Jack and his mother were, and if Maggie had mentioned Belanger's name, Jack would remember. The man had the recall of a computer.

"How would she come in contact with Maggie if she didn't know the woman, especially between the hours of midnight and six in the morning?"

"She didn't know the woman, Jack."

"How about the rest of the family? Your Dad?"

"I'll check with them. I hate to question Dad, though. His health is precarious at the moment, Eugene. He suffered this past year, wondering where Mom is and what happened to her. It's been difficult on him. We can't lose him, too. It already seems we lost Mom twice."

"Give your dad some credit. He's stronger than you realize, but I understand your apprehension. I'll make you a deal. I won't question Dan unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

"Thanks."

"Jack, just so we're clear. If I have to question him, I'll put aside our friendship. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Are we solid?" Jeffries needed to know he hadn't lost a good friend.

"Solid."

## Chapter Thirteen

Jeffries parked the unmarked car across the street from a weathered two-story building that spanned half a block on King Street East. The ground floor accommodated a craft shop, barber, pharmacy, shoe store and a woman's clothing boutique while the second floor housed several apartments.

"What a dump," Farley said from the passenger seat.

The insult was the first of his grousing, Jeffries realized.

At the front door and a quick look around, he complained there wasn't an elevator. From then on, he kept a steady flow of complaints coming about the odors and litter on the stairs and hallway. Then he warned Jeffries not to touch anything.

"The place is filthy," he said, as though Jeffries couldn't see for himself. "A breathing ground for disease."

Jeffries took the complaints well. He'd seen worse and so would Farley, if he stayed with the job. At the moment, he thought it was doubtful.

"Keep your focus on the task at the hand," Jeffries said.

They came to Maurice Belanger's apartment.

Jeffries turned to Farley. "Ready?"

He nodded.

Jeffries rang the bell.

"Yeah, who is it?" a gravelly voice asked from inside the apartment.

"Grimsby Police Department," Jeffries said. "Open up, Mr. Belanger."

"What do you want?" Belanger asked.

"Officer Farley and I have a few questions."

"About what?"

"Your wife."

"She's dead."

Jeffries grinned. "Yes, sir. We know. We need your help."

The door swung open with a force that made Jeffries rest his hand on his gun.

"This is a first," Belanger said with a thick French accent.

Maurice Belanger was a ponytail-ed, T-shirt, Jesus-sandal wearing hippie look-alike. He gave Jeffries a hard look. "Usually cops who come knocking on my door come to make an arrest."

"That could be arranged," Farley said.

Jeffries looked at the rookie, then back at Belanger. "No one's here to make an arrest. We just want to ask you a few questions."

"What do you want to know?" Belanger asked, inhaling deeply on the joint he made no attempt to hide.

Clearly to Jeffries, Belanger was enjoying this. Now that Belanger knew they solicited his assistance, he felt certain they wouldn't arrest him for possession.

Belanger held the joint in the air. "It's medicinal."

"For?" Jeffries asked.

"Depression."

Jeffries nodded. He'd go along with that. "May we come inside?" He looked over Belanger's shoulder into the living room.

"Whatever you want to know you can ask here."

"Sure. If you don't mind your neighbors knowing your business."

"Naw." Belanger waved a hand in the air. "This time of the day they're all sleeping off a Hermit buzz."

"Suit yourself. Did your wife know someone by the name of Maggie Monahan?"

Belanger turned out a quick study.

"That's the old doll the Chihuahua dug up."

Jeffries didn't correct him. "Yeah."

"Bert didn't know her. Never mentioned her, either. Bert and I we were real close. If she would've had any contact with the woman, I'd've known about it." He rapped his forefinger against his temple. "I'd remember, too. Memory's as sharp as an incisor."

Jeffries didn't expect an accurate answer but he needed to ask. "Where was your wife on June 10th last year?"

"Well, hell, that's an easy one. Dinner and dancing at the Three-Step." Belanger looked at him. "You probably never been there 'cept on official business. It's a joint on Worster Boulevard." He stared at the floor a moment, then a smile creased his face and he said in a soft voice, "My li'l Bert, she could dance, one leg shorter than the other, didn't matter. Pack away Tequila shooters like nobody else, too. The last wedding anniversary we got to celebrate. Last year we celebrated Christmas on the inside. Weren't the same, though."

Jeffries kept the questions coming. "Was your wife a member of any women's leagues? CWL, any Catholic auxiliaries, or other charities?"

Belanger snorted. "Bert was a lot of things but a churchgoer she was not. Besides, she was a Baptist turned atheist."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Converted years ago to stop her old man from griping about her non-church going ways."

Jeffries said without inflection, "That makes sense,"

Belanger guffawed. "She thought so. Catholic myself. Regular churchgoer, too, and confession real regular."

"What time did you get home that night?" Jeffries turned to a new page in his notebook.

"Didn't. The missus and I took a room above the Three Step. Wouldn't take the chance to drive while under the influence."

"That regard for the law would have served your wife well," Jeffries said, remembering the reason for Roberta's jail term.

"Bert weren't driving her car that night. She was asleep in the passenger seat when the accident happened. The driver, a friend of hers, yanked Bert behind the wheel. No one believed her. It was her car." He shrugged. "You know how it is," he said, like Jeffries was an old and dear friend.

Jeffries sympathized. "Bad shit happens."

"Ain't that the freakin' truth, man." Belanger shook his head in that way only a person disgusted with politics, politicians and bureaucracy could do.

"Do you have any idea how your wife's fingerprint ended up on the knife that killed Mrs. Monahan?"

"What kind of knife was it?"

Jeffries cocked a brow, wondered where the question led, then described the murder weapon.

"I know just the kind you mean. Ol' Bert she did those displays and demonstrations in the stores." He snapped his fingers together. "Like those...those — "

"Ginsu knives."

"Yeah, like those. Maybe someone swiped one on her."

"Maybe." Jeffries wondered what the odds were of something like that happening. Belanger answered Jeffries unasked question.

"It could happen." Belanger reached inside the room and came out holding a walnut-framed photo. "This is my Bert. Isn't she beautiful?" he asked.

Jeffries noticed the wistfulness in the old guy's voice. He took the picture in his hand. "How long ago was this taken?"

"On her birthday last year. Quite a difference from those mug shots, huh?"

"I'll say." Jeffries thought he recognized Roberta Belanger. From where, he couldn't recall.

He thanked Belanger for his time and cooperation and wished him a good day.

On the way to the car, Farley asked, "What do you think?"

Jeffries was more interested in the thoughts of his young trainee. "What do you think?" He took the keys from his pocket and unlocked the driver's door.

"I believe him."

"Yeah, me too."

"All we need to do now is find the person who swiped the knife from Roberta and we got us our murderer." Farley laughed.

"Simple enough."

## Chapter Fourteen

At six o'clock that evening, Ivy, dressed in old jeans and an even older St. Xavier University sweatshirt, answered the insistent knock on her front door. She was surprised to see Jeffries. "Detective. Not more questions, surely."

He laughed. "Nope." He held up a brown paper wrapped package. "This is for Bogie to replace the bone taken into evidence. It isn't a ham hock, but the meat cutter promised any dog would enjoy it."

Ivy liked the way his eyes lit up. Perhaps her initial assessment of him was incorrect. At the moment, he didn't seem the idiot she'd originally thought. "Why don't you give the bone to him yourself?"

"Does he bite?"

She laughed. "Don't you have a big gun?"

"Which you'd probably use on me if I hurt your dog."

"True." She led him inside and through the back hallway.

In the kitchen, where Ivy had instructed the Terrier to stay, Jeffries crouched and unwrapped the bone. Bogie eagerly accepted the offering.

"He doesn't usually take to strangers," she said.

"Were you hoping he'd rip off my fingers? Is that why you wanted me to give the bone to him?"

She grinned. "Maybe."

"Bogie and I know each other." Jeffries scratched the top of Bogie's head.

"How?"

"We shared a chew of gum that night."

"Gum?"

"I didn't have any dog treats on me," Jeffries said.

Ivy studied him as he watched the Terrier chew the bone. Jeffries was a clever man. He knew the way to her was through her dog.

Jeffries stood and looked at her sweatshirt. "You went to St. Xavier's?"

She nodded.

"I did too. For about two minutes." He laughed. "I won't keep you any longer."

She looked at her watch. "I have to be leaving, as well."

"Oh?"

"I'm taking a ceramics class."

"At the Winchester farm?"

"You've heard of it?"

"My mother owns the business." At her puzzled expression, he said, "She remarried a few years after my father died."

"Your mother is Gloria Winchester?" She couldn't believe it.

He nodded.

"I would never have guessed. You don't look at all alike. You must take after your father." Dark and brooding.

"I do." He rocked on his heels and appeared uncomfortable to Ivy, like he warred about something.

To help him get a move on, she looked at the wall clock and said, "Well, I should be going."

He took the hint this time, and she walked him out.

At the door, he turned to her. "Would you like to go out to dinner sometime? With me?"

"I'd like that." She surprised herself. When her divorce from Dean had finalized, she vowed never to become involved with anyone again. Ever. It was only dinner, though. No strings and no expectations. She felt safe with Jeffries. Maybe he was different from other men.

What was she thinking?

All men were alike.

She could look for what she would like in a man her entire life and never find it. _Don't_ _think_ _of_ _Jeffries_ as _that_ _man_ , _Ivy_.

He told her about the turn at Nine Mile Brook near his mother's. "A death trap that comes out of nowhere."

She thanked him and thought how considerate he was to warn her.

***

Two hours later and with Jeffries on her mind, Ivy walked out of the barn where Gloria Winchester taught ceramics. She saw the resemblance now between mother and son. Both had the same tic below their left eye when shyness overtook them and the habit of furrowing their brows after hearing the unexpected. _Tells._ Everyone had tells. She wondered what hers were.

The night air held the scent of pine, grass clippings and apple blossoms. She savored the fragrances that reminded her how much she appreciated country living. Maybe instead of purchasing a house close to work she should have considered living here where the air was fresh and clean and the sky unclouded by industrial pollution. Think of the long drive in winter, though, on icy and snow-packed roads. Yes, driving had played heavily on her decision to live downtown. Satisfied she hadn't made a mistake, she opened her car door and slid behind the wheel.

Ivy turned onto the main road where, like the driveway leading from the Winchester farm, there was no traffic. Minutes later and coming up to the sharp turn she'd already became aware of before Jeffries's warning, she slowed and downshifted, driving into the turn with care and caution.

Into the bend, the high beams of an oncoming car traveling at a high speed swerved into her lane. With only several yards separating them, Ivy reacted and pulled the steering wheel to the right. She braked hard and slid effortlessly off the shoulder and into the ditch. Her heart thumped and her hands shook uncontrollably, but she was unhurt.

She squinted against the bright headlights of the offending vehicle as it sped past. Like the mishap had been her fault, the driver leaned on the horn and didn't let up.

Ivy watched the vehicle disappear over a knoll. A minute later, headlights lit up the sky on the incline in the opposite lane. Her first thought was that the driver turned around and was coming at her for another run. Her second thought was to protect herself. She reacted swiftly.

She opened the door, jumped from the car and hid behind a bush, too afraid even to peek out when the car slowed then braked seconds later.

A car door slammed. Heavy footsteps hit the asphalt.

"Ivy?"

She recognized Jeffries voice and released the breath she held. "Over here," she said, looking at him standing at the driver's door of her car.

He followed the direction of her voice. She met him at the Miata's front bumper.

"I'm fine," she said before he could ask.

"What happened?"

"Someone ran me off the road."

He bent and looked into her eyes. "You're sure you're not hurt?"

She appreciated his concern, but not his skepticism. If they were going to become friends, he needed to take her at her word. "You must have passed the car. Did you get a make and model? The plate, perhaps?" She really wanted to get the son of a gun.

"Those are my lines," he said, smiling.

Impatient, she asked, "Well, did you?"

He cocked a brow and shook his head. "Sorry."

She wondered then why he would have. He hadn't come upon the accident yet and wouldn't have known to look. "Damn. The driver must have been on drugs or ticked about something and not paying attention." She brushed off her knees from kneeling in the mud.

For the first time since he stopped she looked at him, really looked at him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" She narrowed her eyes.

"A little."

He helped her from the ditch and suggested she sit in his four-by-four to wait for the tow truck he called for.

"Where are you going?" she asked when he took a flashlight from the back seat.

"Just down the road a ways. Stay put. I want to check something."

She rapped a finger on her purse in tune with the monotonous click of the four-way flashers and watched Jeffries shine the flashlight on the turn. In two seconds, she was crouched beside him and studying the dew-slicked asphalt. "What do you see?"

"Didn't I say for you to stay put?" he said, turning to look at her. "You listen well."

"You might not believe it, but you're not the first person to tell me that."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

## Chapter Fifteen

Jeffries was concerned. The mishap might have been an accident — a driver unfamiliar with the road coming into the turn too fast, for one explanation — but it could have been any number of things. If it had been careless driving, though, there would be brake or skid marks on the asphalt. His gut told him the incident had been intentional. If it was not a case of mistaken identity, someone wanted Ivy dead or incapacitated.

Why?

He did some checking into her past — he liked to know who his friends were. From what he'd learned, her ex-husband was an arrogant s.o.b, but Dean Miller didn't seem the revengeful type. Besides, the divorce had been his idea and was clear-cut and both parties had gotten on with their lives, three hundred miles apart from each other. Ivy moved to Grimsby a few months ago, hardly enough time to make enemies.

What was this then?

An imagination seeing agendas and crimes where none existed?

Possibly. He was imaginative; that's a fact.

The ring of the telephone severed his concentration. His gaze went to the kitchen clock. Ten-thirty. At this hour, the caller was either work or his mother.

"Hello," he said into the receiver.

"It's your mother."

"What's up?" With Gloria, the reason for the call could be anything. Time meant nothing to her. She seldom considered the hour when she picked up the phone. If she was up and awake, then everyone had to be as well was her thinking.

"Ivy's a really nice girl, Eugene," Gloria said. "You should ask her out."

Jeffries laughed. Frank and to the point was Gloria.

"So, are you?"

"Maybe." If he told her he'd already made the suggestion to Ivy, Gloria would keep asking how the date went until he gave up all the details. There was no question too sacred for her to ask and no answer she was too embarrassed to hear.

Gloria wanted his grandkids and thanks to her dedication in that regard, Eugene suffered through more bad dates than he cared to remember. She had grandchildren, he often reminded her, to which she'd reply, "They're not your kids. They're your nieces and nephews. I want your grandchildren. Little Eugenes and little Eugenies."

Gloria's sharp intake of breath alarmed him. She'd made a revelation, one he was sure would cause his clipped hair to curl. He never knew what to expect from her, and he was sure she sometimes surprised herself.

Jeffries braced himself for the question. He didn't wait long.

"You like girls, don't you, Eugene? But if you don't that's fine, too. Sam and I and your brothers will welcome your lover into the family. You can rest assured of it. Even still, you can give me grandchildren. You can adopt, for one. There is always a way, Eugene. Gayness is not shameful." She took a breath. "I won't be like Paula Kane who disowned her son, because he's a fairy. I'll stand by you no matter what. I want you to believe that."

Jeffries heard a slapping sound coming from Gloria's end.

"Mama mia! It strikes me now. I should have known you playing with dolls — "

He couldn't let this continue and intercepted her. "They were GI Joes. I'm not gay." In case she still had doubt, he said, "I like women."

"Then why haven't you married?"

"I haven't found a woman I want to marry. It's on my to-do list." He chuckled.

"Don't get smart with me, young man. You'll never be too old or too big for me to take across my knee."

Jeffries hung his head. "Yes, ma'am."

"What happened at the turn tonight? We saw the tow truck from the house."

"A car took the ditch. No one was hurt." If Gloria knew the driver was Ivy, she'd be at her house in a flash with chicken soup and a hot water bottle. He wanted to spare Ivy that.

"I warned Ivy about the turn," she said.

"I did, too."

"Why don't you bring Ivy to supper on Sunday?"

Ivy was not equipped to handle his mother. Jeffries was pretty sure no woman was.

"Well?" Gloria prompted.

"We'll see."

## Chapter Sixteen

What had possessed her?

Something had, otherwise she wouldn't have agreed to go out to dinner with Jeffries.

It was only one meal. One hour and a half, tops.

How difficult could it be?

However the dinner went, she probably suffered through worse.

What could go wrong?

Jeffries could really get to like her, and a dinner date could cinch how much, which would make him want more than she was willing to give.

She'd worked hard on her marriage to Dean. Unfortunately, she realized too late she couldn't compete with the girlfriend who wanted sex every day of the month.

If the time came again where she wanted male companionship, she'd choose wisely. Perhaps she'd place an ad in The Grimsby Tribune: Husband Wanted - No Sex Necessary.

"What do you think, Bogie?" The Terrier didn't stir. He'd retired for the night. She threw him a kiss and immediately regretted the movement. The ache in her neck reminded her she didn't come away from ditching her car without injury. It was nothing a heating pad wouldn't help; she could have come away from the accident worse.

She filled a hot water bottle and took the back staircase to her bedroom, where she undressed and put on flannel pajamas. She climbed into bed, her gaze falling on the journal on the nightstand. She wanted to read more of the woman's entries, but couldn't stop thinking she was trespassing. The thoughts in the journal were personal, intended for no one's eyes but the writer's. How often had Ivy groused at Russ for reading her diary? This wasn't the same, though. The journal was meant for the trash, and Ivy owned the house. What was left behind became her property.

