Hannah looked up into Cameron’s dark eyes and saw something she’d never seen before: warmth. Is it possible he really cared about her?
He released her hands almost reluctantly and turned back to his desk. “I want a daily report on your activity on the Wilson case.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you, Cam.”
Chapter Ten
Hannah rode Molly in the direction of the Monroe home, following Bessie's directions. Before Hannah left, she gave Annabelle an assignment and the new nanny explicit directions on how to care for Georgie.
When the Monroe’s house came into view, she saw it as a typical one-floor farmhouse as many were in that area. Cows grazed in the field nearby, and a dog barked fiercely as she approached.
A woman opened the front door, reached out, and swatted the dog to quiet it. Then, she stared at Hannah as she dismounted Molly. “What do you want?” she called out. “I’m not seeing callers.”
Hannah removed a package from her saddlebag. Mrs. Monroe had said she wasn’t seeing callers, but there was a horse hitched beside hers. “I’ve come with a gift and my condolences.” Hannah walked slowly up to the porch. She was about to introduce herself as being new to the area, but then she remembered she wasn’t supposed to let anyone know that yet.
“I’m Hannah Hart. I’ve brought you some freshly baked cookies.”
A man pushed past Mrs. Monroe and told her, “I’ve all the information I need. Thank you, and good day, Mrs. Monroe.”
As the man walked past Hannah, he tipped his hat. “Mrs. Hart.” He mounted his horse and rode away.
Mrs. Monroe said, “I don’t know what you want here. Wasn’t it your husband who got my husband’s killer off scot free?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. He was simply doing his job.” She held out the cookies. “A cup of tea with these cookies would be a nice way for us to get acquainted, Mrs. Monroe.”
“Myra. My name is Myra.” She shrugged and held the door wider so Hannah could enter.
Hannah gazed around the sitting room. “What a warm and cozy room.” She pointed at a colorful afghan on the back of the settee. “What a lovely afghan—did you make it?”
“No. It was here when I moved in,” Myra said. “I think Silas’s mother made it.” Myra pointed at the settee. “Have a seat, and I’ll bring out a tea tray. The tea is already steeped. I was expecting the sheriff to stay for tea, but he just wanted to ask me more questions.” She disappeared into the next room.
Hannah sat on the settee and put her cookies on the table in front of her. She noticed the house seemed well-kept. Myra’s looks had surprised her. She’d expected an older woman, but Mrs. Monroe looked to be about her age. She had bright red hair and fair skin. Though Myra couldn’t be called pretty, she couldn't be called ugly either. Hannah supposed she was on the plain side, despite all her makeup. Her nose was large, her eyes small, and her chin a little pointy.
Myra came into the room, carrying a tray with a teapot and two china cups. She poured the tea. “So, do you live nearby, Mrs. Hart?”
“Not too far, and please, call me Hannah. I don’t get out much because we have small children, but my husband finally decided to hire a nanny for a few hours in the afternoon so I could get out and socialize a little. I’d heard about your husband’s untimely death, so I decided you would be my first call.”
Her words seemed to garner some trust in Myra because she smiled.
Hannah took a bite from one of the cookies.
“Mm—these are delicious," Myra said. "Did you make them?”
“Heavens, no. Our housekeeper made them. I’m not good in the kitchen at all.” Hannah sipped her tea. “I’m sorry about Mr. Monroe. Are you doing all right?”
“He was murdered three months ago, so I’ve adjusted to it.”
“You must get lonely out here. There aren’t any homes nearby,” Hannah said. “You need friends.”
Myra shrugged. “I’m doing all right.”
“I wondered if you’d like me to pick you up for services on Sunday. It would do you good to get out and meet people.”
Myra scowled, threw down her half-eaten cookie, and practically yelled, “I don’t need friends, and I certainly don’t need religion.”
“God is comforting when you have suffered a loss.”
Myra stood. “I think you should leave. Evidently, no one told you I worked at Lilah’s Place. I was a prostitute.” She laughed. “And you want me to walk into a church service?” Myra snatched the cup from Hannah’s hand. “Out with you!”
Hannah’s ride home was somber. Had she gone about it in the wrong way? Should she have tried to make friends first before asking her to church? Maybe she’d do better tomorrow when she visited Mrs. Wilson.
That evening, after the bedtime rituals had been done, Cameron asked Hannah to walk with him around the grounds. She grabbed a shawl and walked with him along the dark lane toward the road.
“How did your visit with Mrs. Monroe go?” he asked.
Hannah grimaced. “Not well. She threw me out even though I’d brought her cookies.”
“Threw you out? She didn’t lay a hand on you, I hope. I’d sue her for that.”
“No, she just screamed for me to get out.”
Cameron took her hand as they walked, but Hannah wasn’t sure if it was out of sympathy or fondness. “Did you ask her too many question about the murder?” he asked.
“Goodness, no. I hadn’t even started with the questions. I invited her to church, and that’s what set her off.”
He squeezed her hand. “Don’t take it personally. I hear she’s quite an ill-mannered person, and that was
