Erica Spindler - Cause for Alarm

She made a sound of surprise. "This is a cashier's check."

"Yeah, I know. I figured the register was the safest place for it. Thank God we weren't robbed. I almost told him to wait until you- Speak of the devil, here he is now."

Kate turned. Nick Winters stood just inside The Bean's front door, his gaze upon her. She mustered a weak smile. "Hello, Nick."

"I see you got the money," he said, crossing to the counter where she and Blake stood.

"Yes." She looked at the check, then back up at him. "I'm overwhelmed."

"I'm sure." He smiled, ordered a double espresso, then moved toward one of the tables. "Sit with me."

It seemed to Kate not so much an invitation as an order, and she wondered if he thought that buying an expensive piece of her art was the same as buying a piece of her, or that she owed him something now. Some people were like that. If he was one of them, she would set him straight, fast.

"Did I surprise you?" he asked, as they sat.

"You could say that. I almost had a heart attack when I looked up and saw the empty window. It was my favorite piece."

"I don't doubt it. It was the best of the lot." He sweetened his espresso, then brought the demitasse cup to his lips and sipped. "Did you know, in some cultures they believe the artist gives up a little piece of his soul with each act of creation?"

She narrowed her eyes. "No, I didn't know that Nick."

"Interesting, don't you think? Ceremonies are performed to cleanse the objects of any negative spiritual residue, as if an inanimate object could possess a life force."

She was uncomfortable with this conversation, and she sensed he knew it. Sensed he was getting pleasure from her unease. "You know what that means, don't you?" he continued.

She shook her head.

"That I own a little piece of your soul."

Something about his expression, something in his eyes, chilled her to her core. She fought to keep her feelings from showing. "If one bought into that sort of thing," she said.

"Exactly." He brought the demitasse cup to his lips and sipped, the motion oddly feminine and disturbing. He set the cup carefully on its saucer. "It points to how personal, how private and unique the act of creation is. Some artists call it a bloodletting, some an act of the subconscious, others one of sheer will. What is it to you, Kate? How would you describe it?"

She wasn't about to discuss her personal creative pathos with this man, wasn't about to describe the joy and frustration, the fear or passion. It was none of his business, and she didn't know why, but she had the feeling that whatever she told him, he would find a way to twist it to his own liking.

How had she ever thought him attractive and interesting? she wondered. How had she allowed herself to preen under his attention. The thought made her sick.

"I find it relaxing," she answered. "Enjoyable."

"You're a poor liar."

"The thing is, Nick," she said, working to keep her tone light, "I'd like to buy that piece of stained glass back from you. You see, I…I feel a little silly about this, but at that price I never thought it would sell. It holds a special place in my heart and-"

"I'm sorry, Kate, but that won't be possible."

Her stomach sank. "May I ask why not?"

"It's no longer in my possession. I had it crated and shipped to my home in Ohio."

"I see." She tried another tact. "But surely, since you travel so much and won't be home to enjoy it, you-"

"I'm sorry, Kate." He smiled, the curving of his lips conveying anything but regret. "You're too late."

"Hello there, Kate," Old Joe called, stopping at her gate. "Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

"Just gorgeous." Kate turned off the hose and ambled over to talk to her neighbor. "It's been dry, though."

"Good thing you're getting some water on those pansies. I've been worried you were going to lose them. Almost stopped by to tell you so yesterday." He squinted. "Figured you might not have noticed."

Kate fought a smile. "Thanks for your concern, Joe. These days it's hard to find time for everything that needs to be done. I've been meaning to ask you if you're still having problems with your phone line? Mine's still crackly."

He frowned. "Phone troubles? Mine's been clear as a bell."

It was her turn to frown. "I've been having problems for several weeks. A guy from Bellsouth stopped by one morning, took a look at my equipment. Said the entire area was having problems. Something about damage incurred when Lakeshore Drive was widened two years ago."

"There you have it," he said. "The problem must be limited to the customers on Lakeshore Drive."

"I'm sure you're right," she said. "I'll just give them a call in…the morn…"

She let the thought trail off and brought a hand to her mouth. Steve Byrd. That's where she knew him from. The phone repairman, the one who checked her equipment.

She recalled that morning, the man standing at her door, and frowned. No, that wasn't right. The two men looked nothing alike. Now, why had she thought that?

"Kate? Are you all right?"

She blinked, and felt herself flush. "Sorry, Joe, the sun must be getting to me."

He nodded and squinted up at the sky. "Weather's sure been strange. Can't remember another October this dry." He shifted his attention to Emma, sitting in her bouncer seat in the shade. "She's getting big. Pretty little thing, too."

"Thank you." Kate looked at her daughter, smiling. The infant swung her arms and burbled as if in response. "She's a joy, that's for sure."

"By the way, Kate, your little mystery's solved. Turns out she is a friend of yours."

"Excuse me?"

"The girl you were asking about, the one from the swing. I saw her earlier today, with Richard. Beauregard and I were taking our noon walk. I called out and Richard waved."

Kate frowned, confused. "Are you sure it was the same woman?"

"Sure, I'm sure." Beauregard tugged on his leash, then looked back at his master and barked. Joe sighed. "No rest for the wicked, I guess. Nice talking to you, Kate."

Kate watched her neighbor walk off, a fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach. Joe had seen Richard with the young woman from the swing? Who could she-

Cause for Alarm Julianna. Of course.

Kate hadn't thought of it before, but Julianna was youngish, like a college coed. She had hair the cut and color of Kate's.

But if her neighbor was correct and the woman he had seen on the swing was the same one he had seen today, what had Julianna been doing at their house weeks before Richard had hired her?

And what had Richard been doing home, with his assistant during the middle of the day?

The tap of a horn startled her out of her thoughts. It was Richard, turning into the drive. Kate forced a smile and waved, not liking the direction of her thoughts. Richard, she was certain, would have a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of her questions.

He climbed out of his car, slamming the door behind him. "Hi, gorgeous," he called, starting across the lawn toward her. "What are you up to?"

"Saving the pansies." She thought again of Joe and her smile faded. "How was your day?"

"Busy." He picked up Emma, seat and all, while Kate rewound the hose.

"Joe said he saw you home around noon." She hung the coiled hose on the rack mounted to the side of the house and together they walked around front.

"I forgot my notes on the Miller case."

"He said Julianna was with you."

"She was. We were on our way to a luncheon with Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. Since we were passing, I stopped in to get my notes."

So, it had been Julianna. What did that mean?

Kate held the door open for Richard. He carried Emma to the kitchen, then set the bouncer seat on the floor. He ignored the child's attempts to get his attention and crossed to the counter and opened a bottle of wine. "Want a glass?" he asked.