After she made herself comfortable, a noise, like a fingernail drumming wood, had Ivy hopping from bed and darting to the window. She looked downward. No one was below. Strange. The sound was clear and distinct. She stared at the benign Monahan house only a few feet away. It couldn't have been coming from there. She shrugged and dismissed the sound. This was an old house and, like anything old, had its creaks.

Back in bed, she took the journal in her hand and turned to the next entry.

Thirty minutes later, she slammed the journal closed, unable to read a moment more of the woman's pain and suffering. Ivy wondered whether she'd known the danger she was in.

## ***

At eight o'clock the next morning, Ivy opened her front door and saw Jeffries leaning against his vehicle parked at the curb. On this cool spring morning, he'd exchanged his blazer for a brown leather bomber jacket, which showed off his broad shoulders. Jeans and the red chambray shirt suited him as well as or better than his usual dressier attire. She wasn't on the lookout for a man, but if she were, he'd head the list of possible candidates. She wondered why a woman hadn't walked him down the aisle yet.

Inside the house, Bogie stood on the back of a sofa chair in the living room window and barked.

As though Jeffries understood the language of dogs, he inclined his head toward the Terrier, waved and nodded.

Apparently satisfied he'd grabbed the detective's attention, Bogie settled to intermittent yips.

She locked the door and walked off the veranda. "What are you doing here?" she asked, noticing Jeffries seemed larger and muscular than she'd given him credit. Strange how first impressions could change.

"I thought you might need a lift to the office," he said.

"I can walk," she said, approaching him.

"It's five blocks."

"I've walked longer." She could see something besides thoughtfulness in his expression. He hid something from her. She didn't appreciate the delicate handling and told him so. "What are you not telling me?"

He hesitated only a second. "There were no skid or brake marks on the road."

She sensed someone watching her. Wary, she looked around at the parked cars and high into the maples and oaks lining the street, but didn't see anything or anyone. She turned her attention back to Jeffries.

"There should have been," she said, remembering how hard she braked and swerved to avoid a collision. "Even if the driver fell asleep, he would swerve and brake when he woke to blinding headlights in his eyes."

Her neighbors came out of their houses, walked down the steps and onto walkways to either continue walking toward the city center or their cars and drive off to their nine-to-five jobs, like a production of a play. Some smiled and nodded while others tipped their hats. She acknowledged each 'Good Morning' with a smile and a wave, the celebrity on the street. It wasn't every day a body was unearthed in a neighborhood.

Any one of those people could have taken the life of Maggie Monahan. Any one of them. She looked more closely at her neighbors, studying, then memorizing and stowing away her findings for a later recollection.

Jeffries opened the car door for her.

Settled on the passenger seat, she wondered his purpose behind the solicitousness. She looked over at him when he got into the truck.

"Your car should be ready after work," he said.

"Was there much damage?"

"The muffler was torn off but the exhaust is salvageable, other than that everything's fine."

"Good."

"I'll pick you up after work and drive you to the garage."

"You've already done too much as it is. I can't ask you do that." Ivy liked her independence and had grown accustomed to doing things on her own.

"You're not asking. I'm volunteering."

"There's no need, really."

"It's what friends do for each other."

She nodded.

"We are friends, aren't we?" he asked, looking at her.

She supposed they were. "Yes."

"Good. It's settled. As a friend who knew you were without a ride to work this morning and without a ride to the garage — "

"Okay, okay." She slapped his arm. "I get the picture." She hadn't let go of the thought that Jeffries considered another alternative to the mishap last night. "Out with it, mister."

"With?"

She scowled. He got the meaning.

"It may have been an attempt on your life," he said and started the four-by-four. "Or a warning."

She laughed. "You've been a cop too long. You're seeing agendas and corruption where none exist. Who would want to kill me? I've only been in town a few months. I haven't made many friends, and I certainly haven't made any enemies." There was Laura Wallen, of course, but Ivy was reasonably sure Laura did not want Ivy dead or hurt.

"Someone from your past? An ex-boyfriend, perhaps?"

Jeffries took a cautious approach. She imagined he'd checked into her background after the body was found on her property and probably knew everything about her, but he hoped to hear a secret, the secret that would cause someone to lay in wait to run her off the road, hopefully to her death. "No. No one."

He pulled into the street. "You'd tell me, if there were someone?"

"Of course." She held his stare until he turned away.

"Promise you'll be careful," he said.

"I promise," she said, only because it seemed important for him to hear. No one wanted her dead. Dean had his grievances against her, but he didn't want to kill her. Neither did Laura Wallen.

## Chapter Seventeen

Jeffries entered the squad room to find Farley waiting for him.

"You were right about morbid curiosity," Farley said. "One of the neighbors recorded the whole thing, starting from the arrival of the first patrol car and ending long after the coroner's wagon took the body to the morgue."

Farley held the camcorder in the air between them.

The scene shook on the small screen, and the images appeared murky, but Jeffries could identify most of the on-lookers from their mannerisms and carriage. Many were street residents, but the majority of them lived blocks away. News, especially the horrid, traveled at an exceptional speed.

The cameraman moved swiftly around, catching patches of ground, a white picket fence, a tree trunk before homing in on the coroner's van roaring through the right-of-way.

Jeffries watched himself direct the crowd aside to make room for the vehicle. In real life, his jaw tightened at the thought Maggie had become a spectacle on exhibit. He remembered doing his best to preserve her dignity by blocking the on-lookers line of sight to the body. He hadn't done a good enough job of it, he realized now.

Spectators around the cameraman gasped when the coroner's attendants lifted the skeletal body from the ground.

"Lynn," the cameraman said. "Take the kids home. They shouldn't be seeing this."

Some of the crowd expressed sympathy for the "poor family" while others wondered aloud about the identity of the cadaver.

"Recognize everyone?" Farley asked.

Jeffries recalled recognizing Maggie immediately, but Farley wasn't referring to the victim. He nodded. "No one suspicious, though," he said, watching the camcorder pan the crowd and the scene replaying at his back through the camera lens.

"Whose the voice behind the camera?" Jeffries asked.

"Calhoun," Farley said. "He lives — "

"Four houses down from the Ajax house," Jeffries said for Farley. "His backyard borders the garage lots. He was the first on the scene?"

"Even before you. He heard a dog barking, then a woman screaming and came out to investigate."

Jeffries noticed a figure tucked into the left edge of the screen. "Wait." Farley stopped. "Right there. Pause it."

Farley froze the scene. "What is it?"

Jeffries took the camcorder in his hand, wishing he could look around the corner of the frozen image. "Someone is standing in the shadow of that tree."

Farley leaned in closer to the screen. "I see it. Can't tell whether it's a man or woman. Tall enough to be a male, but some women are tall, too."

"Thank you, Sherlock."

"He...or she seems to be standing alone. I wonder if Calhoun saw anyone there? Another long shot?"

"Haven't you learned anything about long shots?" Jeffries turned his gaze from the camcorder screen to look into Farley's eyes.

"That there are none," Farley said, posing his answer like a question.

"Get a still of the shot and go back to Calhoun and see if he remembers anything more. Show him the picture. It might trigger his memory. Have it enlarged and refocused or whatever it is those 'puter geeks do." Someday he'd learn the appropriate lingo.

"I'll get paper copies."

Jeffries nodded. "While you're at it, get copies of all those gawkers, too."

"Did you learn anything new from Ajax?" Farley asked, turning off the camcorder.

"Excuse me?"

"You've been spending a lot of time with her and Darlene said you paid a visit on her at work. I was just wondering if you considered Ajax a person of interest."

"Darlene?"

"At the corner store on St. Andrew."

"And how does she know what happens at EI?"

"She doesn't. Her best friend Hannah does, who's best friends with Laurie whose husband was waiting to file a claim at EI the morning you showed up to see the Ajax woman."

"Ah." Jeffries found Farley's explanation more confusing than informative.

Farley elbowed Jeffries in the arm. "You've got the hots for her, don't you?"

Jeffries had a fragile moment, like his cover had been blown. He teetered for a moment between admission and denial before deciding to keep his mouth shut.

"So, I figure Ajax can't be a suspect, because if she were, you wouldn't be paying her visits or giving her lifts to the office or arranging a tow after she ran her car off the road."

Jeffries broke his silence. "Is nothing off limits in this town?"

"I'm just saying it's good you found a love interest."

"Ivy is not interested in me romantically."

"She likes you."

"As a friend."

"And you?"

"Am none of your business. Get those stills to me asap." Jeffries walked around his desk and sat, hoping Farley would take the tip-off and move on. His personal life was his business and no one else's.

"There's a rumor going around," Farley said.

Jeffries leaned back in his chair and cupped the back of his head with laced fingers. "About?"

"Ivy's ex."

"What about him?"

"I don't know the specifics, just that her old man shoved a shotgun in his ex-son-in-law's face."

Jeffries came forward in his chair. "Any charges?"

"No."

Jeffries raised his eyebrows.

"I know," Farley said. "Strange. Neither of them will talk about it. Must have been something big though."

"Where'd you hear this?"

"In the locker room. I overheard Simms and Baines discussing it. They wondered if you knew and thought you might want to reconsider a relationship with her." Farley laughed. "It's good the two of you are not involved then, huh?"

Jeffries thought over what Farley had said and determined there was only one reason for a father to threaten a son-in-law. "How long ago was this?"

"Six weeks or so."

Jeffries found it odd, considering the divorce happened months before. "And no one knows anything about the cause?"

"No one who's talking. Did you want me to do some digging?"

"No. It's probably residual anger over the divorce." Jeffries didn't believe that at all.

"It's odd she left her family and friends."

Something about Ivy's explanation hadn't sat well with Jeffries, either. Maybe because the story was too pat. "She got an up-scale position out of the move."

"She already held down a good job with the feds."

"Maybe she wanted a change."

"Maybe."

"Are you going to ask her about it?" Farley made himself comfortable on the corner of the desk.

Jeffries shooed him off. "It's not any of my business."

"You might want to reconsider doing so if you intend to cozy up with her. Her old man may take a dislike to you too and blow off your balls."

The phone rang. He was happy for the intrusion. "Jeffries."

"Eugene."

He cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Farley. "I'll catch up with you later."

Farley winked and hurried away.

Jeffries cleared his throat. "What's up, Mom?"

"Did you ask her yet?"

"Not yet."

"But you will."

"I haven't decided." Jeffries chose his words carefully. The last thing he needed was Gloria's interference. "She might get the wrong idea and think I'm bringing her home to meet mom."

"She's already met me."

Jeffries rolled his eyes. He never won an argument with his mother yet. "Well see."

"Dinner's at six on Sunday, son."

## Chapter Eighteen

"That's impossible," Ivy said. "I can't be pregnant." No way. Not like this. She took her feet from the stirrups, gathered the paper gown tightly against her abdomen and swung around on the examination table.

Dr. Viola Cooke looked at her. "There's no denying it. You're about six weeks along."

Ivy didn't need Dr. Cooke to tell her how many weeks along she was. She knew the exact time she'd conceived. The moment had etched itself in her brain. She closed her eyes on her tears. Pregnant. She was pregnant.

By rote, she flipped through the pamphlets Dr. Cooke handed her, reading the catch phrases: You're having a baby; Pregnancy; There is a choice; A joyous time; And baby makes three.

She was alone. Alone. She experienced a moment of fright, then sadness. This wasn't how she'd envisioned the rest of her life. Other women raised children as a single parent, women who had less than her. She had much to offer this child. Love, for one. He...or she would want for nothing. This would be her parents' first grandchild. How would her father take the news?

"I want to see you in a month. I'll schedule an ultra-sound. My assistant will call with the date and time. Also, you'll want to register for Lamaze classes."

Ivy grew concerned. "Is everything all right? There isn't anything the matter with the baby, is there? Another physician told me my chances of conceiving were virtually nil. Two percent, to be exact."

Dr. Cooke shook her head. "I don't anticipate any problems."

Ivy closed her mind to the doctor's spiel on pre-natal vitamins that segued into a strict regime on proper diet, rest and exercise.

_I'm having a baby_. Still in shock, she tuned back in to the doctor in mid-speech.

"You'll need a partner," Dr. Cooke said.

"For?"

"A birthing coach."

"I have no one."

"No?" The doctor looked at her with concern.

"Women have been having babies for thousands of years. Many of them without birthing coaches, I would imagine. Besides, I'll probably go home to have the baby." Oh Lord. Home to her mother and father. Could Randall love this baby? Her father was a compassionate and forgiving man where matters concerned his children, but she doubted he could love this baby, Dean's child, one conceived from an act of violence.

"Where's that?"

"Sedgewick. Will it be a problem?"

Dr. Cooke shook her head. "When the time comes, I can forward your records to your physician. How long do you plan on working?"

Ivy shrugged. "Until my seven month, maybe." She rubbed her forehead, thinking how sudden this was. She never suspected pregnancy might be the cause of her morning lethargy.

## Chapter Nineteen

Jeffries found a quiet place at the bank of windows in the lobby of the federal building to wait for Ivy. His wait wasn't long.

A few minutes before five o'clock the office door to EI swung open and Ivy strolled out, her gaze seeking him through the throng of men and women disembarking elevators.

He knew the minute she noticed him. Happy to see her also, he returned her smile.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," she said.

He got into step beside her and said, "An hour or so. I thought you got off at four."

"Some detective you are."

Her chuckle reminded him of Zeta. Her laughter had been throaty also and full of fun. His infatuation had never let go of him. She was beautiful too, but not naturally, like Ivy. Where Zeta was fair-haired and skinned, Ivy was darker and sultry.

Zeta had loved him, but not enough to share her life with him. He would have gladly done anything for her. If only she had asked. His life would be different today. For one, instead of filling in the days, he would be living them. He had never loved like that again.

Fingers snapped in his face. Surprised, he looked at Ivy.

"Where were you just now? You timed-out."

"In the past," he said, staggered by the honest response.

"With if only?"

"Who?"

"If only I had done that. If only I had done the other thing."

Not knowing how else to respond, he said, "Regrets keep us human."

Side by side, they walked through the double doors. Outside in the crisp evening air, he asked, "Do you have regrets?"

"I regret the haircut I gave myself in first grade. How about you? What's your biggest regret?"

"Nothing that compares to yours. Mine are simple."

She laughed again. This time her laughter didn't remind him of his lost love. It belonged solely to Ivy.

He stopped at the passenger door of his four-by-four. "After we pick up your car, would you like to get something to eat?" he asked, the invitation coming naturally. He helped her onto the passenger seat.

"Do you like Chinese?" she asked over her shoulder. "I'm famished."

"Couldn't think about anything else the entire day but pineapple chicken."

***

It seemed natural for him to be with her, like they were intended for each other. He couldn't believe it though. He liked Ivy, but not in a romantic way. Jeffries could never feel for another woman what he'd felt for Zeta. He wouldn't try.

Beneath every cloud is a silver lining.

"This is nice," Ivy said from across the table in The China Basket, a popular restaurant on the outskirts of the city.

He looked around the dining room as though seeing the Chinese paintings gracing the ecru walls and Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling for the first time.

"I hoped you'd like it. We were lucky to get a table."

"The receptionist would have thrown customers out to seat you."

"What?"

"Don't tell me you didn't notice the way she looked at you."

"Of course, I did. I'm a detective, after all."

She pointed her finger at him. "Good one. Do you come here often?"

"Once or twice a month."

"Alone?"

"I have no one special in my life, if that's what you're asking."

"It wasn't. I was curious if it bothered you to dine or go places alone. Not that my ex-husband and I did everything together, but I can't see myself, for instance, going to movie alone."

"That's where friends come in."

She nodded. "I don't have many of those. I just moved here, remember."

"You have me."

"And Suze. But she's married with three children and a domineering husband."

He noticed something different about Ivy. This morning she looked exciting and full of life. Now, she seemed dejected. Maybe she was reflecting on a sad moment. "It can't be as bad as all that," he said. "Tell me what's bothering you."

She rapped her nails against the water glass. "This was not a good idea."

Jeffries wanted to help her, to let her know she could depend on him. On his life, he couldn't understand these feelings or his attachment to her. "Ivy, we're just two newly-made friends who enjoy each other's company and who are about to share a meal. No hooks. No expectations." When all she did was stare at him, he said, "If it'll make you feel any better, you can pay for your meal."

"No way. You invited me to dinner. That means you pay."

"Fine. You'll get the next one."

"Fine. How old are you?"

"Thirty-six." Her abruptness took him by surprise, but only momentarily.

"How old are you?"

She batted her lashes. "Didn't your mama teach you it's impolite to ask a lady her age?"

"Yes, ma'am, she did. But you opened the door."

"And you're asking a question you already know the answer to, I'm sure."

He couldn't hide his surprise. Ivy was highly intuitive. Someone would have to be extremely clever to get anything past her.

She grinned. "Don't look so startled. I know what you do for a living, and it's only reasonable you would investigate me, especially given that I found a body in my back yard and you're the cop assigned to the case." She took her elbows off the table and rested her back against the chair. "Tell me everything you know about me, Jeffries, and I'll tell you how accurate your records are. I'll even grade your profiling abilities, if you'd like."

Jeffries decided to go along with the test. "Fair enough. Ivy Bowen Ajax, born thirteen six seventy-seven to Danielle Anne Ajax, nee Storm, and Randall John Ajax on an army base in Grafenwöhr Germany.

