LITMIR.BIZ

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      “All right,” Holly said, noting that Gabe didn’t echo the sentiment. Instead, he watched her with narrowed eyes. They were green, weren’t they? She couldn’t tell in the room’s dim light, but she had noticed before.

      She walked Sheldon to the front door, hoping that Gabe would follow. To her relief, he did.

      To her dismay, he didn’t follow Sheldon out.

      Inhaling the fresh, ocean-chilled air, she watched Sheldon limp down the front walk. Poor man wasn’t recuperating from his injuries very quickly. His age might be a factor. Sixty-one wasn’t that old, but he certainly had begun to look and act older this week. Plus, he had a heart condition that he kept under control with medication. She would have to help him every way she could. He had been very kind to her, selling her stitchery creations in his shop, promoting them to tourists….

      “Can you spare me a few minutes, Holly?” Gabe asked. He still stood behind her at the door.

      She turned, wanting to tell him “no” but assuming he had something to discuss with her. Something about Thomas’s death. Why else would he want to talk to her?

      Of course she had heard his strange comment as she’d opened the door to let him in: “Pervert.” She’d gathered he was chastising himself for some reason. It had struck her as funny, at a time when her sense of humor had gone on an extended vacation. She’d appreciated it.

      “All right,” she responded. She didn’t look at him but regarded the chipped pink nail polish on her right index finger critically. She didn’t suggest further refreshments to Gabe. She hoped he wouldn’t stay long…didn’t she? “Would you like to come back into the living room?” she asked him.

      She didn’t wait for his reply but headed there. At least she could be comfortable, in this room she had decorated to feel homey, with its thick russet-colored plush carpeting. She took a seat on the fluffy beige sofa, pushing some of the gold and green throw pillows aside. She slid her shoes off and slipped her feet onto the low coffee table. Knowing she was going to have company, she’d removed the small stack of magazines that she kept on it, piling them in the closet. Usually, she rested her feet right on top of the periodicals. Thomas hadn’t liked that habit. He’d told her so often.

      At first, she’d made an effort to comply. Over time, it hadn’t mattered.

      Gabe removed his suit jacket and folded it carefully over the back of the reclining leather chair beside the sofa.

      Then he sat on that chair. It had been Thomas’s chair. Exclusively.

      But Thomas wouldn’t mind now.

      Did she? This man was making himself right at home.

      Thomas had worked out a lot. He’d been five-eleven and muscular. But the substantial chair that had once belonged only to him now seemed a lot smaller with Gabe occupying it.

      She caught the glint of amusement in Gabe’s eyes as he glanced at her bare toes, with their bright red polish, then back up at her face.

      So what if she didn’t take as much care with her fingernails as she did with her toes? She couldn’t reach her toenails as easily to pick off the polish when she was upset or nervous.

      But she felt discomfited by Gabe’s stare. She curled around so her feet were tucked up under her. “So, Chief McLaren, I gather you have something on your mind,” she said. Besides my toes, she wanted to add but didn’t.

      “Gabe,” he corrected. “Yes, I do. A few things. First, I know some of my officers have been in touch with you, but I wanted to let you know personally how the investigation into Thomas’s death is progressing.”

      A chill passed through Holly that had nothing to do with this house’s proximity to the Pacific, and everything to do with her fear about what Gabe would say…and what he might not say.

      “Have you caught his killer?” she asked softly. She doubted it. Al would have told her right away, if he’d known.

      Gabe shook his head. There was a grim tightness about his lips that had told her his answer already. In fact, he looked angry. “No,” he said. “Not yet. But we will. You can bet on it.” He spoke with so much intensity that Holly believed him. He’d get the killer. And soon.

      She was uncertain how much she really wanted to hear, but she asked anyway, “Do you know exactly what happened that morning? How Thomas was killed and Sheldon hurt?”

      “We’ve pieced it together, though we’re not sure how accurate we are so far. But before I tell you, I have to ask a few questions. I know you’ve already talked to Al Sharp. Since he was your husband’s partner, the guys doing the footwork on the investigation thought that would be easier on you.”

      She nodded.

      “But I’m handling the investigation now. Personally. I want you to know that. And I have some questions that Al wasn’t able to answer. Okay?”

      He leaned forward. He had unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and loosened his dark blue tie. The combination of formal clothing and the casual way he wore it seemed boyishly charming.

      And yet there was nothing immature about this man who seemed to take charge, no matter where he was. Even in her living room.

      His large hands were clasped between his knees as he watched her with compassion. She had a feeling that, if she told him she just couldn’t talk about it, he would understand.

      But there was an intensity in his stare as well. A fervor that told her that if she didn’t cooperate, if she couldn’t cooperate, he’d simply bulldoze around or through her to get the information that she could most easily impart.

      She liked that, somehow. Even if it made her uneasy, she felt that Gabe McLaren’s zeal and dedication ensured the fact that someday soon, somehow, this cop would fulfill his duty. They would know exactly who killed Thomas, and why.

      And then maybe her son would talk again, once the bad guy was in jail.

      “All right,” she said. “What would you like to know?” She’d tell him what she could, as long as it wasn’t personal. There were a lot of things about Thomas, and about Thomas and her, that were not relevant to the investigation but would hurt her, and Tommy, if people learned about them.

      “First of all, what was Thomas doing at Sheldon Sperling’s at that hour of the morning? And with little Tommy, too. Thomas was already in uniform, but he wasn’t on duty yet.”

      Holly nodded. She could talk about this. “It was part of our daily routine. I tend to work late and sleep in. Thomas woke early even if he went to bed late. To let me rest, he’d get ready for work and take out Tommy, who’s an early bird, too. Sheldon has been a close friend for a long time. He even sells my work. He’s an early riser, like Thomas, and they’d often meet at the shop, then either just walk along the beach or the pier, or stop in for breakfast at one of the restaurants on Pacific Way near Sheldon’s.”

      “I see. Then it wasn’t unusual for Thomas to be there that early, in uniform, with Tommy?”

      “No.”

      “What’s your work, and how does Sheldon sell it?”

      Holly blinked and looked at Gabe. He smiled, so winsomely that she couldn’t help a tentative grin back.

      “I know that doesn’t have anything to do with the investigation,” he said. “I’m just curious.”

      “I’m an artist of sorts,” she told him. “I create quilts and wall hangings and other pieces out of fabrics—mostly impractical, but intended to be attractive. Fortunately, some people seem to think so. They sell well, mostly to tourists. Sheldon carries most of them in his shop for me, and he gets a percentage of everything he sells.”

      “I’d like to see your work,” Gabe said. He glanced around the living room, but no pieces hung there.

      It had been

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