“The ones from the wounds?” I asked.
“So, Frank has kept you up on all of this. Yes, from the wounds. The hairs are from a deer.”
“A deer?”
“Yes. Does that mean anything to you?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” I said. “Not unless it means she was killed in the mountains, where there might be deer hairs on the ground.”
He shook his head. “I suppose it’s possible, but why would she pick up deer hairs only in the wounds, and not on her clothing or other parts of her body?”
“The hairs are bound to figure in somehow, sooner or later,” Frank said. “It’s just too weird otherwise. We’ll keep thinking it over.”
“I’ll do the same,” Carlos said, standing up. “Thanks for the coffee. I’d better get going.”
WHEN FRANK CAME BACK after seeing Carlos out, he leaned over and kissed me. “Maybe Pete and Rachel will be late this morning,” he murmured into my ear. The doorbell rang. I was getting ready to disconnect it.
“See you after work, Frank.”
“Count on it,” he said, moving to answer the door.
The boys left for work, and I moved back into the kitchen with Rachel. I set the table while she cooked; I hadn’t gotten around to one-handed breakfast-cooking yet. She was making a frittata, an Italian-style omelet.
“Sweatpants,” she observed. “We should have thought of that sooner. Those look a little big on you.”
“They’re Frank’s. I’m afraid this is the second pair that will have the elastic around one ankle stretched out.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind.” She smiled. “You seem full of energy today.”
“I’m feeling better. I think a lot of it is mental.”
She divided up the frittata and we dug in. I was chasing my first bite around the plate with my fork when she said, “How do you mean, mental?”
“Oh, I guess yesterday was a turning point for me.” I managed to get the bite into my mouth. Rachel and Lydia were going to have me bursting my casts from weight gain. The frittata was great.
She grinned. “Terrific! Not only do you like it, you like it in Italian. So tell me about yesterday.”
I told her, leaving out details concerning the hours alone with Frank after sailing and after Cassie left. I told her about my decision to get out and about a little more.
“Sounds good to me. You want to go for a ride somewhere today?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d love it.”
“I know — we’ll go clothes shopping.”
I looked at her doubtfully.
“For sweatpants and other things that would be easy for you to wear.”
I thought of being in a store, around that many people, looking in mirrors at myself.
“On the other hand—” she began, seeing my brows furrow, but I cut her off.
“No, Rachel, you’re right. And I’ll have you along for company, so I know I’ll enjoy it.”
We finished breakfast, and I did what I could to help clean up. The phone rang. It was Frank.
“Bad news, I’m afraid,” he said.
“No search warrant.”
“No warrant. I’m really sorry, Irene. I can’t get anybody to touch it. I thought Sloane would see himself as a lame duck and go for broke.”
Sloane had been appointed as acting D.A. when we lost our last one. His term would be over in January, but apparently it didn’t make him any braver.
“Thanks for trying, Frank. I guess I was expecting things to go this way. Sounds like Gannet is safe.”
“Try not to let it get you down, okay?”
“I won’t. Rachel is taking me shopping today. I’m going to get some sweatpants of my own.”
“I don’t know, you looked pretty good in the pair you were wearing this morning. But have fun. Be careful. I’ll see you tonight.”
I hung up the phone and felt a surge of frustration and anger.
“You look like you need to punch somebody. What’s going on?” Rachel asked.
“Apparently, Mr. Gannet is beyond reach. Frank says the D.A. won’t go for a search warrant.”
She studied me for a moment. “There’s nothing worse than being fairly certain someone is guilty and not being able to nail them. Sorry, Irene.”
“I guess I’ll just have to put it out of my mind. Shall we go?”
But before we could leave, the phone rang again. It was Jacob.
