beginning.
Mantz hung up the phone and knocked a fist on her desk. “I think I’ve got something.”
Tawney glanced away from his monitor. “What?”
“Verifying residence and employment on prison personnel and outside agencies. There’s a Francis X. Eckle, teaches at College Place—English studies, creative writing. He did four stints of instruction at the prison in the past two and a half years. He didn’t go back to work after the winter break. Mailed in a resignation, citing a family emergency.”
“Did you check it out?”
“He doesn’t actually have a family—not a traditional deal. He bumped around in the foster system from the time he was four. He didn’t leave any forwarding information at the school. Both the numbers listed for home and cell have been disconnected.”
“Let’s get more information. Find his caseworkers, some data on his foster homes. No criminal?”
“Not a whiff. No sibs, no spouse, no kids.” Though her voice stayed cool, the light of the hunter sparked in her eyes. “Perry signed in for all four of his classes at the prison. I ran a check on Eckle’s credit cards. Nothing since January. Not a single charge, but he hasn’t canceled them either. That’s off.”
“Yeah, that’s off. He could be dead.”
“This one’s talking to my gut, Tawney. Look, I know you want to try to get out and connect with Bristow today or tomorrow, but I think we need to check this out, talk to people who know him, face-to-face.”
“All right. Let’s check his bank accounts, see if you can get more background. An English teacher?”
“Untenured. Single, lives alone, forty-two years old. The administrator I talked to said Eckle just sort of drifted along, did his job, didn’t make waves. He couldn’t name any particular friends either, and it’s a small school, Tawney.”
That light sparked in Tawney’s eyes, too. “Make the calls. I’ll put in for the travel.”
Simon covered the nearly finished wine cabinet with a tarp. It made him feel a little foolish, but he didn’t want Fiona to see it, or ask him about it. Maybe he didn’t want to think too deeply about the fact that he was making it for her, just because she wanted one.
It had been weird enough waking up and knowing she was there. Not in bed, of course, he mused as he added a third coat of poly to his stump-and-burl-wood sink. If the sun was up, so was Fiona. But she’d been there, in his place, his space.
His bathroom smelled of her, just as his kitchen smelled of the coffee she’d brewed while he’d still been in bed.
And the weird thing? He was okay with it. He’d even been okay, after a moment of puzzlement, when he’d opened a drawer for a spoon and found his flatware organized into type.
He’d thought, glancing around, the kitchen was tidier—but since he wasn’t sure exactly how he’d left it, that was just a maybe.
By the time he’d been ready to start work, she’d fed the dogs, taken them through a quick training session, showered, dressed and watered her flowerpots.
He heard the cars for her first session and had deliberately angled himself on the shop porch so he could check out who got out.
He’d modulated the volume on his music so he could hear her if she called out—and
Even Jaws had deserted him.
Which was fine—better than fine. He didn’t have to worry about getting stray dog hair in the poly or ignoring sticks or balls dropped and that pleading look for playtime.
He’d gotten more templates cut out, several pieces glued up and clamped and now, at what the shop clock said was still just shy of noon, he was giving his sink another coat that brought out the rich grain of the wood, deepened the tones.
He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and paused to watch her and the dog approach.
“Keep them back, will you? This is wet. One shake and they’ll have hair all over it.”
“Sit. Stay. I just thought I’d see if you want a sandwich or...”
She stopped, stared. And he had the great satisfaction of seeing her mouth literally drop open. “Oh my God. Is that the stump? That’s my stump?”
“My stump.”
“It’s amazing!” Instinct had her fingers reaching out to touch. He slapped them back.
“Ouch. Okay, sorry, it’s wet. It’s upside down. That’s how it works. Of course.” Sliding her hands in her back pockets to keep them from the reach/slap, Fiona circled the sink.
“The roots form the base, holder, whatever it is for the bowl so it looks like something that grew in a magic forest. Who knew tree roots could look so amazing? Well, you did. But the bowl. What’s the bowl?”
“Burl wood. I found it months back. It needed the right base.”
“The color’s so beautiful. Like glass syrup. It’s just beautiful, Simon. I knew it would be interesting, but I didn’t know it would be beautiful.”
Gushy praise over his work invariably made him itchy. But oddly with her, with that dazzled delight on her face, he felt only satisfaction. “It’s not finished.”
“What will you do with it when it is?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged because he’d caught himself wanting to give it to her. It suited her down to the ground. “Maybe sell it, maybe keep it.”
“You’d feel magical every time you washed your hands. I’ll never look at a tree stump the same way again. God, wait until people get a load of this!” She laughed over at him. “Anyway, I’ve got a couple hours until my first afternoon class. If you’re hungry, I can make you a sandwich.”
He considered it, and her. “Listen, I don’t want you to wait on me because if you do I’ll want you to wait on me.”
She took a second. “You know, I understand that, oddly enough. Okay, how about a trade?”
“What kind of trade?”
“I’ll make you a sandwich, and you make me some wood slat things. I wrote down the lengths I want.”
She pulled out a list, handed it to him. He frowned down at it.
“What are they for?”
“For me.” She smiled.
“Fine. You don’t have a width.”
“Oh. Hmm. Like this?” She held her thumb and forefinger together.
“About a quarter inch. What kind of wood?”
“The wood kind—whatever you’ve got around.”
“Finish?”
“Jeez, it’s a lot of decisions. Just that stuff, the clear stuff. I don’t need fancy.”
“Okay. I’ll run them up when I’m done with this.”
“Perfect.”
It worked out okay, Simon thought later. He got a sandwich without having to make it, and they stayed out of each other’s way during the work. Solemn oath or not, she cleaned up after him—subtly. He saw her sweeping off the porch, and when he realized he’d forgotten to restock his shop fridge and went in for a drink, the gleam inside his refrigerator all but blinded him.
He heard the suspicious sound of the washing machine running.
So fine, they’d trade again. He’d build her some new training equipment when he had the chance.
When he stepped back outside, he saw her pacing the backyard with the phone to her ear. Something’s up, he thought, and crossed to her.
“Yes, sure, that’s fine. Thanks for calling. Really. Okay. Bye.” She clicked off. “Agent Tawney. He was going to try to come out today, but they’ve got something else to do. I think they have a lead. He was careful not to say, but I think they have a lead. He sounded too calm.”