"Not too much frightens you. You're not afraid of my gun or what I do for a living, which tells me you've been around firearms, probably all your life, which may have to do with your father's work in the armed forces. His military record is classified, which leads me to believe his work was of an intelligence nature. Your favorite color is pink, and you have one eye a deeper blue than the other. You run, but not so much anymore, not since you broke your ankle. You love animals, not just Bogie, you're not afraid to admit a mistake, and you clearly give the benefit of the doubt."

"How'd — "

"On the night Maggie's body was discovered, you misjudged me, but didn't brush me off. You could have." He chewed the inside of his lip, wondering if this were the time to bring up the subject of what was troubling her.

"I can see you're debating with yourself," she said. "You're afraid to ask me something. What is it?"

"You're intuitive and perceptive, too." He stared into her eyes. "Something happened between the time I dropped you off this morning and picked you up tonight that worries you. Your job is stressful, but you handle the pressure well. So, whatever's bothering you is not work related. Is your ex-husband hassling you? Is he the reason you're jittery?"

She shook her head and absently picked at a rag nail on her thumb.

He gave her a moment to study the tablecloth before he said, "When you're ready, I'll listen, and if you want someone dead, I'm your man."

She lifted her gaze and met his eyes. "You're not serious."

"Do you have to ask? Shall we order?"

"I'll have the buffet," she said. "Since you're paying."

"And if I weren't?"

"I'd have a rice bowl."

He guffawed, catching everyone's attention. His laughter was contagious, either garnering smiles or grins from other customers and the staff.

The server, an elegant young Chinese woman dressed in an ankle-length red brocade silk dress, appeared at their side. "Are you ready to order?" she asked, smiling at Jeffries.

"The lady and I will be having the buffet."

"Anything to drink?"

He looked at Ivy.

"I'll have a glass of putao jiu." She held a finger in the air and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Jeffries noticed her eyes had watered. "No. On second thought, just freshen my water. Thanks."

"Are you sure?" he asked, seeing her rapid change of expression, like she'd remembered leaving a pan of oil on an open burner and her house would burn down around Bogie.

"Uh-huh."

"I'll have the same."

Later, over sweet potato dessert, Jeffries suggested she consider trading in her car for something suited to their climate. "Our winters are pretty harsh with heavy snowfalls. Your Miata won't get you where you want to go."

"I've been thinking about getting something bigger. Something with more room." She smiled at him over the rim of her water glass.

"Let me know when you're ready. I know a few of the owners of the car dealerships in town."

"Thanks. I'll keep it in mind. Why haven't you ever married?"

"Excuse me?" He couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. In her company, he needed to keep reminding himself to expect the unexpected. She must have kept her ex-husband on guard. "How do you know I wasn't?"

"Your mother told me. Are you gay?"

"You _have_ been speaking to my mother. If it weren't funny, I'd be insulted."

"So, are you? Gay, I mean."

"No, ma'am." She looked disappointed, making him wonder why his sexuality mattered. Didn't she tell him she wasn't interested in romance for the foreseeable future? "Would you like proof?"

"No sir. Just friends, remember. What can you tell me about the previous owners of my house, the Truscotts?"

"They kept to themselves, mostly. He worked at the mill, and she worked part-time at a shoe store in the mall. He lost his job when the economy went downhill and the demand for paper turned to stone."

"Did they have any children?"

"One. A boy around ten or so."

"Just the three of them?"

He drew his brows together. "No, I think his mother, or was it her mother, I can't remember for sure, if I even knew, lived with them. Why do you ask?"

She averted her gaze. "No reason. How's the murder investigation going?"

"Not good." He fingered the teaspoon sitting atop the saucer.

"You can't talk about it?"

He shook his head. "I could discuss it without giving secrets away, if there were any to divulge."

"Any suspects? Besides me, I mean."

He looked into her eyes, willing her to believe what he said next was the truth. "You were never considered a serious suspect."

"You would have to be a fool to consider it." She took a sip of water. "A fool, you're not."

"There's someone who looks good for the murder, but I can't put her in the time and place."

"Want to tell me about her? You'll find I'm a good listener."

He'd already determined that, but what he now realized was that he could talk to Ivy about anything. He was certain, as well, he could entrust her with any confidence.

"What do you know about the case so far?"

"The victim's identity, that she and her husband raised four sons in what is now my home and two of those boys were born, coincidentally, in the bedroom I now occupy, which is not the master bedroom, by the way, that everyone thought highly of her, that her second oldest son lives next door and that his wife didn't get along with her mother-in-law."

He grunted. "That's putting it mildly. Truth is, Sonja hated Maggie and did her best to destroy Jack's relationship with his mother."

"It's virtually prescribed daughters-in-law will not get along with their mothers-in-law."

"Did you get along with yours?"

"Yes, but Nancy's a sweetheart."

"So was Maggie." He flagged their server for a coffee refill.

"I heard Sonja's..."

Obviously, she searched for diplomacy. There was no need. Jeffries had heard every word imaginable to describe Sonja's state of mind. "Nuttier than Planter's?" he offered.

"I was going to say different, but nutty's probably more accurate. At least, from everything I've heard about the girl."

"Have you met her?"

"No, and I don't want to."

"Don't turn your back on her." Her eyes grew so large, he became concerned. A second later, her expression told him she understood his roundabout implication.

"You think Sonja killed Maggie."

He touched his heart. "I know she did."

She sipped her water. "Then prove it."

"I already tried."

"Try harder."

***

Left to his sobering thoughts, Jeffries paced the open expanse of the front rooms in his house.

Ivy suggested a simplistic solution to solving Maggie's murder. The truth was, he had tried harder to prove foul play had been the reason for Maggie's disappearance. In the end, he determined if any evidence of a crime had been left behind at the time, he'd have found it.

He'd decided then to look at the case from a different perspective. Alzheimer's patients lost their sense of direction. He hadn't seen any signs of dementia in Maggie, but then he didn't see or talk to her on a daily basis. Jack swore there was nothing off with his mother's mental capacity. Jeffries believed him.

Others he had spoken to — members of her church, bridge club and close friends — intimated Maggie had not been herself the last few months of her life. She'd been flustered and on edge. Sonja could have been the cause.

At the time, he would have believed dementia caused her disappearance before he considered the possibility Sonja had plunged a knife in her mother-in-law's back. Now, all he needed to do was prove what he knew in his heart. To do that, he needed to think as a psychopathic killer would.

Jeffries needed to get inside Sonja's mind.

Chapter Twenty

Ivy would have begged off Jeffries's invitation to dinner to think about her options, but there was no sense considering an alternative when her heart had decided what she would do the moment she'd heard she was pregnant. She would not have an abortion, nor would she give up her child for adoption. Strange both options — abortion and adoption — began with the first letter of the alphabet and that the first option — the one normally considered first — came in alphabetical order to the second choice.

Regardless of how she came to conceive, she would love this child without reservation. A life grew inside her, a life she was responsible for. The thought virtually frightened off her breath. The fear would dissipate. She wasn't the first woman to get pregnant. Others had done it before her. Many others. They had survived the experience. So would she.

Questions came rapid-fire in her mind — boy or girl; blue-eyed or brown; fair-skinned or dark; lanky or husky; quick-tempered or passive. She hoped the child would not have Dean's wicked temper.

_No_ _alcohol_ , _no_ _caffeine_ , _no_ _medication_ , _no_ _tobacco_.

She ran her hand over her tummy, feeling the baby bump. Earlier in the week, she noticed the tighter fit of her slacks and chalked the extra pounds down to her increased appetite from not smoking.

What little she knew.

Two percent chance of becoming pregnant, three doctors had told her.

What little they knew.

In light of her pregnancy, what seemed like the right decision then, now seemed wrong. She wouldn't have given a second thought to a new job, definitely not one requiring a change of locale. Of course, then she wouldn't have met Jeffries. Her life would have been lesser for the coincidence.

The baby's father must never know about her pregnancy. It was good, then she'd relocated.

Yes, it was settled.

Her recent decisions suited her well.

Strange how choices could impact a life and all without a person knowing the next step. One more rung of the many rungs on the ladder of life. She ran her hand over her stomach again, smiling this time. It didn't matter who the father of her baby was, or how it was conceived. All that mattered, all that should matter, was that she would love and cherish him or her always.

"I'm having a baby." The words sounded natural to her. "Baby Ajax." She grinned and flicked off the light before heading upstairs.

Normally, she didn't turn in until midnight, but Ivy was tired. The doctor said she might experience periods of fatigue and not to be alarmed. It was natural and should subside by the end of her first trimester.

Impatient to stretch out on freshly laundered sheets and closing her eyes to peaceful sleep, she rushed through her shower and hurriedly toweled off. She had a hectic day, one filled with revelations, surprises and uplifts. But her sleep wasn't peaceful, though. The face of a man distorted by rage weaved in and out of her mind. He accused her of deceit, treachery and duplicity and yelled obscenities. She begged his forgiveness. "I'll do anything you want, just don't take my baby from me."

"I had a right to know!"

She pleaded with him to understand. "I did what I thought was best for our child."

"Liar!"

The accusations continued, then a fist shot through the air, intent on making contact with her mid-section. Jeffries appeared from nowhere and took the blow meant for her. "Get out of here now," he said, "before it's too late."

Ivy woke, frightened and trembling, and sat up straight. She looked around her bedroom, expecting someone to jump out at her. When no one did, she expelled her kept breath and shook her head at the senseless fear. The dream, vividly clear, replayed over and over in her mind. Dean must never learn the baby she carried was his.

Even in her dreams, Jeffries was there to lend her a hand and come to her rescue. There was something tender about him and kind too, but underlying those qualities lay a man never to be crossed, a man focused on performing better that his best, one who pushed himself harder and harder.

Did she want a man like Jeffries in her life?

Chapter Twenty-One

Mid-morning on Saturday, Bogie alerted Ivy to company with one sharp yap — friendlies, in his phraseology. Two sharp yaps meant strangers.

Randall and Danielle Ajax had let themselves in by the time Ivy reached the foyer. Her father, a tall, heavy-set man, scooped Ivy into his arms and hugged her like he hadn't seen her in years when in fact she'd visited them less than a month ago.

"Dad, I can't breathe." She tugged on his ears until she gained her freedom.

He set her on the floor and studied her. "You look peaked, darlin'. Are you feeling all right? Eating healthy? You're not back on those damn cigarettes, are you?"

Ivy looked over at Danielle and recognized her mother's look. The last time she saw that particular recognition in Danielle's eyes was after Ivy's first sexual experience. When Ivy asked how she knew, her mother replied, "Mothers know these things. You'll understand what I mean when you become a mother yourself."

It was true. Mothers had a sixth sense about certain things. That her daughter was pregnant was one. Ivy would believe anything her mother told her, but now that Ivy would be a mother, she looked forward to either proving or disproving the theory firsthand.

"You probably squeezed the breath out of her," Danielle said, taking her turn to hug Ivy. "Not to mention that Ivy's suffered a great shock."

"Shock?" Ivy hiked an eyebrow, disappointed her mother didn't choose to keep her pregnancy between them for a few days, or at least until she could discuss her situation with her father.

Danielle looked at her strangely. "Didn't you find a dead body in your back yard?"

Ivy had forgotten. Bringing a life into the world predominated death, she supposed, and her mind had stashed the disturbing fact to the side for now. Either that or she was simply selfish and put her feelings above that of her neighbor and his family who grieved the death of their mother.

"It was an unsettling experience, I admit." Ivy cleared her throat.

Danielle looked at her. "You poor dear. It was must have been dreadful for you. Your father and I would have been here, if we had known. I know you didn't want to worry us, but you should have called."

"You're here now and that's what matters." Ivy took their jackets and led them into the kitchen.

Bogie sprang from his basket and jumped into Randall's arms. He rubbed the dog between the ears. "Long time no see, little fella. How's my favorite pooch?"

"I thought you'd only arrive around lunch," Ivy said. Her mother was letting her shoulder-length hair go white. Ivy didn't know how she felt about that. Danielle was only sixty; too young for white hair. It might make her mother feel old. Danielle was the youngest older person she knew. She didn't want it to change.

"You know your father, dear. Up with the roosters and as frisky, I might add," Danielle said, winking at Randall.

Ivy ran her finger across her throat and grimaced. "Too much info, Mom. Too much info."

"What's the matter, lamb chop?" Randall asked. "Think you were in vitro fertilized?"

Ivy felt the heat of a blush taking over her face.

"Stop it," Danielle said. "Can't you see, you're embarrassing her."

"Nothing to get embarrassed about is there, Ivy?"

Ivy grinned and shook her head.

"This is a beautiful old house," Danielle said, looking around.

Knowing her mother was salivating to unload her decorating ideas, she said, "I'll need your help to decorate." Ivy looked around the kitchen, first at the unadorned pine-covered walls then at the emptiness of the country kitchen and agreed she could use her mother's help.

Randall rewarded Ivy with a generous smile.

"I'd be happy to, sweetie," Danielle said, beaming. "We'll make this house a home in no time."

Randall winked at Ivy.

Pleased with her father's response, she gave him a wide smile.

Danielle set about making herself at home. She filled the tea kettle with water and prepared a tray of cheese and crackers while Ivy caught her father up on the murder investigation.

"And that's all I know, Dad. The police have a person of interest. The wife of the man next door, as a matter of fact."

"Oh?" Randall said.

Ivy knew exactly what was going through her father's mind — a murderer lives next door to his daughter! Before he could mention relocating, she said, hoping to diffuse the suggestion, "They don't have any proof, not even anything circumstantial to link her to the murder. It's more of a hunch."

"Uh-huh, but something must have given them the hunch, don't you think?"

Ivy had known Randall would not be easily pacified and was thinking of a subject change when Bogie barked — one sharp yap. A second later the doorbell rang.

"Expecting someone?" Randall asked.

"No. It's probably Suzie, a friend from work. She likes to drop in."

"I'll get it," Danielle said, already rounding the doorway from the kitchen.

Randall rubbed his chin. "Now that your mother's not in the room, why don't you tell me what's tearing you up inside."

She never could keep anything from him. She choked back a sob and bowed her head. "I'm pregnant."

"From...."

She nodded. "That night." They'd made a pact never to speak of the incident again. Now, with her condition, it would probably be all they _would_ talk about.

Randall slapped his open palm against the table. "I should have shot the bastard."

"You'd either be dead or in jail now, and I'd still be pregnant with his child."

"I didn't stop because I was afraid the mob would come after me."

"I know, Dad. You did it for me."

"Does Dean know about the pregnancy?" Randall asked, letting out a breath.

"I don't see how he would. I just found out myself, and you're the first person I told."

"You can't let him think or even suspect he's the father."

"Hopefully, I won't show for awhile. Maybe I can have a premature birth."

"Time hasn't changed much in that regard. Women thirty and forty years ago did the same thing when they found themselves pregnant and without a husband or any prospect of one. They hooked the first man to come around after the biological father did a disappearing act."

Ivy wondered if that's why her feelings for Jeffries had changed. Maybe she was subconsciously keeping him in reserve just in case she needed someone to stand in as the baby's father. They hadn't slept together though. That could change too. No, it wouldn't. She was not calculating or cruel to have a man believe she carried his child when it wasn't true.

"I'm not ashamed to have this baby without a husband, and I certainly don't need a man to raise it."

Randall grasped her hand and squeezed. "You have no reason to be. Rape is an act of violence. Dean should have been strung up."

She raised her head, looked at her father, noticed he fought for control of his emotions and gave him a moment to compose himself.

"There was no way I was going to have Dean arrested. I just wanted to forget the incident and move on with my life. Besides, his lawyer would probably have painted me a promiscuous, vicious bitch who teased Dean with sex and therefore got what I deserved."

"You realize this baby will be a constant reminder of the assault."

"Only if I let it."

Several moments passed before he said, "You have options."

In her childhood, her father never gave her the answer to any problem. He reasoned her through them, asking questions to prompt solutions. "I'm having this baby."

Randall splayed his hands on the table and stared at his fingers.

Ivy didn't need clairvoyance to see he didn't approve. She wanted her father to accept her decision. She'd need his strength and support in the coming months. "I can't give up this child, Dad, regardless how it was conceived."

Randall pursed his lips and nodded. "Your mother and I will be there for you. Whatever you need." He placed his finger under her chin and lifted her head until her eyes were level with his. "Understood?"

"Yes." With Randall behind her, she could traverse any road.

With his thumb, he wiped away a tear at the corner of her eye.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Randall said hastily, "Sounds like company. Let's keep this between us for now."

"I think Mom already suspects."

Danielle re-entered the kitchen with Jeffries in tow. "This is Homicide Detective Eugene Jeffries of the Grimsby PD," she said, looking at Randall. She turned her gaze on Ivy then. "Isn't he the cutest?"

"Mom, my gosh." Ivy stood and pulled out another chair from the table.

"What?" Danielle put on her innocent face, the one that made Ivy and Randall want to grant Danielle's every wish. "I was simply complimenting his parents."

Randall stood and introduced himself.

Jeffries took Danielle's teasing with good humor and shook hands with Randall, not seeming intimidated in the least by her father. Randall intimidated everyone. He was a formidable man and an even greater presence.

While Randall grilled Jeffries, Ivy studied her father. He'd aged in the short time she'd last seen him. His hair had grayed considerably, though it was still as thick and unruly as ever. Untamable, just like the man. Randall maintained a strict regime of diet and exercise, not that he didn't indulge himself. He did. A brandy and a fine cigar after dinner, but only on very special occasions — her graduation from college, his sixtieth birthday, Danielle's sixtieth birthday, the day Russell moved out of the family home to an apartment of his own – her father had exaggerated that particular momentous occasion, though. He missed Russell around the house, but wanted him to stand on his own regardless of how Russell's independence would affect Randall. It's the kind of father he was. He wanted the best for his children no matter the cost to him.

