It Must Be Love

life. I believe the good or bad you do affects you now, not after you've died. When you die, you move to a whole different plane of consciousness. The enlightenment, or knowledge, you attain while in this life determines to which plane your soul ascends.'

'Are you talking about heaven or Hell Bop?'

She'd expected a derogatory question from him and wasn't surprised. 'I'm sure you call it heaven.'

'What do you call it?'

'I don't call it anything, usually. It could be neaven. Hell. Nirvana. Whatever. I only know it's the place my soul will go when I die.'

'Do you believe in God?'

She was used to that question. 'Yes, but probably not in the way you do. I believe God would rather I sat in a field of daisies and fill my senses with the awesome beauty He's created while I contemplate inner peace. He'd rather I actually live the Ten Commandments than sit in a stuffy church and listen to some guy tell me how to live them. I think there is a big difference between being religious and being spiritual. Maybe you can be both, I don't know. I only know that a lot of people wear religion like a name tag, and they reduce it to bumper stickers. But spirituality is different. It comes from the heart and soul.' She expected him to laugh or look at her as if she'd sprouted horns and hooves. He finally surprised her.

'You might be right about that,' he said as he rose to his feet. He placed his salad bowl on his plate, gathered his silverware, and walked into the kitchen.

Gabrielle followed and watched him rinse his plate in the sink. She never would have guessed him for the kind of guy who cleaned up after himself. Maybe because he just seemed so macho, like one of those guys who crushed beer cans on his forehead.

'Tell me something,' he said as he turned off the faucet. 'Was my arresting you in Julia Davis Park karma?'

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and leaned a hip into the counter beside him. 'Nope, I've never done anything bad enough to deserve you.'

'Maybe,' he said, his voice low and seductive as he looked at her across his shoulder, 'I'm your reward for good behavior.'

She ignored the shivers running up her spine as if she were attracted to emotionally barren cops with bad attitudes. Which she wasn't. 'Get real. You're about as enlightened as a toadstool,' she said and pointed to the pots on the stove. 'Aren't you going to do all the dishes?'

'Not a chance. I did all the cooking.'

She'd sliced the bread and dressed the salad. He hadn't done all the cooking. This was a new century-men like Joe had to step out of the cave and do their share, but she chose not to enlighten him on the subject. 'I suppose I'll see you bright and early in the morning then.'

'Yep.' He shoved a hand into the front pocket of his Levi's and pulled out a set of keys. 'But Friday I have to testify in court, so I probably won't be in until after noon sometime.'

'I'll be at the Coeur Festival Friday and Saturday.'

'That's right. I'll stop by your booth and check up on you.'

She'd been looking forward to a break from Joe and the stress he created. 'No need.'

He glanced up from the keys in his hand and cocked his head to the side. 'I'll come by anyway, just so you don't start missing me.'

'Joe, I'll miss you about as much as a canker sore.'

He chuckled, then turned to the back door. 'You better watch out, I hear lying creates bad karma.'

Joe's red Bronco rolled into the furthest slot in the parking lot at Albertson's. The four-wheel drive was less than two months old, and he didn't want some kid dinging his doors. It was half past eight, and the setting sun hung just above the mountain peaks surrounding the valley.

There wasn't much activity in the grocery store as Joe rushed inside and grabbed a bag of Sam's favorite baby carrots.

'Hey, is that you, Joe Shanahan?'

Joe looked up from the carrots to a woman loading cabbages into a cart. She was short, petite, and had thick brown hair pulled up into a glossy ponytail on top of her head. She wore very little cosmetics, and she had the kind of pretty face that looked like it had been cleaned to a shine. Her big blue eyes staring at him looked vaguely familiar, and he wondered if he'd ever arrested her.

'It's me. Ann Cameron. We grew up in the same neighborhood. I used to live down the street from your parents. You used to date my older sister, Sherry.'

Which, he supposed, was why she looked familiar. In the tenth grade he'd done some pretty heavy groping with Sherry in the backseat of his parents' Chevy Biscayne. She'd been the first girl to let him touch her breasts-under the bra. Naked palm to bare breast. A real milestone for any guy. 'Sure, I remember. How are you doing, Ann?'

'I'm good.' She tossed a few more cabbages into her cart, then reached for a bag of carrots. 'How's your mom and dad?'

'Pretty much the same as always,' he answered, eyeing the mound of vegetables in her cart. 'Do you have a large family to feed, or do you raise rabbits?'

She laughed and shook her head. 'Neither. I'm not married and don't have kids. I own a deli on Eighth, and I ran out of produce today and can't get my next delivery of fresh vegetables until tomorrow afternoon. Too late for my lunch crowd.'

'A deli? You must be a good cook, then?'

'I'm a wonderful cook.'

He'd heard that same claim about two hours ago from a woman in a silver bikini who'd then disappeared into her bedroom and left him to cook dinner. Then she'd added insult to injury by picking at the meal he'd prepared.

'You should come by and let me make you a sandwich, or you can try my pasta. I make a mean shrimp scampi with tender angel-hair. All from scratch, of course. We can catch up on old times.'

Joe looked at her clear blue eyes and the dimples denting her cheeks as she smiled up at him. Normal. No signs of craziness, but a guy could never tell at first glance. 'Do you believe in karma, auras, and do you listen to Yanni?'

Her smile fell and she gazed at him as if he were nuts. Joe laughed, tossed the bag into the air, and caught it. 'Yeah, I'll come by. Where on Eighth?'

Gabrielle considered herself a compulsive cleaner. When the compulsion hit, she cleaned. Unfortunately, the compulsion to clean her closets and cupboards only hit once a year and lasted just a few hours. If she was out of the house when it hit, her closets would have to wait another full year.

She squeezed lemon-scented soap into the sink and filled it with warm water. Maybe after she washed the stroganoff pot, she'd try to work up enough enthusiasm to straighten the cupboards so her colander wouldn't fall out on another guest's foot like it had on Joe's.

Just as she snapped on a pair of yellow rubber gloves, the telephone rang. She picked up on the third ring, and her mother's voice filled her ear.

'How's Beezer?' Claire Breedlove began without a greeting.

Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder at the big ball of fur passed out on the rug by the back door. 'Prostrate with joy.'

'Good, did she behave herself?'

'Mostly she ate and slept,' Gabrielle answered. 'Where are you? Here in town?'

'Yolanda and I are with your grandfather. We'll drive to Boise in the morning.'

Gabrielle wedged the telephone receiver between her ear and shoulder and asked, 'How was Cancun?'

'Oh it was fine, but I have to tell you about what happened. Your aunt and I had to cut the trip short because I've been plagued with a persistent foreboding. I knew a horrible tragedy would befall someone in the neighborhood up here. I felt your grandfather would be involved, so I flew home to warn everyone.'

Gabrielle turned her attention to the plates in the sink. Her life was already in cosmic upheaval, and she really wasn't in the mood to travel the Twilight Zone with her mother. 'What happened?' she asked, although she knew