the optoelectronics center, Ireland had gone. As promised, she’d left hard copy of her SEM scans.
Wanting to get home before celebrating another birthday, I grabbed the envelope and bolted straight back to my car.
I was on Queens Road when Slidell rang my mobile.
“Glenn Yardley Evans.”
“I knew it.”
“Old Glenn and I are about to have another encounter.”
“I’ve got SEM magnifications of the bone I took from Jimmy Klapec’s femur.”
“Uh-huh.” Slidell sounded decidedly unenthusiastic.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now I talk to Evans and you look at your… whatever the hell it is you just got. We swap stories in the morning.”
My thumb moved to DISCONNECT.
“And, doc.”
I waited.
“Watch your back.”
Knowing the larder was empty, I stopped and loaded up at the Harris Teeter supermarket on Providence Road.
It was dark when I pulled in at Sharon Hall, too late for sunset, too early for moon-or starlight. Entering the grounds was like plunging into a black hole. The ancient oaks loomed like silent black giants guarding the dark swath of drive.
Circling behind the main house, I was surprised to see a red and blue glow pulsating from the direction of the Annex.
I cracked my window.
And heard a recognizable staticky sputter.
My scalp tightened and my palms went moist on the wheel. Killing the headlights, I crept forward far enough to peek around the corner.
A CMPD cruiser was angled toward my condo, doors open, radio crackling, dual beams lighting two cops and a man.
Though my view was partly obscured by bushes and the edge of the coach house, I could see that the man stood with arms raised, palms flat to one wall of the Annex. While one cop frisked him, the other asked questions.
The man was tall and lean and wore a leather jacket and jeans. Though his back was to me, there was something familiar about him.
As I watched, the frisking cop found and examined a wallet. The man spoke. The cop pulled something from inside the man’s jacket.
I couldn’t stand it. Knowing I should stay back, I made the turn and rolled closer.
Porch light haloed the man’s hair. Sandy. Not long, not short.
Something prickly blossomed in my chest.
Impossible.
The frisking cop passed an object to the questioning cop. Words were exchanged. Body language relaxed. It was obvious tension was easing.
Both cops stepped back.
The man dropped his arms and turned. The frisking cop handed the object to him. Tucking it inside his jacket, the man raised his chin. Light fell on his features.
The trio watched as I rolled into my driveway and climbed out of the car. The frisking cop spoke first.
“Good timing, ma’am. We were informed the porch light was a signal for trouble. Seeing it lit, we approached the premises, found this gentleman looking into one of your windows. He says the two of you know each other.”
“Detective Ryan is an old friend,” I said, staring into a pair of Arctic blue eyes.
“You’re good then?”
“We’re good.” Tearing my gaze free, I turned to the officers. “Thank you for your vigilance.”
The cops pulled out. Crossing to my car, I began hauling groceries from the trunk with unsteady hands. Wordlessly, Ryan joined in the effort.
In the kitchen, I offered Ryan one of the beers Katy had left in my fridge. He accepted. I opened a Diet Coke for myself.
Took a long drink. Set the can on the counter. Carefully. Spoke without turning.
“You’ve been well?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes.”
“Katy?”
“She’s good.” I didn’t offer that she was out of town for a while.
“I’m glad. She’s a great kid.”
“This is a surprise.” I didn’t ask about his daughter. Mean-spirited, I know, but pain takes you past the point of civility.
“Yes.” I heard movement, a chair scrape, more movement.
“You’ve picked a bad time, Ryan.”
“I came for Rinaldi’s funeral. He was a good man.”
I’d forgotten. How many years now? Three? Four? Ryan met Rinaldi and Slidell while helping me with a case involving black marketeering in endangered species.
“And to see you.”
Tentacles began squeezing my heart.
My eyes fell on Monday’s wineglass, still upturned in the wooden dish rack beside the sink. The newly awakened beast called out.
How welcome that would be. Glowing red warmth, then confidence and conviction. Finally, oblivion.
Followed by self-loathing.
Closing my eyes, I fought to banish the craving.
“Where are you staying?”
“A Sheraton out by the airport.”
“How did you get here?”
“A couple of uniforms dropped me at the corner of Queens and something. I walked over from there. I turned on the porch light and was poking around.”
“And got busted for peeping.”
“Something like that.”
“I could have let you go to jail.”
“I appreciate the character reference.”
I didn’t answer.
“We need to talk.” Ryan’s tone was gentle, yet insistent.
“I’ve made mistakes.”
“Is that a fact?” I could barely speak.
“It is.”
The refrigerator hummed. The clock ticked on the living room mantel.
I tried to think of something distracting to say, or at least light and clever. Nothing came to mind.
In the end what I said was, “Is the beer cold enough?”
“Just right.”
I could barely breathe as I emptied bags and placed items on my pantry shelves. Ryan watched, silent, aware of the jolt his sudden appearance had delivered. Knowing I’d open real conversation only when ready. Or I wouldn’t.