Bogie sat on Jeffries' lap, enjoying the belly rub.

"Fickle canine," Ivy said, smiling. He paid no attention to her whatsoever. She looked around at everyone. In fact, no one was paying her any attention. _Hey_ , _pregnant_ _lady_ _here_. No one stirred. The one thing she didn't want any more of was thought, and if she wasn't absorbed in something, her mind would rush to what Dean would do once he learned she carried his child.

She tuned in to Randall's spiel. The questions and answers came at Jeffries like automatic gun fire.

"Have you ever married?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Haven't met a woman I want to spend my life with." Jeffries looked at Ivy and winked.

"Do you think my daughter may be that woman?"

"Daddy. My God." He could always embarrass her, but Jeffries didn't seem to mind.

"Ivy and I are just friends."

"Uh-huh. Did you attend any post-secondary school besides the police academy?"

"He went to St. Xavier's," she answered before Jeffries could.

"Really? What did you take?"

"Business."

"How long did you last?"

There was no fooling Randall Ajax. Ivy knew it, and so had Jeffries. She grinned along with him.

"Half a semester."

Though Jeffries seemed to enjoy Randall's inquisition, she wanted the interrogation to end. "Daddy, must you do this?" She looked out the kitchen window. "Isn't it a gorgeous day? Perfect for exploring the caves at Stratton's Cove. I'll have to check the tides, but I think they're right. Some of the caves aren't accessible in high tide, and you want to see them all. Some even join together. It's rumored the pirate Buzzard O'Halligan hid treasure in one of the caves. The Cove is a huge tourist attraction. Folks living around here can't get near the place during July and August. What do you say about packing a lunch and taking the forty-five minute drive to — "

Jeffries cell rang.

"Excuse me," he said and stood. "I have to take this." He walked into the hall.

She whispered to her father. "Be good."

"I am," he said.

"No, you're not." Randall wasn't happy, she noticed. He looked like the little boy who couldn't get to eat his cake. With the exception of her mother, nothing got Randall's blood pumping like a good interrogation.

Jeffries walked back into the kitchen, cell phone extended toward Ivy. "It's for you."

She cocked a brow. "Me?"

"It's my mother," he said.

"Oh." She took the phone from his hand and placed it against her ear. "Hello."

"Ivy, dear, Eugene hasn't asked you yet, but he's there to extend an invitation to dinner with us tomorrow. The reason I called him is to let him know one of his brothers can't make it. Trevor and his wife were looking forward to meeting you and suggested we have dinner tonight, instead. It's short notice and Eugene said your parents are visiting from out of town. That's so nice for you, dear. They're invited too, of course. Nothing fancy. Just two families getting to know each other."

"I'll check with them." Ivy held the cell against her collarbone. "Jeffries's mother has invited us all to supper at her farm. Interested?"

Randall looked at Danielle, who nodded and smiled.

"We'd love to," Randall said.

"Everyone brings something," Jeffries said.

Ivy wondered whether Jeffries thought that would deter Randall. If he did, Jeffries couldn't read people at all.

"Great," Randall said, rubbing his hands together. "I'll whip up the Ajax Bean Buster." He looked at Ivy. "You have lima beans, jalapeno peppers, hot sauce and noodles, don't you, honey?"
Chapter Twenty-Two

Ivy hoped Jeffries' family had the consitution for the Ajax Special. Not everyone did.

She checked the refrigerator and pantry for the ingredients her father needed to make the dish and saw she had all the ingredients. "I have everything."

"That's my girl." Randall looked across the table at Ivy. "Sweetheart, why don't you show your mother the house while Jeffries and I cop-talk."

"Dad..." She let her voice trail off, leaving the unsaid warning not to embarrass her hanging in the air.

Randall crossed his heart. "I won't."

Jeffries had passed Randall's test. Not many of her friends had. Dean hadn't. She couldn't count the number of nights she'd cried herself to sleep, wishing she'd listened to her father. She would have saved herself a lot of pain and heartache if she'd simply believed her father when he'd told her Dean was not the man she thought he was. But she thought she knew best.

Danielle took Ivy's hand. "I can't wait to see the upstairs. Is there a back staircase?" She looked around.

Ivy smiled. Her mother's eyes sparkled. Danielle was the only person who could fake animation and make it look real. Her mother was also worried about what mischief Randall would get himself involved in. Since the day he pulled his Maxus Stalker shotgun on Dean intending to shoot him, Danielle had difficulty leaving Randall to his own resources. With good reason.

"It'll be all right, Mom," Ivy said, squeezing Danielle's hand. "Jeffries's cool."

Ivy led the way upstairs. In the spacious rectangular hall outside the bathroom and bedrooms, Danielle came to the reason for wanting privacy. "How many weeks are you along?"

"Six." Before her mother could ask, she said, "It's Dean's, and I only found out yesterday."

"No morning sickness, then. Just like me. How did you know?"

"I didn't. I felt sluggish. I thought the hectic last several months caught up with me, but decided to get a doctor's opinion."

"You must have been shocked out of your skull."

Ivy nodded. "I'll say. Two percent chance of getting pregnant. Go figure." She led Danielle into the guest room where Randall and Danielle would sleep. Ivy sat on the bed next to Danielle.

"I'm having this baby and raising him or her," she said.

Danielle brushed Ivy's hair from her forehead. "Of course you will, honey."

"I can't be talked out of my decision."

"I know, dear."

"What do you think, Mom? Am I making a mistake?"

"I can't answer that."

"I loved Dean very much at one time. I wanted his children. What's the difference now?"

"You know the answer to that question."

Ivy nodded and stared at her feet. "The difference is how this baby was conceived."

"Yes."

"I'll be able to put aside how he or she came to be and love him or her with all my heart."

"Answer me one question, Ivy."

"Anything." Ivy looked into her mother's ice blue eyes.

"If you knew a pregnancy was possible as a result of Dean's assault on you, would you have taken a morning-after-pill?"

Without hesitation Ivy answered. "No."

Danielle smiled. "Ends there the second-guessing."

Ivy hugged Danielle and rested her head on Danielle's shoulder. "Dean must never know."

"Your father will come up with a plan. Does Jeffries know?"

"No. It's still all new to me, and it's kind of scary."

"It is. But you'll get over the fear. Promise me you'll look after yourself. No unnecessary worry, anxiety or stress. Eat healthy and exercise. Are you taking pre-natal vitamins? It's too late for the full effect of folic acid but better late than never. How's your ankle?"

Ivy raised her right foot in the air for her mother to see.

"Still tender?"

"At times. I still can't run."

"I've never seen a pregnant woman run. Have you?"

"Never." Ivy laughed, envisioning herself eight months pregnant and running.

"You can still walk, and there are exercises for women in your condition."

Women in her condition — words Ivy thought would never apply to her.

"Jeffries seems like a good man," Danielle said.

"He is."

"It's too bad the timing's off."

"Yes, too bad. We're becoming good friends."

"He likes you."

"As a friend."

"As you like him?"

"Yes."

"You don't think he'll stick around once he finds out you're pregnant?"

"Why would he? He wants a female buddy. Someone to fish with or take to a movie. He doesn't want any entanglements."

"We'll see."

"I'm right."

"Of course you are, sweetheart." Danielle put her arm around Ivy and squeezed.

"Is Dean's father leaving Dad alone?" The Miller family was rumored to have affiliations with the mob. Law officials could never prove their involvement in organized crime, but no one doubted the supposition.

Danielle nodded. "Draper won't make a move against your father or let anything happen to him. He knows the connections your father has and what would happen to him and his family if any harm comes to anyone connected to your father. He's not someone to mess with, either." Danielle turned her head sideways, squinted and asked, "Do you hear that?"

Ivy listened but couldn't hear anything. "What?"

"Exactly! Your father is entirely too quiet."

Ivy followed Danielle down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Ivy and Danielle found Randall and Jeffries, hunched over the center of the table with their heads together, deep in a hushed conversation, with two empty beer bottles shoved to one side. The women cleared their throats roughly.

The men drew abruptly apart and sat back in their chairs.

"How was the tour?" Randall asked Danielle.

"This is a really nice old house. I can't wait to start decorating."

"Only you, my love, can get excited over fabric swatches and wallpaper samples."

"Grand-mama Frazier's iron bed and butler's desk dresser look perfect against the original hardwood floors in our bedroom."

"The Truscotts had all the floors redone shortly before they put the house up for sale," Ivy said.

"Such a shame. Must have broken their hearts to part with this house. I wish I owned something like it. Old houses have such charm. Imagine the stories these walls could tell." Danielle looked at the ceiling and smiled.

"Maybe we can move in with Ivy," Randall said, poking his elbow in Danielle's ribs. "We already have our own bedroom."

"Now there's an idea." Jeffries looked at his watch and stood. "I'd better get moving. I have an appointment at one. Dinner's at six. How about I pick you all up at five or so? Mom's going to want to chat before we eat."

"I'm looking forward to chatting with her too," Randall said. "Between then and now, maybe we'll have time to get a look at Ivy's caves, maybe even hunt up some treasure."

All Ivy wanted right then was a nap.

## Chapter Twenty-Three

"How about something to eat?" Randall asked.

Ivy realized then what a terrible host she'd been and apologized.

"Nonsense. You have a lot on your plate right now, or at least you will have once I whip up some grub." He stood, went to the refrigerator and took out eggs, milk and cheese. "Omelets all right with everyone?"

"Fine," Ivy and Danielle said a beat or two apart.

"First we eat, then we talk," he said.

Ivy knew her pregnancy disturbed Randall more than he would admit. He had probably seen every sick, depraved act one person could inflict on another and it was also probably possible that not too much could surprise him. This baby was a surprising development for him. But Randall would deal.

Ivy worked the skin at her temples. A headache was taking her over. She didn't want to discuss anything. That a plan was necessary to keep this baby away from its paternal family saddened her, but it was the only way to keep him or her safe. She, along with everyone else in this room, knew they needed a plan. There was no putting off the talk. Dean would want joint custody of his child, if he went the legal route. If he didn't, she'd never live to see her baby's first birthday. Either way, the end result was undesirable. She'd take whatever preventive measures needed to secure her child's happiness and future.

Ivy needed to know something first. "How do both of you feel about this baby?" She held a finger in the air. "Before you answer, and I don't want to sway your response, but if you're not one hundred percent on board, I don't know how I'll get through the next several months. This is your first grandchild, maybe your only one, and it appears neither of you are the least bit happy about him or her. Can you honestly say you'll love this child as much as you would if he or she were conceived from love?"

Danielle reached across the table and took Ivy's hand. "Of course we will, Ivy. This child is a part of you, and we love you. Nothing or no one would ever change that."

Ivy looked at Randall. "Dad?"

"Ditto what your mother said."

Ivy sighed, feeling better and stronger now that she knew they would give her their full support. How could she have thought otherwise? Randall and Danielle were the best parents a child could have. "Now, let's eat. I'm famished."

Randall placed a plate chocked with pieces of fruit and vegetables with a hungry-man's omelet at its center. She ate with an appetite that astonished her. Between bites, she complimented the cook. "I always liked your cooking, but this is so much better than I remember." She caught Randall feeding Bogie bits of food, but didn't say anything.

"It's the hormone changes," Danielle said. "You'll find your taste in food will change throughout your pregnancy."

Ivy used the last bite of toast to mop the plate dry. She popped the piece of bread in her mouth and chewed, savoring the last morsel. After a contented sigh, she gathered the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. "What's on the agenda for this afternoon? Did you really want to see the caves, Dad?"

He shook his head. "Why don't we go into the living room, get comfortable and map out our plan to bring our grandchild into this world safely and quietly? Then we'll see where that takes us."

Randall took the leather recliner and Ivy and Danielle curled up at either end of the sofa. While Randall ruminated, Ivy rested her head on her open palm, realizing her head no longer ached.

"We should keep the plan simple," Randall said. "That way, there's less chance for mistakes."

Ivy said, "Okay."

"Did you date anyone prior to Jeffries?"

"I'm not dating Jeffries. We're friends. But to answer your question." She shook her head. "Celibate." After the rape, she'd sworn off all men. Maybe that would change after the baby came, or maybe not.

"No one at all?" Randall asked, like he couldn't believe anyone would willingly give up sex.

"I won't get back on that horse for a long time," Ivy said. "Maybe never."

Randall pinched his bottom lip between his fingers. "If you were to ask him nicely, Jeffries wouldn't get on board with this?"

"What are you suggesting? That he stand in as the baby's father?" Ivy shook her head. "No way. That's not something I'd even ask my best friend." One look at her father told her he wasn't entirely convinced. "I won't consider him," she said with unintended force. She apologized. "Just when I think I've come to terms with the assault, something happens to bring me back to the awful moment, then those feelings rise to the surface, and I want Dean to pay for what he did to me."

"Give time a chance to heal you," Danielle said.

Her mother was right. The anger she presently felt wasn't as strong as before. There'll come a time when she'll pity Dean rather than loathe him.

Randall cleared his throat. "First, we need to think of all the ways Dean might learn of the pregnancy."

"My doctor's records," Ivy said.

"Hospital records once blood work and an ultrasound are done," Danielle said.

"Word of mouth," Ivy said.

Randall nodded. "I can look after the physical records. They won't be a problem."

"How do you intend to do that?" Ivy asked.

"I'll ask your doctor to set up a dummy file on you and keep the true records locked up where no one including her employees would know to look."

"And she'll just comply with your request?" Ivy asked.

"I can be very alluring when I want to be," Randall said, grinning.

Danielle laughed. "Your father could charm the spots from a leopard."

Ivy didn't doubt what Randall could do with the proper incentive. And what more proper incentive could he have than keeping his grandchild out of the clutch of mobsters?

"You'll either have to keep up the charade of being with Jeffries or find someone new who people will assume is the baby's father."

Ivy didn't feel good about deceiving Jeffries but she didn't want to drag him into her troubles, either. "Jeffries is a good man. I can't use him for any reason. Besides, he's perceptive and probably already suspects something isn't kosher."

Randall looked her straight in the eyes. "You'll do whatever is necessary. Remember what's at stake."

Yes, she could and would do anything for this baby. She ran her hand over her tummy. Don't worry, sweetie. Mommy will keep you safe.

"What about my weight gain? I know I've already put on a few pounds. How will I explain that? People at the office will notice." She envisioned Laura Wallen's face and cringed.

"Weight gain is common with folks who quit smoking," Randall said.

Danielle agreed. "Loose fitting tops will cover up the baby bump until the time is right to break the news to your friends."

Ivy pictured Jeffries and his negative reaction to her pregnancy. She was just getting to like having him around. Things weren't meant to be, she supposed.

"What about the hospital records?" Ivy asked.

"I have someone I can use to misfile the hard copies after your tests are conducted and another someone to hack into the hospital mainframe to delete any entries pertaining to you to be reinserted later with correct incorrect data."

"Then I'll have a supposed premature birth," Ivy said.

"It's a pretty simple plan really," Randall said.

Ivy believed Randall found the plan simple in comparison to the plans he had put into play over the years. She had every confidence in her father. If Randall couldn't do something, then it couldn't be done was her philosophy. He loved giving the bad guys their due. He hadn't been able to do it with Dean, and she was sure the fact burned in his stomach like acid.

"Containment is our word of the day for the next six weeks. Right, ladies?"

"Right."

"Right."

"What did you decide to do about Jeffries?" Randall asked.

Ivy looked at her father and said, "He should know the truth."

"Asking him not to come around anymore won't work. He's a detective and a very good one. He'll want to know why, and if those answers don't suit him, he'll poke some holes. He won't like what pops out."

Ivy nodded. "Which is why I want to tell him."

Randall looked up at the cornice molding, obviously considering alternatives. After a moment, he said, "Tell him. He'll keep your secret. Now, first thing Monday morning, I'll get in to see your doctor. Do you really need to have an ultrasound on Friday?"

Both women chimed, "Yes."

Randall held his hands in the air. "Okay, okay. I wasn't suggesting you not have one, just to postpone it. What I'd like to know is how women managed to have babies before modern technology. Did we cover everything?"

Danielle looked at Ivy. "I can't think of anything. Can you, Ivy?"

"No." Something bothered Ivy and she couldn't leave the possibility unsaid. If anything happened to Randall because of what he planned to do, she wouldn't be able to survive her guilt. "You won't get into any trouble over this, will you?"

"I've had tougher assignments," he said.

Ivy knew as much and judging from the set of his jaw, Randall had already assumed the role of predator. "This is different, though."

"You're afraid I won't be able to stay objective because the matter is close to my heart and slip up because of it?" he asked.

Randall's voice had taken on an edge Ivy never heard before. She needed to hear him say the words that would put her mind at rest, the assurance that she had nothing to worry about. Not wanting to hurt or insult him, her father, the one man she knew she could always trust, she chose her words carefully. "It's a possibility, though, isn't it?"

"Not for me."

Chapter Twenty-Four

Something Randall had said made Jeffries take a step back and examine his investigation into Maggie's disappearance from a stranger's perspective.

_Things_ _are_ _not_ _always_ _what_ _they_ _seem_.

Jeffries knew that, of course, but he feared he'd let his concern for the Monahan family interfere with his objectivity. At the time, his captain suggested someone else investigate. Jeffries vehemently, but respectfully, declined the offer. There were other officers on the Grimsby PD qualified to carry out the investigation with his level of skill, but he felt they would be unnecessarily hard on the family, particularly on Dan who, as the spouse of the missing person, would be grilled relentlessly. Law officials investigating a suspicious disappearance, which Maggie Monahan's was, immediately suspected the surviving spouse.

