made any difference. It was a good bet he already thought me rude.
He touched it, as though he had forgotten it was there, and chuckled.
'I wear it to remind myself that it is possible, once in a great while, that I can be wrong about something.' His gaze caught mine before making a hasty shift toward the horses.
'Wouldn't it be easier to tie a string around you finger, or write yourself a note and stick it on the refrigerator?'
'Quite possibly. But this,' he indicated the earring, 'wasn't exactly my choice.'
I knew an open-ended comment when I heard one. 'Obviously, there's a story here.'
With one hand, he combed his fingers through his hair, smiled to himself and shook his head once. 'A couple of years ago I had a class of undergrads for a summer course in field work. There are a couple of locations in Montana where we go to teach proper field procedure for fossil recovery. Hopefully, the students start to develop an eye for what to look for and where to look. This particular group was, without a doubt, the most inept bunch I ever had to deal with. Not only did they seem unable to apply themselves, but they didn't have much interest, either.'
He shifted his position on the fence and faced me. The late afternoon light emphasized the planes of his face and picked up highlights in his dark brown hair.
'After about a week of feeling like I was playing scout master to a bunch of juvenile delinquents, I sat them all down and gave them an ultimatum. They were either to shape up and at least pretend they were trying to learn something or we would pack up and go home. They would all fail the course.'
My eyebrows hiked up my forehead. Yikes. Hard ass. His eyes softened at my reaction.
'I then made the mistake of telling them I needed to be out in the wilderness with a bunch of yahoos like I needed another hole in my head. For some reason, my little speech struck a chord. They laid down a challenge. If they found some fossils, and demonstrated they learned the proper skills for recovery, I would get another hole in my head. I figured it was a safe bet.' He shook his head twice. 'Inside of two weeks they hauled me to the local tattoo parlor to get this.'
I caught myself on the verge of a laugh.
'They turned out to be a pretty good group, so I keep the earring to remind myself not to get too judgmental.' He shrugged slightly, returning his gaze to the grazing horses, his profile to me. A pensive smile lingered at the corner of his mouth.
'Do you still see any of these students?' I asked.
He tipped his head, contemplating me for half a beat before he answered.
'Indeed I do. And they always check to make sure I'm still wearing the symbol of my misjudgment. They may have been a lot smarter than I was prepared to give them credit for, but they're still every bit as crazy.'
'Where do you teach?' Now I was curious about this man who accepted his own fallibility with a touch of humor. It occurred to me I'd been waiting for him to embarrass himself. It wasn't going to happen.
'At the University of Washington in Seattle. I do a couple of courses at the extension campus in Bothell, too.'
'Paleontology?'
'And geology.'
He asked me what I did. As I finished a brief rundown of my accounting business and training with Uncle Henry, I remembered his initial comment about Blackie's name.
'Uncle Henry and I play a game or two of chess almost every Monday night. He's very good. Once or twice a year he lets me win. You obviously know the game. You should play him sometime.'
'I have,' he said.
Uncle Henry never mentioned anything to me. I wondered why.
'Did you lose?'
Paul straightened from his leaning position and stretched his back and neck.
'Nope.' One corner or his mouth turned up in a small satisfied smile.
'Lucky,' I said.
He laughed, soft and low, and walked back toward the apartment. I felt we had the beginnings of a connection, tentative and fragile, but it dissolved the farther he walked from me. The feeling was so ephemeral I could have imagined it, but the odd emptiness that replaced it lingered.
Paul joined us for a subdued dinner and excused himself soon after, claiming he had work to do. I watched for signs of his earlier openness. I admit I was eager for it, but there was nothing.
Worn out and feeling friendless, I wanted nothing more than to go to bed early. I helped Aunt Vi clean up after dinner, then took a quick shower. When I returned to the guest room the sheets had been turned down on the bed. The gesture, like a loving hug, lifted the depression that had been settling on me all evening. Silently thanking Aunt Vi, I slipped into bed and relaxed into the cool softness. I should have been asleep in minutes. But now that I was alone and undistracted my worries popped to the surface. Somewhere in Snohomish was a killer. And somehow I had to make sure the sheriff understood that. Blackie's life depended on it.
Chapter Seven
I opened my eyes to unfamiliar darkness and my heart rate tripled in the second and a half it took to remember I was in Aunt Vi's guestroom. I rolled over and groped for the bedside clock. Five seventeen. Too early for my aunt and uncle to be up, and little chance I'd fall back to sleep. I threw back the blankets and, shivering, dressed quickly then went to the barn. With Blackie here I'd share the horse-keeping work with Uncle Henry. Taking care of chores early was my self-imposed penance for upsetting them yesterday.
Breakfast for 'the boys' was the first order of business. Eager nickers greeted me when I slid the barn door open, then subsided into noisy munching once I tossed each horse his hay. I made quick work of cleaning the stalls, then rolled up my sleeves, and scrubbed and refilled the water buckets. With hands numb from the cold, I closed up the barn and hurried back to the house.
Dawn made a weak showing through Snohomish's cloud layer, and the dampness in the air was a sure sign of rain to come. The warm glow that spilled across the yard from the kitchen window pulled me from a quick walk to a jog. With a well-timed jump honed by years of practice, I cleared the two steps to the back porch and landed on the dew-slick deck with a noisy scramble. Regaining my balance, I glanced through the window. Aunt Vi was busy pouring batter onto the waffle iron as if she hadn't noticed. I opened the door into the little vestibule off the kitchen and stepped out of my muck boots. The aroma of rich coffee and warm waffles with a hint of vanilla filled my lungs, and the familiar feeling of loving acceptance came at me with a rush. Uncle Henry sat at the table, already making progress on his waffles. He caught my eye and I steeled myself for any indication of yesterday's temper.
'Thank you for doing the chores,' he said with his usual calm. 'Watch your step on the porch. It's a bit slippery in the mornings.'
'I noticed.' I smiled and he winked.
Either our relationship was back to normal or he was doing a good job of pretending.
I washed my hands at the sink and snuck another glance at Uncle Henry, just to be sure. The anger he gave vent to yesterday was something I had no experience with, and guilt, deserved or not, still rode with me. He looked tired. I knew, without asking, he hadn't slept well.
After breakfast I packed up my overnight bag to go home. When I came back through the kitchen to say goodbye Aunt Vi held on to my hand.
'Why don't you stay?'
'I'd like to, but I have clients expecting me, and a ton of work to do. Besides, the sheriff's deputy demanded I go in to the office this morning and sign my statement.'
'If you're sure.' She frowned.
'Don't worry.' I kissed her cheek. 'Thanks for letting me stay last night. It helped.'
'Well, come back tonight if you like.' She pulled me back for a hug. 'We don't like you being alone right now.'