After undergoing cancer treatment, Dan was fragile both in spirit and body. Jeffries understood that and perhaps because of the understanding had not asked the right questions or looked up the right trees.

What did he preach to Farley — keep an open mind and don't make assumptions; gather evidence, let the facts tell the story. Good advice. He wished he'd taken it himself.

Maybe he was in the right neighborhood but the wrong block, or maybe his emotions had ruled the investigation. He wanted Sonja to be guilty, wanted her to pay for every rude remark and the hurt her self-centeredness had imposed upon Maggie. Deep inside, he was also upset with Jack. The man had closed his eyes and ears to what his wife was doing to his mother. Maybe Jeffries should have stepped aside and let someone else investigate Maggie's case from the start.

Maybe Jack had spoken the truth when he said Sonja did not stab Maggie.

Jeffries was here to find out once and for all. He would be rough on Jack. There was no other way.

With a life-long friendship on the line, Jeffries got out of his car and walked into The Grimsby Tribune. He knocked on the doorjamb to Jack's office. When Jack looked up from the stack of mail he sifted through, Jeffries said, "I thought I might find you here." He took a seat at the front of Jack's desk. "How've you been?"

"Is this visit friendly or official?" Jack asked, brows arched.

"A little of both."

"If you're here to tell me the coroner is releasing Mom's body today, I already know," Jack said.

Jeffries nodded. "It's not why I'm here."

"More of the same old." Jack pushed himself away from the desk and threw his hands into the air.

Jeffries let Jack have his tantrum.

After two minutes, he said, "It's time for the truth, Jack. Not the partial truth, but the whole truth." He looked him directly in the eyes. "What did Sonja do that's eating at your insides?" Jack jerked his head and looked at him, obviously taken aback by the question. "Don't look so surprised." Jeffries pointed to Jack's fingers. "You only chew your nails when you're upset with your wife. Since they're bitten to the quick, I'd estimate whatever happened has you in knots. What did Sonja do?"

Jack heaved a sigh, the sigh belonging to a man who had been pushed to his limits and beyond. Right then, Jeffries knew he had Jack. All he needed to do now was not let go. He kept his voice stern. "The truth, Jack."

Jack held up a hand and said, "Okay. Okay. It was a long time ago. Sonja and I had a fight. She took her anger out on Henry and slapped him across the face."

Jeffries didn't know what he expected to hear, but that certainly wasn't it. He came forward in his chair, his temper sparking. That rarely occurred. Somehow, no matter what the circumstances, he always managed to control his emotions. "Jesus, Jack. You let her get away with that? Christ Almighty, man, you've got to be out of your freaking mind." He was close to boiling point and needed to get a grip on himself. He abhorred child abuse, but what he found more despicable were parents who witnessed their child being abused and did nothing. To Jeffries, those parents might not have raised a hand to the child, but they might as well have by standing aside and keeping mum. Which was exactly what Jack had done. Jeffries didn't know if he could ever forgive Jack the transgression.

"You're not telling me something I haven't already told myself," Jack said. "If it helps any, the incident was isolated."

Jeffries, sitting on the edge of his seat now, asked, "How can you be sure?"

"I give Henry his bath every night. I'd know."

"Listen to yourself, Jack. If you need to look, you expect it to happen again." Jeffries couldn't stop shaking his head. "I don't know how you managed to convince yourself otherwise."

Jeffries didn't know this man sitting in front of him, and he certainly didn't agree with Jack's handling of the matter. He would never understand, either, why he stayed married to Sonja. Sure, his reason was noble — his son — but Jeffries wondered if Henry wouldn't be happier being raised solely by Jack. He was a good and honorable man and a wonderful father. He didn't need Sonja to raise Henry. Hell, the child would benefit from it.

Jack stared at his fingers.

Jeffries wouldn't slacken off. "There are no therefores or wherefores about it. Sonja needs therapy. Get her help before something happens that you won't be able to live with." He took a calming breath and sat back in his chair to collect his feelings.

"Dad would like you to be a pallbearer," Jack said in a soft, calm voice.

Jeffries turned his gaze from the floor where he'd been staring and looked into Jack's chocolate brown eyes. "I'd be honored." Tears, coming deep from his heart, filled his eyes. He looked away, embarrassed by his lack of control and unable to remember the last time he cried.

After a moment, he mustered strength and looked across the desk at Jack. "And the other matter?" he asked gruffly.

"I'll get Sonja the professional help she needs," Jack said. "You have my word."

"Don't do it for me. There's nothing I'd like better than to haul her ass downtown. Do it for yourself and Henry. Neither of you deserve to be treated the way she treats the both of you."

"Understood." Jack nodded. "I saw your car parked next door when I left this morning. Are you dating my new neighbor?"

Jack had a curious bone like none Jeffries had ever seen. He took advantage of his friend's shortcoming. "Swear on the Holy Bible that Sonja did not murder her mother-in-law and I'll tell you."

"I don't have a Bible handy, but I do swear she did not."

Jeffries still wasn't convinced, and he didn't know what it would take to convince him. "Jack, you sleep like the dead. She could have left your bed and you would never have known."

Jack shook his head. "I didn't sleep at all that night."

"Oh?"

"Abscessed tooth. The pain was excruciating."

Jeffries knew Jack's allergy to acetaminophen. "The God's truth?" Jeffries was skeptical. He didn't want to be, but couldn't help himself.

Jack held his hand in the air, palm facing Jeffries. "The God's truth."

The words bolted from his mouth before he could rein them in. "Who in the hell killed your mother then!"

"Now that you don't consider Sonja your only suspect, you'll figure it out, I'm sure."

Jeffries grimaced, but he deserved the jab. What he'd feared the most had happened. His personal feelings had gotten in the way of his objectivity. He watched Jack stand and walk to the chalkboard secured on a side wall.

"You didn't answer my question, Eugene. Are you dating the Ajax woman?" Jack drew a line down the center of the board.

"We're just friends. What are you doing?"

"Making a murder board. Isn't this how it's done?" In the center of the first column Jack wrote, 'Suspects' and in the other, he wrote 'Evidence'. He turned and looked at Jeffries. "Surviving spouses are always the primary persons of interest, aren't they?"

Jeffries answered in the affirmative. "I never, not for one second, considered Dan."

Jack wrote, 'Dan-husband', then drove a line through his father's name. Below that he wrote, 'Jack-son, Seth-son, Joey-son, Bo-son'.

"You or your brothers, either."

He crossed himself and his brothers off the suspect list. Next, he wrote, 'Sonja'.

"Jack," Jeffries said sternly. "Why don't I tell you what I have?"

"Good idea."

Jeffries realized he'd been worked. It felt too much like old times for him to be offended. He stood, took the chalk from Jack's fingers and wrote 'Roberta "Bert" Belanger' on the board. In the evidence column, he wrote, 'partial print on the murder weapon'.

"I already know that. You told me, remember?"

"Did I tell you she died six months ago at Chesterville where she was serving time for vehicular manslaughter?"

"I suppose a séance is out of the question," Jack said.

Jeffries walked to his chair and sat. "Fingerprints are becoming less and less an exact science."

"But no two people have the same fingerprint," Jack said.

"In this case, we only have a smudgy partial print." Jeffries decided to be honest with him about what he had with regard to the case. "What we discuss right now goes no further?"

"Yes."

Jeffries ran his hand over his head, something he always did when he was upset. "Here's what I got. My partner Farley and I paid a visit on Bert's husband. It turns out Maurice Belanger has a good memory, 'sharp as an incisor', to use his exact words. He said his wife didn't know your mother or he would know. They were real close.

"I didn't expect an accurate answer but I asked anyway. Where was your wife on June 10th a year ago? Well hell, doesn't he answer? Dinner and dancing at the Three-Step, he says without hesitation. They took a room above the club. Apparently, they wouldn't drive under the influence."

"I assume you confirmed the reservation," Jack said.

"Yep. Ol' Belanger told the truth." Jeffries watched Jack go from hopeful to sad. "I kept the questions coming, hoping to catch him in a lie. I couldn't. Then I asked him if he had any idea how his wife's fingerprint ended up on the murder weapon. What kind of knife was it? he asks. I had no idea where the question would lead, but I answered anyway. He says he knows just the kind I mean. Apparently, ol' Bert did those Ginsu knives displays and demonstrations in the stores. He offered that maybe someone swiped one from her, which would explain her fingerprint on the murder weapon." The image of Bert's smiling face in the photograph Maurice showed him flashed in his mind. Jeffries grimaced.

"What is it?" Jack asked. "You look like you just remembered something."

Jeffries shook his head. "I know Belanger's wife, but can't remember from where."

"An old arrest, maybe," Jack suggested.

"No." Jeffries looked at his watch and saw how late it was getting. "I've got a few errands to run. Mom's having this get-together tonight. Wants to know Ivy better. Did I tell you her parents are in town?"

Jack grinned. "Taking the girl home to meet the folks, huh?"

"You know Gloria. Once she's shaken the monkey barrel, there's no saying no. Want to come with? It'll be like old times."

Jack shook his head. "Can you watch Henry while I talk to Sonja?"

"Of course."

"Four okay with you?"

Jeffries nodded.

"I may need your assistance with arranging help for her."

"You got it."

## Chapter Twenty-Five

Jack wasn't looking forward to what he was about to do. High time, his friends would say.

He pulled his car to the curb behind Jeffries and got out.

"All set?" Jeffries asked, walking over to him.

Jack nodded. "As I'll ever be. Thanks for taking Henry."

"Did you want me to stay while you tell her? You know, for moral support. I'm sure Ivy would look after the boy."

"Not a good idea. Sonja will think you're there in an official capacity and it'll make matters worse."

Side by side, lifetime friends, they made their way up Jack's walk.

"Call me when it's done," Jeffries said. "I'll wait with Henry at Ivy's." He gripped Jack's shoulder and squeezed. "You're doing the right thing."

"Then why do I feel I'm being led to slaughter?" Jack asked.

They barely set foot on the veranda when the outside door flew toward them and Henry burst through the open doorway. He leapt into Jack's open arms.

"Daddy, Daddy," he said. "You're home."

Jack hugged Henry tight against his chest, closed his eyes and took in the scent of him. "How's my best bud?"

"Fine."

"You going to say hello to Uncle Eugene?"

Henry rubbed his eye. "Hi."

"How're you doing, champ? Your Dad told me you're a big hit at day camp. Got the eye of a cute little redhead, I hear. Way to go, Henry." Jeffries high-fived him.

"Where's Mommy?" Jack asked.

Henry pointed over his shoulder. "She has one of her grains and doesn't want to be disturbed for any reason." He sucked in his cheeks.

"How would you like to go with Uncle Eugene and meet our new neighbor?"

Henry shook his head. "Mama said she's a witch and needs exercise."

Jack looked at Jeffries.

"Have you met Bogie yet?" Jeffries asked.

"Who's that?"

"He's a Yorkshire Terrier."

"What's that?"

"Why don't you come with me and I'll show you?" Jeffries held out open arms. Henry jumped from Jack to Jeffries.

"Call me on my cell," Jeffries said over his shoulder before walking across the lawn to the house next door.

With a leaden heart, Jack watched Henry disappear into Ivy's house. He hoped his talk with Sonja went well. She was unpredictable at the best of times. Suffering from a migraine, Sonja would be dangerously unpredictable. But he couldn't delay. He'd done too much of it already. Jack squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and walked into his house.

"Sonja," he said softly from the foyer.

"In here," she said in a monotone. "And keep your voice down. I have a migraine."

He took off shoes and walked stocking feet into the living room. Sonja was sprawled on the sofa, a gel mask covering her eyes and a cold compress across her forehead.

"You said you would only be fifteen minutes," she said. "That was two hours ago."

"Jeffries stopped by."

"Figures. I always take a back seat to him. You should have married him."

"Sonja, let's not do this."

"Do what?" She sat up, yanked the mask from her eyes and threw the compress at him."

He caught the ice bag. "Sonja, please. You need help. Let me help you. There's a new therapist in town. Rose — "

Sonja stood so abruptly, Jack took a step back, his words dying in his throat. He'd never seen her this way before. Rage distorted her face. Her eyes turned ice-cold. He didn't know what she would do and thought she was capable of anything.

"If it wasn't your sainted mother, it's you. How many times do I have to tell you there isn't anything the matter with me? I lose my temper sometimes. Doesn't everyone?" She thrust her finger at him. "You've had your tantrums. Did I say you're crazy?"

"Sonja," he put out his hands, "I'm not suggesting you're crazy. Sometimes it helps to talk to someone, a stranger. Rose is in her late fifties. People who know her say, she's easy to talk to."

"Have you already booked me a room in the nut ward too?" She sneered. "You sicken me. You're just like your mother. Always telling me I'm crazy."

"Mom never — "

She raised her finger in the air again. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare defend her. I'm your wife!"

Jack became very worried about Sonja. Her face was as red as a tomato, and her entire body trembled. He had never seen her so enraged. He reached out to touch her.

She screamed and dodged him. "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me again." She ran out of the living room.

Jack chased after her, wondering how she could yell and move so fast suffering from a migraine. Maybe she'd been lying to him all these years, wanting him to feel sorry for her. It worked. He'd waited on her, cared for Henry, cooked, cleaned and ran her errands. How could he have been so gullible, so stupid?

"Sonja, please. Stop. I'm sorry." He reached the dining room and rounded the corner into the kitchen. "Let's talk abo — " He came to an abrupt stop. He couldn't believe what he was seeing and wondered who this woman was who charged him like an animal in the wild. "Don't do this. Please." He begged.

She ran across the kitchen toward him, screeching. He looked at the knife she held in her hand high in the air. Everything happened fast then. Her face twisted into an angry grimace. He hardly recognized her. She shrieked. He would remember the sound for as long as he lived. He put his arms into the air, attempting to protect himself. But he wasn't quick or adroit enough. She slammed the knife into him. A searing pain lit his chest on fire. He fell to his knees, clutching the handle of the knife set deep into muscle and bone. Brilliant pinpoints of light danced in his mind when Sonja yanked the knife from his chest. He closed his eyes and toppled to the side.

Sonja, what have you done?

The last sounds he heard were her footsteps on the hardwood floor and the swish of the storm door closing.

He was alone. There was no one to help him. Blood, flowing from the wound in his chest, soaked his shirt and cooled in the air, shivering his flesh.

So cold.

I'm dying.

He would never see his son again. _Oh God, no. Please, God, don't let me die. Not yet. It's too soon. My son needs me._

Henry's sweet face appeared against his eyelids. "Henry," he said before darkness took him over. Jack could feel himself slipping away. There was nothing he could do. _Slipping...slipping..._
Chapter Twenty-Six

On the veranda of Ivy's house, Henry stiffened in Jeffries's arms. "What's the matter, bud?"

He shoved his hands against Jeffries shoulders and pushed. "Put me down. Put me down. I'm not allowed to go in here anymore. Mama's going to be real mad. She'll spank me again."

Jeffries turned his eyes toward Heaven and thanked God for helping Jack come to his senses. Henry would never have to worry about things like this ever again.

"Why?" Jeffries asked.

"Mommy says I'm not allowed. Daddy says so too."

In bits and starts, the truth surfaced. Jeffries had suspected Jack went along with Sonja's ostracism of his parents, another of her ways to get back at Maggie for something she'd done. Jeffries cursed himself for not recognizing the depth of her depravity. Sonja was cruel to everyone who loved her.

"Was that when Grammy and Grampy Monahan lived here?"

Henry nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Well, not to worry because Grampy sold the house." While Henry pondered that, Jeffries climbed the steps. "Knock, knock," he said, entering Ivy's house. He met her in the hallway.

"Hi," he said, noticing the smile she'd reserved for him fade when her gaze fell on Henry. Before she could jump to the wrong but altogether normal conclusion, he said, "Ivy, this is Henry, your neighbor Jack's son." He looked at Henry. "This is my good friend, Ivy Ajax."

Henry stuck out his little hand. "Pleased to meet you," he said shyly.

Jeffries looked at Ivy as she shook Henry's hand. "Henry agreed to look after me while his Daddy does some business."

"Uncle Eugene," Henry said, poking Jeffries in the ankle with the toe of his running shoe. "You're looking after me. I'm not old enough to look after you."

"No? You could have fooled me."

Ivy laughed. "Come in and sit down," she said. "Dad was just telling Mom and I about the three-pound trout that got away from him this spring."

"Three-pounder, huh?" Jeffries said, smiling and following Ivy with Henry in tow. "A yarn if I ever heard one."

"You ever fish, son?" Randall asked from the recliner. He spotted Henry and his face broke into a wide smile, the question then forgotten.

Henry had the heart and soul of his grandmother Maggie, and he never failed to affect anyone he met. Jeffries was happy to see Randall was no different than others in that respect.

"Who do we have here?" Randall asked.

Jeffries made the introduction.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, young man." Randall held out his hand.

Henry grabbed hold of Jeffries leg and stared at Randall. "You're a big man," he said.

Randall guffawed. "I'm not scary, though, I hope."

Henry peeked out from under Jeffries hand. "A little."

Randall laughed. "You're an honest feller, aren't you?"

"My daddy says it's the best policy."

Randall looked at Jeffries and grinned. "I love this kid."

Danielle stood and walked over to them. "Hi, Henry. I'm Danielle. Ivy's mother."

"My mother has a mother, too," he said.

"What's her name?" Danielle asked.

"Diane Austen."

"We share the same initials. Perhaps, I'll get to meet her one day."

"She lives over there," he said, pointing through the living room window. "Across the street in the blue house."

Danielle followed the direction of Henry's finger. "That's a nice house. I bet you love having your grandma close by." She looked at Randall.

Jeffries got the feeling Danielle might be trying to convince Randall to move to Grimsby. Jeffries wouldn't mind if they did. Listen to him, he sounded like a man who expected to spend a lot of time with Ivy.

"Uncle Eugene," Henry said, motioning Jeffries to come closer.

He bent and Henry cupped a hand around his mouth and asked, "Where's the dog?"

"What does he want?" Ivy asked.

"I told him about Bogie."

"Oh," Ivy said and looked at Henry. "He's in the back yard. Did you want to come with me and get him in?" She held out her hand.

Henry looked up at Jeffries. He gave him the go-ahead. "It's okay," he said.

Jeffries watched Ivy and Henry until they disappeared from his sight at the kitchen doorway.

"He's adorable," Danielle said, putting her hands in the pockets of her dress pants.

"They don't come any cuter, that's a fact," Jeffries said, feeling the happiest he felt in a long time. Jack was finally going to get his wife the help she needed. He and Jack were well on their way to becoming best friends again. Ivy was becoming a treasure to him and her parents were terrific, too. He smiled. His life was finally on an even course.

Danielle sat on the sofa. "Do you like children, Jeffries?"

"I like Henry," he said honestly.

"That much I can see. But it wasn't what I asked."

"Danielle," Randall said.

Jeffries detected the warning in Randall's voice. "It's all right," he said, not wanting Danielle to feel slighted. "In general, I like kids." Another honest answer he hoped she would not dissect.

"A side effect of your work, I imagine," she said.

"Yes, ma'am." He'd come across some nasty kids in his twelve years on the force, some not even their mothers could love. But he didn't want to get into it with Danielle or anyone. Not only would the topic ruin his pleasant state of mind but what he had to say on the subject would probably sit adversely in Danielle's thoughts forever.

The telephone rang, reminding Jeffries that Jack hadn't called him yet.

Randall reached for the phone on the end table and answered the call. "Hello...nope, wrong number." He hung up and looked at Jeffries. "You look like someone expecting a call."

"I am," Jeffries said. "Jack said he would call me when his business was done. He should have called by now." His stomach fluttered. Something was wrong. He took his phone in his hand and punched in Jack's house number. The telephone rang ten rings before the answering machine picked up. He closed his cell. Something's wrong, his mind screamed. _Something's wrong. Something's—_

"Can you watch Henry for me?" he said to Danielle and Randall. "I need to check on Jack." Knowing instinctively they would, he didn't wait for an answer. He was out the door two seconds later and running across the lawn and up the steps and onto the veranda at Jack's house.

At the door, he slowed his breathing and walked inside. He called out Jack's name from the foyer, then moved through the hall that led to the kitchen. "Jack?" He could hear the tick tick of the grandfather clock when he passed by.

He came to the kitchen. The odor of copper rushed him like a thief and robbed him of his equilibrium. He knew what and who he would find and his entire body trembled with fear. Later, he would remark on the fact that not for a second had he considered it was Sonja lying on the floor and barely breathing, her blood pooling around her.

Unarmed, Jeffries cautiously entered the kitchen and got his first glimpse of the crime scene. He scoped the room then rushed to Jack and knelt beside him. "Jack!" Jeffries felt for a pulse. "Are you with me? Jack?" He found a weak and thready pulse and his heart surged with gratitude. "Oh thank God." He applied pressure to the wound with one hand and with the other hit 9-1-1 on his cell. "This is Detective Eugene Jeffries of the Grimsby Police Department, badge number 62015. I have a man with a knife wound to the chest. He's lost a lot of blood and his pulse is weak and thready." He rattled off the street address and pressed 'End'.

"Who did this to you, Jack? Who stabbed you?"

Jack's eyelids fluttered. "Son...ja."

"You're going to be fine, Jack." With his free hand, Jeffries held Jack's hand.

If Jack died, his death would be on Jeffries. Jack would have lived in misery with Sonja forever, if Jeffries had not interloped. Jeffries thought he had been doing what was right for Jack and Henry. Now, Jack's little boy might grow up without his father. And all because of him and his sanctimonious attitude.

"You're going to be fine, Jack," he said, looking around the kitchen for the weapon. He couldn't see one. "Hang in." He heard footsteps behind him and whirled around.

"Thought you might need a hand," Randall said. He removed his sweater, formed the garment in a roll and placed it under Jack's head. "I can take over from here, Jeffries."

Jeffries didn't move. He couldn't leave his friend.

Randall checked Jack's pulse and lifted his eyelids to look at his eyes. "You're doing good, son. Keep up the fight." He looked at Jeffries. "Don't you have a suspect to arrest?"

Jeffries hesitated.

"Go on. Your friend will be in good hands." Randall knelt beside Jack and nudged Jeffries aside. He replaced Jeffries hand with his own and applied pressure to the wound. "Jack, my name's Randall. Friends who know me call me The Fixer. You know why? Because I fix anything that's broken. I met your son today. That's quite a young lad you got there. Smart as a whip. Polite, also, not too often you see that today with kids."

Jeffries trusted Randall. He had no choice.

Outside, Jeffries ran across the lawn, up the steps and into Ivy's house. Danielle met him at the door.

"Where's Henry?" he asked.

"He's playing with Bogie in the back yard. Ivy's with him."

"Jack's had an accident. Randall's staying with him until the EMTs arrive. Can you and Ivy keep Henry occupied so he doesn't see his father taken out of the house on a stretcher?"

"We'll take him for a walk," she said.

"Hurry. I hear the ambulance now. Take him out the back way."

"Will Jack be okay?" she asked to his retreating back.

"It doesn't look good," he said over his shoulder.

Jeffries bolted out of Ivy's and radioed the precinct from his car. He identified himself and reported the scene and was patched through to Farley. "Get over to Jack's, I'm here now. He's been stabbed."

He set the mike in place and stared at Sonja's mother's house. Diane's car wasn't in the drive and the house looked benign. Jeffries believed Sonja would have run to her mother. Diane always took her daughter's part, whether Sonja was in the right or not and was to blame for a lot of Sonja's head problems. If she'd been less enabling, this tragedy might not have occurred. Diane blamed everyone else for Sonja's shortcomings and couldn't see that her daughter was the cause of all the heartache and trouble she brought to Jack's family.

He longed to rush Diane's house, but knew the mistake it would be. He wanted Sonja put away for a long time and the only way to do it was with no mistakes. Everything needed doing by the rules.

Jeffries had never experienced the anger he felt at the present moment. While he watched Diane's house and waited for Farley and back-up to arrive, he kept telling himself he should feel sorry for Sonja. His mind repeated, 'She's sick', but the words did nothing to squelch his desire for payback.

Despite Jack's vow for Sonja's innocence, the notion occurred to him again she'd stabbed Maggie and buried her alive. If Sonja's prints matched the partial print on the murder weapon, he had Maggie's killer.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

From his position across the street, Jeffries could see the front and side doors of Diane's house clearly. He doubted Sonja would attempt to run. She'd already run to the one person she could count on, the one person who would champion her no matter her guilt. There was no getting out of this one for Sonja. She would go to jail or a psyche ward. Either way she would do time.

Within moments, Farley arrived with the Chief followed by three cruisers and the ambulance, sirens wailing against the stillness of a lazy afternoon, police emergency lights brightening the sober sky. Two of the cruisers blocked off either end of the street. Residents dashed from their homes and lined both sides of the street, their excited chatter lifting birds from the perches on tree limbs.

Jeffries updated the Chief.

"This is your show," the Chief said. "No one knows the suspect better."

Jeffries nodded and briefed the uniformed officers. "I believe she's armed with a knife and dangerous. She has a history of mental problems. If you come into contact, don't turn your back on her. At any time." He looked at Farley. "Did you bring me a weapon?"

Farley handed Jeffries a Glock and said, "Oh, oh."

"What?" Jeffries turned to where Farley was looking and said, "Christ on a crutch. Just what we need." He stared at a wild-eyed Diane behind the wheel of her late model Toyota Camry, looking more menacing than a cobra.

Her timing was either impeccable or someone had called her. He doubted she had friends, so he decided on the former.

Diane ran the curb and brought the car to a screeching stop on the sidewalk. She got out of her car and marched over to him. "What's going on, Eugene?"

"Sonja stabbed Jack, and she's holed up in your house," he said.

Diane shook her head. "My daughter would not do that. She would not stab anyone, least of all her husband. She's a sweet girl."

Jeffries took the gun from the waistband at his back. He checked the clip and put a cartridge in the spout. He saw Diane's eyes growing large and waited for her outburst.

"You seriously aren't thinking about using that thing on my daughter," she said.

Jeffries motioned to a uniformed officer. "Escort the lady behind the line," he said, "and bring me a horn."

Diane threw her arms in the air at Jeffries as the cop walked her backward. "I'll have your badge for this. My daughter didn't do anything wrong, and she's certainly not dangerous."

"Tell it to her husband," Jeffries mumbled. He ignored Diane and raised the police megaphone to his mouth. "Sonja, this is the Grimsby PD. Come out with your hands in the air." _Make me come in, bitch. Make me come in_.

"We have the place surrounded. There's nowhere for you to run." Jeffries waited a heart beat, then said, "Sonja?" He turned to Farley. "We're going in the front door. You've got my back." He motioned to a patrol cop to cover the side entrance and another at the back of the house, in case Sonja decided to escape through a window.

Jeffries cautiously walked up the steps and onto the stoop of Diane's house.

At the door, he turned the knob. With Farley on his heels, Jeffries entered, stopped and listened. Nothing. "Sonja," he said, not expecting an answer. "I know you're in here. Let's not make this difficult. Come quietly, and I'll put a good word in for you."

Farley asked over Jeffries shoulder. "Do you see her?"

Jeffries shook his head. "Sonja, there's no sense prolonging this. If you try to run, you'll be resisting arrest. That'll be another charge against you."

"You sanctimonious shit!" Sonja jumped out from the hall closet and wildly slashed a knife through the air before taking aim at Jeffries. The blade connected with his thigh, cutting through denim and breaking skin.

Sonja smiled at the red blotch coloring the light-colored denim.

Farley came around Jeffries, trained his Beretta on Sonja.

Jeffries stopped him. "She's mine."

Farley withdrew.

"You going to shoot me, Jeffries?" Sonja threw the knife on the floor. "Shooting an unarmed woman. It's going to look pretty bad on your record, don't you think?"

Jeffries looked at her, really looked at her. She didn't look crazed at all, not like he would expect a wife who had just knifed her husband in the chest to look.

She laughed.

The sound brought gooseflesh to his arms.

"You always were a wuss, Jeffries," she said, inching closer to him.

"Don't take another step, Sonja." Jeffries kept his gun steady on the center of her chest.

"Or what? You going to take me down, Jeffries? Put a bullet between my eyes?" She sneered. "Why don't you put the gun away before you hurt herself with it. I'm going to plead self-defense. Jack came at me in a fit of rage. Terrified for my life, I ran into the kitchen where I found a knife to protect myself. He came at me. I had no choice. I thought he was going to kill me. My mother will testify to Jack's volatile temper, even say he's slapped me around a few times. My mother saw my bruises." She shook her head. "No no. Jack's the one who will pay."

Jeffries tucked the Glock in the waistband at his back. "Well then, why don't you surrender quietly? We'll go down to the station and get this all sorted out?" He thought she'd comply, but only until she pulled her face back in a grimace and charged him.

Jeffries stopped her with a right cross.

Sonja hit the floor like a sack of cement.

## Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Cuff her," Jeffries said to Farley. "When she comes to, Mirandize her. Read real slow and clear. I don't want her getting off on a technicality."

Jeffries walked outside, knowing all eyes of the spectators were on him. He strode to the Chief and gave him an abbreviated version of the arrest. "Farley's waiting for her to regain consciousness. He'll take it from there."

The Chief nodded. "How is my son doing?"

"That I left him behind to make the arrest should speak to his competence." Jeffries was short with the Chief and apologized, ending with, "I'll catch you up later at the station." He spotted the arrival of the media, strangely enough, one of Jack's reporters at The Grimsby Tribune. Jeffries said to the Chief, "You may want to speak to McCoombs." Jeffries pointed to where he stood behind the police line.

The Chief of Police, never one to miss a photo opportunity, left Jeffries to give the department's statement.

Jeffries ran across the street to where Randall stood. "Were you able to reach any of Jack's brothers?"

Randall handed Jeffries his cell. "Yes. Seth. He said he'd get in touch with the rest of his family and get them to the hospital."

Jeffries released a sigh. "Has there been any word on Jack's condition?"

"He's on his way into surgery."

"And?"

"His surgeon is not optimistic."

"Godammit." Jeffries ran a hand over his head and spun in a circle. "Godammit!" Why didn't I stay with him while he spoke to Sonja? Why did I have to meddle in his life? Why couldn't I keep my damn mouth shut, and my nose out of his business?

Randall clasped Jeffries's shoulder. "I'm sorry, son. I know the two of you were close."

_Are. Are close._ Jeffries wanted to correct Randall but couldn't get out the words. He rinsed Jack's blood off his hands with water from Ivy's exterior tap, then walked over to two uniformed officers and gave them instructions for the crime scene.

Ivy bound from her house, ran to Jeffries and put her arms around him. "Jack is strong. He'll pull through. He has Henry to live for. Remember that."

He nodded. His cell rang. He checked caller ID and groaned.

Ivy took his phone from his hand and answered. "Gloria, it's Ivy...you heard? Okay, good. Jeffries is fine. He's wrapping things up now. He'll want to go to the hospital so we should probably reschedule dinner...just a sec." Ivy took the phone from her ear and looked at Jeffries. "Your mother wants to know about Henry."

Jeffries took the phone and walked up on her lawn, well away from the attentive ears of the spectators.

"They're not sure he'll make it," Jeffries said, tears filling his eyes and blurring his vision. "This is all my fault. If I wouldn't have kept after him to get Sonja some help..." He stopped, unable to voice the truth. _If Jack dies, his death will be my fault._

"Listen to me, Eugene Lorenzo Jeffries," Gloria said. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your ass to the hospital and be strong for Dan and Jack's brothers. They need Jack's best friend now. Sit with them and pray with them and when you tell them Jack is going to be fine, you make them believe it! Am I understood?"

"What if they know? What if they know I talked Jack into confronting Sonja?"

"Do you think his brothers haven't tried to convince him he should get Sonja help? He just listened to you, that's all. Understood?"

"Yes." Jeffries sighed loudly. No one could put a matter in perspective for him like his mother.

"Who's going to look after Henry while Jack recuperates?" Gloria asked.

"Diane, I suppose." Jeffries imagined Jack's negative response to his mother-in-law caring for his son.

"Won't she be all consumed with getting Sonja acquitted?"

"You've got a point."

"I'll look after him. Bring him out here. He'll have fun with the horses. It'll be nice having a little boy around again."

Before Gloria could get started on his lack of offspring, he said, "I'll get Dan's permission. I'm sure he'll agree."

"Better get the witch Diane's permission, too. You don't want to tangle with her. There's only one person in that family crazier than Sonja and it's her mother. Diane and I go way back."

"I'll call you after I speak to Dan. Right now, I need to arrange something."

"What's that?"

"A psyche evaluation for Sonja. I don't want her out on bail."

"Good idea."

"Mom?"

"What is it, Eugene?"

"Thanks."

Jeffries walked over to Ivy and Randall. "Your mother's watching Henry?" he said to Ivy.

She stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. "She took him downstairs to help her assemble the aquarium. He has her wrapped around his little finger," she said, laughing.

"He's a charmer. Will he be able to stay with you a while longer? There are a few things I have to attend to." He looked from Ivy to Randall.

"Sure," Ivy said. "Who's going to look after him until Jack can himself? Sonja's mother?"

"Hopefully not, and if I have any say in the matter, she won't. My mom said she'd look after him."

"That's good."

Jeffries looked at his blood-stained jeans and remembered he had a change of clothes in his locker at the precinct. After a brief conversation with Randall, Jeffries was saying good-bye to Ivy. "Wish me luck the shrink will want a full evaluation of Sonja and ask that she be detained."

"You don't need luck. All that is just and right is on your side."

"Unfortunately, it's hardly enough sometimes."

Across the street, Farley led a lethargic Sonja to a squad car. Diane tried to break free from the restraint of a police officer.

"Let me go," she shouted. "That's my daughter. She needs me." Diane spotted Jeffries and pointed at him. "Eugene, tell him to let me go."

A uniformed police officer drove away with Sonja secured in the back seat.

Jeffries looked at the cop. "Cut her loose," he said, then walked across the lawn to Jack's house and waited for Farley.

The crowd dispersed.

"What a bitch," Farley said, coming into step beside Jeffries. "How did Jack stay married to her?"

"She's sick, Farley."

"Oh come on. You're not going to try and make me believe you didn't get a little satisfaction from popping her, are you? You should have that cut looked after. Appears like she sliced you pretty good."

"Later. At the hospital."

They entered Jack's house and Jeffries closed his eyes, remembered Jack fighting for life on the kitchen floor, and took a deep breath. He led Farley into the living room and looked around and waited for him to comment.

"No sign of a struggle in here," he said.

Jeffries agreed and walked through the dining room.

"Here, either," he said.

Jeffries looked at the floor where Jack's blood was congealing. Back in the mode of mentor, he asked Farley, "What do you think? Take your time. The room isn't going anywhere and remember, three dimensions. Floor. Walls. Ceiling."

While Farley took stock of the crime scene, Jeffries pondered the frailty of life. Jack might die. If he'd known today would turn out the way it did, what would he have done differently or would he have changed anything?

If I had the day to do over, what would I change?

Jeffries would have taken measures to prevent Sonja's assault on Jack, of course. His day fast-forwarded in his mind. Other than that, he'd change nothing.

"It looks like Jack got one foot into the kitchen and Sonja knifed him. He probably fell to his knees, maybe clutching the knife, then onto his back where he proceeded to bleed to death after Sonja yanked the knife from his chest. Enters Jeffries, kneels beside the victim." He pointed to his running shoe and the distinctive foot print in the blood on that side. "The footprints of the paramedics show flat soles. Then enters a third person, heavy-set man, it appears. Size thirteen shoe, I guesstimate, who fled through the back door." He looked at Jeffries. "Since you're not surprised, you know about this third person."

Jeffries nodded, pleased with Farley's observations.

"EMTs messed up the blood spatter."

"What about the knife Sonja used to stab Jack? Where is it?"

"I bagged and tagged it in Diane's house, and it's on its way to the precinct along with the suspect."

"Are you sure it's the correct weapon?" Jeffries cautioned him. "Think before you answer."

Farley did. "We know she took the assault weapon with her when she left here."

"Do we? Don't assume anything. The knife she cut me with may not be the same knife she used on Jack. Maybe she got rid of it somewhere between here and her mother's house."

"What're the odds?"

Jeffries shrugged. "Who knows what goes on in the mind of a person crazed." He noticed Farley thinking and waited for the question.

"Should I search the area between the two houses to see if Sonja did throw away the knife?"

"I already had a couple of uniforms carry out a search."

"And?"

"Nothing." Jeffries smiled at Farley's audible sigh of relief. "Compare the prints on the knife with the print we got off the knife that killed Maggie."

"You think Sonja killed her mother-in-law? God, that's just downright crazy."

Jeffries looked at him.

"I wasn't referring to your suspicion. Can you imagine a daughter-in-law killing her mother-in-law?"

Jeffries could imagine. Sonja was capable of doing anything. "Tomfoolery," he said.

Farley peered at him like he'd lost his senses. "What?"

Jeffries shook his head. "Something Jack's mother would say to us kids when she caught us in mischief. Anything else?"

Farley peered around the kitchen, then over his shoulder to the dining room. "No. Did I miss anything?"

"You covered it."

The CS guys arrived. Jeffries grabbed Jack's keys from the silver candy dish on the server's cart and said to CSI Dupres, "Lock up when you're done." He and Farley moved toward the front door.

"I'm going upstairs to pack a bag for Henry and some of his favorite toys," Jeffries said. "Get on those print comparisons."

"And you get that cut looked after." Farley studied Jeffries a moment. "It wasn't your fault, you know. Sonja would have cracked sooner or later."

Truly, Jeffries didn't give the kid enough credit. His instinct was first rate.

## Chapter Twenty-Nine

At the precinct, Jeffries barely made it through the door when Diane came running at him.

"I'll have my daughter out on bail before noon tomorrow," she said. "Vincent Hazen is with her now. He mentioned something about police brutality and compiling a long list of charges against the Grimsby PD."

"Vincent Hazen, huh? I'm impressed. Sure you can afford him?"

Diane made more noise and more accusations about the Grimsby Police Department and Jeffries. He let her spew. At the counter separating the squad room from the waiting area, he turned to her. "Civilians stay on this side." He unlocked the half-door and stepped onto his terrain, relieved to put a barrier between them.

Jeffries looked back at Diane, making sure she saw the look of satisfaction he forced in his eyes and face.

"I want to see my daughter," Diane yelled.

The desk sergeant smiled. "You'll have to wait your turn."

News traveled fast in any town, but not nearly as fast as grudges were made.

Perhaps it was the fear in her eyes that caused Jeffries to take a second look at Diane. He took his time and studied her, hoping she wouldn't notice. Nothing had changed about her that he could see, but there was something different.

Jeffries noticed that Diane hadn't inquired about her grandson. How could a grandmother forget her grandchild? If Jeffries got flack for taking the initiative in Henry's temporary guardianship, it would be worth whatever reprimand the GPD handed him to know Henry would be loved and well looked after during Jack's hospital stay.

What happens if Jack doesn't make it? Who will raise the child?

Diane would fight for Henry, not because she wanted him but because she liked to fight.

Mother like daughter.

Jeffries found Farley in his father's office. Jeffries rapped his knuckles below the name N. Thomas Farley, Chief of Police, stenciled on the glass. "Am I interrupting?" he asked from the doorway.

The Chief waved Jeffries in. "You okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The Chief's gaze traveled to Jeffries thigh. "You want to get that looked at. Might need stitching."

Jeffries ignored the Chief. "Any word on Jack?"

"The uniform I put at the hospital just called in. Jack's still in surgery. There hasn't been any news. That's good."

Jeffries agreed. Anything else would mean Jack had died. He turned to Farley. "Did you get the comparison on the prints?"

Farley nodded. "They're not a match."

"Close at all?" Jeffries would take anything. "Not one similar pattern in a whorl or ridge?" He couldn't believe Farley when he shook his head. Jeffries needed something. Anything would do. He raised his eyes heavenward. Today had been a bitch of day. He ran his hand over the top of his head. Stomach acid rose in his throat. "Christ on a crutch." He'd gotten his hopes up that he finally had Maggie's killer in jail. "Christ," he repeated when his failure took firm hold of his emotions. He could hear Diane griping from the visitor's area and thought how naturally Sonja had become what she was.

Like mother like daughter.

It struck him then why the photograph of Maurice Belanger's wife, Roberta, seemed familiar. She resembled Diane. He compared the two women in his mind and realized they looked enough alike to be sisters. Was it Diane's smudgy fingerprint on the knife that killed Maggie? For Diane and Roberta's prints to bear certain similarities in the patterns of whorls and ridges, they'd need to be identical twins. He considered the possibility.

No. It was too far-fetched. He shook his head. They resembled each other but they weren't identical. If they were, he would have immediately recognized Diane in Roberta's picture.

On the heels of his sigh, came another thought. People change over time — weight, hair color, skin tone. Was he seeing a duplicate likeness where none existed?

There were a couple of ways to find out.

He chose the easiest method first.

"Come with me," he said to Farley.

At his desk, he pulled up Roberta's mug shot, studied the picture a moment then asked Farley to find a photo of Diane Austen.

"Where?" he asked.

Jeffries shrugged. "I don't know. Google her."

Farley's face lit up, obviously with an idea. "I'll do one better." He fished his cell from his pocket and pointed it at Jeffries. "Smile, Lieutenant. Isn't modern technology wonderful?"

Jeffries really didn't give the kid enough credit. "Try not to let her see you take the picture."

"Give me some credit."

"Right."

Five minutes later, Jeffries sat alongside Farley in front of the computer monitor visually comparing the two women.

"Looks like they have the same nose," Farley said.

"Their eye color isn't right," Jeffries said. He checked Roberta's ID. "Says here she has brown eyes."

Farley thought for a minute. "Colored contacts. Is Diane near-sighted?"

Jeffries recalled the various times he'd come into contact with her and not once was she wearing prescription lenses. "You didn't happen to see a pair of eyeglasses lying around in her house, did you?"

Farley shook his head. "I was too busy keeping you from getting yourself killed to notice."

"Ha. Ha."

"Did you?"

Jeffries smiled. "I was too busy trying not to get myself killed to notice."

Farley laughed.

"So, what do you think?" Jeffries asked. "Is there enough of a resemblance between the two women to pursue the matter?"

"I think there is. Why don't I take this over to Burchill. He has some computer software that will decipher the similarities between these women and give us a composite. Hopefully, it'll be enough for us to determine whether these two women are related."

Farley hesitated. "If Roberta and Diane are twins, why was it kept a secret? Jack would have known and mentioned it to you, wouldn't he? Especially with Roberta's rap sheet. That's a worthy topic of conversation among in-laws."

Good point, Jeffries thought. Or maybe they were chasing madness. It occurred to him then that maybe the two women had been separated at birth. "Maybe Diane and Roberta didn't know they were sisters. Maybe they were put up for adoption and separated."

"It could have happened. Them being twins would certainly explain the match on the partial."

"What do you know about the fingerprints of identical twins?"

Farley thought for a moment. "They share some identical ridges and whorls, but their fingerprints aren't entirely identical as you'd expect. We know for sure Roberta didn't murder Maggie?" He looked at Jeffries.

"Yes."

"What we need right now is Diane's prints."

They both turned their gazes on Diane in the waiting area where she sauced the desk sergeant.

Jeffries looked at Farley. "I think the woman could do with a cup of coffee, don't you?"

"I'm all over it."

"Don't be too nice, or she'd be all over you."

Minutes later, Jeffries chewed on his pen and watched Diane drink the coffee Farley had brought her.

"Will she ever finish?" Farley said across from him.

"Patience." Truthfully, Jeffries had to force himself to stay put when all he wanted to do was vault the counter, snatch the cup from her hand and run back to his desk and get the print and rush it through for comparison. But he couldn't. She had to throw away the cup for him to legally confiscate it, not to mention that if Diane caught on to them, she'd bring the roof down on the department.

Jeffries saw her throw the paper cup in the trash bin. "It's show time. You know what to do?"

"I'll get the cup from the trash while you distract her. Got it."

Judging by the excited expression on Farley's face, Jeffries determined the lad was getting to like the work. Cop work had its moments, especially moments like these, the moments before an arrest was about to happen.

Farley took off through the squad room to approach the waiting area from the front entrance and Jeffries strolled to the counter.

"Diane," he said.

She stared at him, unmoving.

"May I have a word?" he asked.

"What?"

Peripherally, Jeffries saw Farley lurking around the corner.

"Perhaps we should have some privacy? Why don't you step over to the counter?" It was a busy day in the Grimsby PD. Yesterday was payday for many folks and they took Saturday to pay speeding or parking tickets while others waited to make formal complaints about neighbors fences or neighbors dogs pooping on their lawns. The usual.

"Why should I go to you? You're the one who wants to speak to me."

Jeffries glanced at Farley, who raised his hands in the air and mouthed, "What a bitch!" Farley gave Jeffries an idea.

"Have it your way, then. You're responsible for your daughter's neurotic behavior, aren't you?" Just as he expected, Diane lifted from her chair and in four angry paces, was shaking her finger across the counter at him. Her verbal abuse could be heard throughout the station.

Farley moved in and swiped the coffee cup in his gloved hand.

## Chapter Thirty

Jeffries stood off to one side in Analysis, his arms crossed against his chest, his gaze focused on the screen where computer software compared Diane's fingerprint with the print found on the knife used on Maggie.

Farley, inches apart from Jeffries, chewed his bottom lip and watched the monitor.

"What would Diane's motive be for killing Maggie?" Jeffries asked.

"Maybe Diane felt Maggie was coming between her daughter and her husband. Sonja would have complained to her mother. Daughters love to trash their mothers-in-law, don't they?"

"How about mothers-in-law trashing mothers-in-law?"

"Diane versus Maggie, Maggie versus Diane."

"But murder, though? Taking a life, stabbing someone in the back? What does that tell you?"

Farley shrugged. "Any number of things. Extreme anger, cowardice."

Jeffries remembered how happy Sonja had made Jack in the early years of their courtship and marriage. "They were very much in love once." He smiled. "You only needed eyes to notice. I know a part of Jack still loves her, the part of him that remembers what she could be like. Diane spoiled her as a child, gave her everything she wanted, bought her anything she asked for. She did the same with Henry too. In fact, he already has every toy on the market for the next three years. That was the reason Maggie opened a savings account for him. Diane left nothing for anyone else to buy."

"That wasn't right."

Jeffries looked at him. "No, it wasn't. Now Henry can't look at something and say, "Grammy Maggie bought me this."

"It must have sucked for Jack's mother."

"You're perceptive, you know? But how would it drive Diane to kill Maggie? Seems to me it could go to motive for Maggie to whack Diane. No one would blame her."

From around the corner and through the corridor, Diane's voice came loud and clear, "Officer, where's Detective Jeffries. I want to speak to him now...what an outfit this is! Typical..."

Farley rolled his eyes and moaned. "She keeps that up and I'll whack her myself, save the taxpayers some money."

"Patience."

"Did Jack have anything to say about Diane's over-buying for Henry?"

"Not that I heard."

"Do you think he might have said anything?"

"No."

"Why not? If it were my kid, I'd damn well say something, mother-in-law or not."

"Even if you suspected your wife was a psychopath?"

"Did Jack think Sonja was?"

Jeffries shrugged.

"God, if he knew and didn't say anything, it'd be a heavy burden for him to carry. He indirectly had his mother killed."

"You think Diane killed Maggie on behalf of her daughter?"

"People kill for a buck fifty these days."

"What motivates people to kill?"

"Jealousy, greed, hatred, love, poverty, money. Maybe Jack was finally going to divorce Sonja, Sonja gets upset, runs to mommy, tells mommy it's over between her and Jack and it's all Maggie's fault, meddlesome mother-in-law, Diane gets angry, confronts Maggie, tells her to keep her nose out of her daughter-in-law's marriage, Maggie gets her back up, they argue, come to blows, cat fight, Maggie turns her back on Diane and...wham! Diane strikes."

"Not bad." In his mind, Jeffries sees Diane enraged, eyes crazy with anger, temper unleashed — "Plausible, in fact."

"There's one person who would know for sure what, if anything, happened between the three women."

"Who?"

"Dan. He'd know whether Diane ever threatened Maggie."

Jeffries agreed. "I'm hoping we don't have to go there. Dan's been through more than his share already."

Farley shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the monitor. "We should have had an answer by now. The print can't be a match."

"It hasn't been long." Truthfully, Jeffries felt like he stood on needles. He sighed to relax.

"I hate waiting."

"I hadn't noticed."

Farley took a deep breath. "What if it's a match?"

Ding.

Jeffries held his breath while Burchill read the screen.

"We have a winner, gentlemen," he said, taking the printout in his hand.

"Yahoo," Farley said.

"My sentiment exactly," Jeffries said, examining the finding. It was true. He finally had his killer. All cops waited for this moment. He couldn't stop from smiling. Diane stabbed Maggie, wrapped her in a tarp and buried her alive. She would pay dearly.

"What do we do now? Get an arrest warrant?"

"Now, we get a confession."

Farley opened his mouth then shut it. A moment passed before he spoke. "A confession? From Diane? You can't be serious."

"Yes, sir, I am."

"This I've got to see."

"Watch and learn." Jeffries strode into the squad room with Farley in tow. At his desk, he asked, "Who does Diane love the most in her life? Take your time and think about your answer." While Farley pondered his response, Jeffries got busy cutting and pasting the results of the fingerprint analysis, then made a photocopy of the finished product.

"Sonja," Farley said.

"How did you arrive at the answer?"

"It was simply, really."

"Oh?"

Farley nodded. "Process of elimination. A short list. It was either Sonja or Henry and I haven't heard her mention her grandson's name yet, sooo..."

"Shoot," Jeffries said, remembering he hadn't attended to Henry's interim guardianship. Later, at the hospital, he'd get Dan's approval for Henry to stay with Gloria for the duration, then smooth it over with Family Services.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." His cell signaled a text message. It was Ivy keeping him up to date: Jack is still in surgery. His Dad and bros are all at the hospital. Henry is fine. Asking questions as you'd expect. We're dodging. Is it all right if we take him to the mall? He wants some fish for the aquarium.

He texted her back: Sure. His child's seat is in Jack's car (the green Chrysler 300). The doors are unlocked. The carrier needs to be secured on the seat. Your father will know how.

I'll do it. I need to learn anyway. How much longer do you think you'll be?

Maybe an hour. An hour and a half tops.

See you then.

"Okay, partner," Jeffries said. "Let's crack us a walnut."

Farley rubbed his hands together. "Good cop bad cop?" he asked, like he'd interviewed a murder suspect before.

"Nope. Bad cop badder cop. Escort our suspect to I-3.5." Jeffries waited for it to catch up to Farley. Only five seconds passed.

"It's the broom closet."

"Yep. It's where we take all our VIPs."

"Really?"

"No. Check the board. The other interview rooms are occupied. I want to get to the hospital and can't wait for a room to free up. Give me a few minutes before taking her around. There're a few changes I want to make."

Jeffries walked to I-3.5. The room smelled of wet rags, harsh chemicals and mildew. He quickly set to work lining up scrub buckets, mops, brooms and cleaning solvents neatly along the walls. He replaced the fifty watt bulb hanging over the card table with one three times brighter. He sat on the metal chair that faced the door, a file two inches thick stuffed with random sheets of paper, photocopies, newspaper clippings, lunch menus for Chinese take-outs and inter-office memorandum.

If Jeffries had his druthers, he'd prefer more time to compile a comprehensive case against Diane. This was one of those instances where time was not his friend.

His cell sounded a text message. He pulled the phone from his pocket and read Ivy's message: Just got word Jack is out of surgery. His surgeon, Dr. Fields, is optimistically hopeful and suggested we all say a prayer to top up his work. A humble doctor. Wild, huh? Henry is helping Mom and Dad set up the aquarium. LOL

He let out a huge sigh of relief and typed his reply: Super news. More prayers coming Jack's way. Try not to spoil Henry too much.

He could hear Diane's brash voice from the hallway and texted Ivy he'd see her soon.

Diane burst into I-3.5 and said, "Jeffries, you shit, what's the meaning of this?"

"Have a seat, Diane," he said, injecting the right measure of authority in his voice. He'd dealt with women like her before and knew the only way to deal with them was with indifference. And courage.

Farley crossed his arms against his chest and took his place between the mops and brooms as Jeffries previously instructed him. Farley looked bad, like someone not to be messed with.

"I'll stand," she said, planting her feet firmly on the tile floor.

"Have it your way." He opened the file and sifted through the sheaf of papers, knowing full well he held her attention. After several minutes of this, Diane fidgeted, as he thought she would.

"Did you know you had a twin sister?" he asked.

Diane rolled her eyes. "You really are an idiot."

"Her name was Roberta Belanger, born March 22, 1950 at the Regional right here in Grimsby." He made a production of shifting around sheets of paper before taking an inter-office memo in his hand about hygiene in the work place. "Says here it's the same day you were born."

"It doesn't mean anything. There were probably other babies born that day."

"I'll give you that, but what are the odds of a female child born the identical weight and length. You have one leg shorter than the other, don't you, Diane?" Jeffries bluffed. Roberta's husband, Maurice, had mentioned something about her "shorter" leg and Jeffries took a stab in the dark. Judging from her silence, he had her thinking.

"Do you know anything about the fingerprints of identical twins?" He looked at her.

"I'm sure you're going to tell me." She huffed a breath.

To Jeffries, she seemed more perturbed than worried. He didn't have her really thinking yet.

"You're right. I am. While the fingerprints of identical twins are not identical — "

Diane scoffed. "Bet someone had to tell you that, huh, genius?"

Jeffries was getting to dislike Diane more and more. He continued from where she'd cut him off. "There are certain ridges and whorls which are. Do you know what that means for you, Diane?"

She folded her arms and looked at him, her stare unwavering and tempered with ill-will. "What?"

"A murder conviction. You stabbed Maggie Monahan in the back, rolled her in a tarp and buried her alive. Your fingerprint is on the murder weapon. Thought you'd wiped it clean, huh?"

She shook her head, but the frightened expression on her face told Jeffries she knew she'd been found out. Within seconds, she regained her composure. "I have an alibi," she said smugly. "I was at my bridge club that night."

"I didn't tell you the time of death."

"The whole town knows Jack was the last person to see his mother alive. Eleven-thirty, wasn't it?"

"The same time as your bridge party ended. Do you want to tell me how it happened?" he asked.

Diane didn't answer, simply stared at the floor and, if he were so lucky, weighed her options.

"Confess and I'll put in a good work for you with the prosecution. Do what's right, Diane." Then came the words he dreaded.

"I want my lawyer."

Jeffries said to Farley, "Read the suspect her rights." He strode from I-3.5 to the Chief's office where Jeffries briefed him on the interview and said what the Chief was already thinking. "A smudgy partial print. Good enough to make arrest, but not good enough to hold up in court. A smart paralegal will tear it apart. We need stronger evidence. That Diane would confess was too much to hope for. I need an eye witness."

"It's a wonder old lady O'Connell didn't see anything. She's always spying on her neighbors."

Jeffries looked at the Chief. "She's what — eighty? And probably has cataracts. She wouldn't be a credible witness even if she did see something, which she didn't, otherwise she would have been down here at the crack of dawn that morning."

"Check again. You never know."

Jeffries said he would, but only to pacify the Chief. He didn't anticipate anything different in the old lady's memory. Hell, she was probably senile now.

"Where did Diane say she was that night?" the Chief asked.

"At her bridge club."

"Wasn't Dan's wife in the same club?"

"Yeah." Jeffries frowned. "So?"

"So maybe something happened during the game that maddened Diane enough for her to slice the woman. Look for the trigger. There's always one."

Jeffries considered the Chief's advice and concurred. "If there's something to find to irrefutably link Diane to Maggie's murder, I'll find it."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Jeffries nodded. "First, though, I need to get Henry to my Mom."

"Jack is holding his own," the Chief said. "I just called the hospital."

"Ivy's been keeping me posted."

"Oh?"

Jeffries got the same reaction from anyone he mentioned Ivy's name to. Everyone seemed interested in his love life. He didn't realize bachelorhood raised so many red flags in the minds of people.

## Chapter Thirty-One

Jeffries let himself into Ivy's house. Strangers knocked. He'd only met Ivy several days ago, yet he felt he'd known her all his life. He found everyone in the den where they discussed the arrangement of ornaments in the aquarium.

"I think the plant should go behind the treasure chest," Henry said.

In the doorway, Jeffries cleared his throat to announce his presence.

Henry turned first, a wide innocent smile formed on his face when he recognized Jeffries. "Uncle Eugene," he screamed and ran to him.

Jeffries took him in his arms. "How's my favorite boy?" He looked at Ivy, Randall and Danielle, who all smiled.

"Good." Henry fiddled with Jeffries shirt collar.

"What is it?"

"When can I go home?"

"Don't you like it here?"

Henry bobbed his head. "But I miss Mommy and Daddy."

Jeffries set Henry on the floor. "How old are you now?"

"Five years and two months old."

"That makes you a big boy, right?"

Henry bobbed his head some more. "Uh-huh."

Jeffries decided to tell him the truth. "Daddy had an accident, but he's going to be okay."

"Where's Mommy?"

"She's in the hospital with Daddy."

"She had an accident too?"

"Yes, sweetie, she did, and she'll get better too."

He nodded.

"In the meantime, you'll stay with my mom. You remember her, don't you?"

"She has horses."

"Yes, she does."

Henry bit at his cheek.

"What is it?" Jeffries asked.

"Why can't I stay here with Ivy and Randall and Danielle?"

"Because — "

"It's all right with us," Randall said.

Jeffries straightened. "Aren't you going back to Sedgewick tomorrow?" He looked at Ivy. "Don't you have work next week?"

"Mom and Dad decided to stay a few days longer," Ivy said.

"Yes." Randall took over from Ivy. "Some things have come up which require my attention here in Grimsby. May take a week or two." He shrugged. "There's nothing pressing in Sedgewick for us at the moment."

At first, Jeffries thought Randall had fabricated the reason for their extended stay only to look after Henry, but upon closer examination of his quick response, Jeffries decided Randall had told the truth.

From the time Jeffries had left them before lunch and to the time he'd brought Henry over, their travel plans had changed. What event prompted the change? Randall was retired, so the business he needed to attend to in Grimsby wasn't of a government nature.

What could his business be then?

Beside him, Henry waited patiently for his reply. "I think that'll be okay."

"Yaaay." Henry squealed with excitement.

Jeffries had decided wisely. He bent to Henry's height. "I have to leave but I'll be back."

"To tuck me in?"

"It's a date. Now give me a hug."

Henry threw his arms around his neck and squeezed him like tonight would never arrive.

Jeffries stood and said to Ivy, "Maybe we could go out for coffee later?"

She smiled. "I'd like that."

He intended to use a cup of coffee to find out why Ivy needed to learn about children's car seats. If the reason was what he thought, he suspected his life was about to radically alter.

Ten minutes later, Jeffries was standing at Jack's bedside. He looked as weak as his voice sounded.

"Henry?"

"He's fine. Ivy and her parents are looking after him. Mom said she'd take care of him but he wanted to stay with Ivy."

"My...parents...house."

"That's what I thought. He spent a lot of time with your parents and feels at home there."

Jack swallowed. "Feels...loved...there." He turned his gaze on Jeffries. "Sonja?"

"In custody."

"A-And?"

Incapacitated or not, Jeffries couldn't get anything past Jack. "Her shrink wants a full psyche evaluation."

"You...arranged..." Jack spruced up.

"I knew you wouldn't want her in jail." Jeffries did what he could. Whether or not Sonja went to jail was up to her.

His two minutes with Jack was up. "I've got to go. I'm taking Ivy out for coffee. I'll give Henry a hug and kiss for you. You should be strong enough tomorrow to call him."

Jack nodded.

Jeffries looked at the feed that provided Jack with oxygen and the intravenous tubes that seemed to sprout from his skin and said, "I know you don't want him to see you like this, so I'll take him by in a day or two. Take care, bro." Jeffries walked to the door.

"Eugene?"

Jeffries turned.

"Thanks. For everything."

***

One hour later, after a brief conversation with Jack's father and brothers and his assurance he would do whatever it took to ensure Diane and Sonja paid for what they did and a quick stop in emergency to have his cut tended to, Jeffries was at Starbucks in Indigo with Ivy.

He sat across from her at the small round black metal table.

She reached into her handbag and came out with a burgundy leather book.

"What's this?" he asked.

"I found it in a box the Truscotts left behind slated for the trash. You remember me asking about them, don't you?" He nodded. "It's a journal. I thought it belonged to the mother of one of the Truscotts." She looked at him. "It doesn't. It's Maggie's." She slipped it across the table to him. "I'm going to leave it up to you whether or not Jack should read it."

"What do you think?" he asked, noticing water pooling in her eyes.

"I think it'll put things in perspective for him."

He watched her sip decaffeinated coffee. He didn't hide that he studied her.

She noticed and wasted no time calling him on it. He liked that about her. No b.s., no pretense, no games. She was a delightful change from what he came into contact with on a daily basis.

"Do you have something to tell me?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

She hesitated, but only a second. "I'm pregnant."

No bs. No pretense. No games. No lies.

Beneath every cloud awaits a silver lining.

Don't miss this chance at happiness, Jeffries.

"Marry me." Deep inside him, he'd known these past several days were leading to this moment, this offering. Just as the words didn't surprise him, they hadn't surprised Ivy, either. It was almost like she'd expected him to ask.

"You don't love me."

"You don't love me."

"Why do you want to marry me?"

"You're kind, generous, patient, loving and funny and you like my mom. I really like you and somehow I know we're going to work. You know my story and truthfully, I'm tired of looking, hoping and wishing. I want a family, and someone who I can come home to every night who won't pressure me to find another line of work that doesn't involve a firearm or the riff-raff I deal with and who isn't afraid of my gun. I love my job. You won't try to change me and I think you know the same of me. I let something wonderful slip away from me in the past because I wanted to wait for the right time. I won't repeat the mistake."

"I have an ultrasound on Friday."

"I'll be there."

"You don't know my story."

"You can tell me later, but only if you want to. Your past doesn't matter to me. Yes or no?"

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him wide-eyed. "You can add crazy to that list."

"Yes!" He jumped to his feet, pulled her upright and spun her around. "We are going to be so happy."

The End

————

Excerpt from

#### A Little Rain Must Fall

Book II of

The Monahans

# Chapter 1

Jack Monahan took this time of day — after he tucked in Henry for the night — to reflect on the past, the present and to give thanks for life, the gift bestowed on him nine months ago. Life was something he'd always taken for granted. Not anymore, not since he lay on his kitchen floor, his blood flowing from the knife wound in his chest. It took the near-death experience for him to realize life was not meant to be endured but enjoyed. He did that now, and cherished every minute.

He looked around his home office, first at the antique desk then at the scuffed hardwood floor. The old oak chair that had belonged to his father Dan squeaked when he shifted his weight, the sound bringing back memories of his childhood. Jack remembered the number of times he'd crawled onto his father's lap for Dan to rock him. Jack shared the same priceless moments with his son.

He shook himself free of the past to focus on the present and the decision he would soon need to make. His wife Sonja, no longer considered a risk to public safety, would be released soon from Mahogany Manor, the rehabilitation center where she underwent treatment for psychosocial behavior.

The question rolled around in his head whether he should let Sonja back in his life.

Why would he want anything to do with the woman who tried to kill him?

His best friend Jeffries said Jack should have his head examined if he even considered the question. Jeffries was adamant in his opinion of Sonja — a zebra never lost its stripes.

Her doctor said Sonja was making wonderful progress and based on that advice, Jack had argued with Jeffries that she would be a different person now and know the wrong of her negative and vindictive ways.

"You don't know it for sure," Jeffries had said. "Sonja may be performing for the doctors. I don't have to tell you how clever and devious she is. I can't understand why you would intentionally place yourself in a situation with a potential for harm. Think about Henry."

Jack did. In fact, Henry was all he thought about these days as the time neared her release. To reassure Henry, Jack often told him Mommy didn't mean to hurt Daddy, that she was sick and after the doctors nursed her back to health she'd return home. Now, because Jack hadn't wanted Henry to think his mother was a psychopathic killer, he expected they would be a family again when Sonja came back to Grimsby.

Would Henry be happier with his mother back in his life? He'd adjusted well to her absence. Jack knew there had been times when Sonja had frightened Henry. Maybe he was better off without her. Maybe they both were.

He fingered his mother's diary sitting on the desk. Slated for the trash in his family's former home next door, Ivy had read the diary and believed Jack should too. Jeffries agreed with Ivy, though he relied on her opinion to make the recommendation since he hadn't read the diary.

Jack didn't know Ivy well, but she appeared worthy of Jeffries high opinion of her. Perhaps he should take her at her word and read his mother's diary. Maybe, as Ivy had put it, knowing his mother's thoughts might bring him closure and help him decide what he should do about Sonja.

Truthfully, Jack was afraid that once he knew the truth, knew what Sonja had done to Maggie, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

It was Maggie's hand that held his the day he lay dying, her words which gave him the strength to hold on until help arrived. He never told anyone his dead mother had appeared at his side. He probably never would.

Maggie often said God didn't give more than we could handle.

Pots clanged and dishes rattled in the kitchen, startling him until he remembered Lena mentioning rearranging the cabinets. He thanked God for her, too. Jeffries had heard about her from his mother. Lena's husband Alfred had been one of many whose job at Grimsby Pulp and Paper had been eradicated. Apparently, he hadn't taken the news well. He came home, went down to the basement and shot himself. Jack agreed with Lena when she surmised that on the drive home Alfred had reflected on his life and realized he had little to show for forty years of employment. The mill offered no pension to its workers or severance packages on dismissal. At sixty-one, he found himself without health insurance, jobless and without a job prospect. His only real asset was their two-story house with drafty windows and weather-beaten siding. His bank account held a few thousand dollars, his carport sheltering a ten-year-old car. Obviously, Alfred couldn't face the future, yet he expected his wife to brave life without him, a fact she often lamented. Lena was too angry to mourn Alfred. Maybe rightly so.

There were no two ways about what Alfred had done. It was a selfish act, pure and simple. Many would think Alfred had chosen the easy way out of bad situation. The coward's way, some might think. Jack, on the other hand, thought it took a great deal of courage to commit suicide. He would know; he contemplated taking his life many, many times. If it weren't for Henry, Jack might have found the courage to pull the trigger.

Lena was never in a hurry to go home. Nothing awaited her there, she said, but empty rooms, echoes of the past and silence. Their arrangement worked out well for them both. He paid her generously and for that she looked after his house, baked, cooked and cleaned. She had also become a surrogate grandmother to Henry, seeing that both of his grandmothers were gone — one in Heaven, the other behind bars (which proved quite a story for Henry at show and tell; his mother in a mental health facility was another).

Maybe Jack should read Maggie's journal. He looked at the leather-bound book.

Maybe he should. Jack heard someone walking on the verandah and turned to look out the window. The footsteps belonged to a woman who was now taking a seat on a wicker chair.

Under the overhead light, she looked more uncomfortable than dangerous, like she didn't want to be there. He estimated her age around mid-thirty, clean but poorly dressed. The plastic garbage bag that she held firmly in her lap — if he were to guess — held her treasured possessions. She looked nice, dimpled chin, and hands good enough to model. Her short dark hair swept upward in the current tousled look. Her top lip all but swallowed her bottom one. She didn't look like a psychopath. But what did he know? He was married to one for thirteen years and didn't realize differently until the day she stabbed him. He couldn't rely on his judgment of character.

Why was she sitting on his verandah?

She jumped when he opened the door, the look on her face suggesting surprise as well as worry. She stood, hugging the plastic bag against her body. "Jack Monahan?" she asked.

He expected a quivering voice, teary-eyes and hesitance. What he heard was strength and confidence, a woman in control, not a woman in need.

"Yes." He waited for her to explain. She didn't. "This is the point where you apologize for appearing on my front porch at nine o'clock at night, but."

"But?"

"But this is a matter of grave importance. It's urgent that I speak with you. That kind of but." She laughed, a cheery sound that warmed his heart.

He had to prompt her. "Well?"

"I'm sorry. This was a mistake." She turned and walked down the steps. Midway along the walk, she looked over her shoulder at him. "This is the point where you ask me why I'm here."

Jack leaned his hip against the railing and folded his arms across his chest. "Is this about a story? Something you think I might be interested in for the paper?" She didn't say anything, simply looked at him.

"The Grimsby Tribune doesn't have a social or gossip column," he said.

"I'm not here to get revenge on anyone."

"Enlighten me, then."

A car drove past.

She cringed and pulled the hood on her jacket over her head.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked. "If you're in trouble, I don't want you here."

"I'm not the one in trouble, Mr. Monahan." She put her hand in a jacket pocket and came out with a plastic bag, which she offered to him.

Jack didn't have any idea what was inside the bag and, truthfully, he didn't want to know. He held his hands in the air, palms outward, and backed up. "That's it. Conference over." He hurried to get inside his house. At the door, he heard her say, "No one in Grimsby is safe."

##### End of Excerpt
