Nora Roberts - Tribute

“Nah. Separate rooms. I didn’t want her to be alone.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Seems steadier this morning. She’s already on her way to see Steve.”

“Shanna called the hospital. No change yet. It’s the damnedest thing. Hell of a nice guy.”

“Yeah.” Ford looked over at the barn. “How much paint do you figure it’d take to do that barn?”

“Hell if I know. Ask a painter.”

“Right.” He glanced over as another car pulled up. “This place is a madhouse half the time. I’m going home.”

“Cops.” Brian jerked his chin. “Cops’re back. I hope to hell they don’t want to talk to Shanna again. It gets her going.”

“I’ll see if I can take it.”

Neither of the men who stepped out of the Crown Vic were the cop- Taney, Ford remembered-they’d talked to the day before. Neither of them wore a uniform, and instead sported suits and ties. Detectives, he assumed.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

The taller of the two, with snow-salted gray hair and prominent jowls, gave Ford a curt nod. The second, small, lean and black, eyed him coolly.

And both, he noted, stared down at the dog that stared up at them.

“Cilla-Miss McGowan’s-not home,” Ford began. “She left for the hospital about fifteen, twenty minutes ago.”

Tall White Guy studied him. “And you’d be?”

“Sawyer. Ford Sawyer. I live across the road. I spoke with Officer Taney yesterday.”

“You live across the road, but you stayed here last night. With Miss McGowan.”

Ford sipped his coffee, met Short Black Guy’s eyes while Spock grumbled. “Is that a statement or a question?”

“Your hair’s still wet from the shower.”

“So it is.” Ford offered an easy smile, then sipped his coffee.

Tall White Guy took out a notebook, flipped pages. “Can you tell us where you were night before last, between two and five A.M.?”

"Sure. Would you mind doing the ID thing? It’s not just for TV”

“Detective Urick, and my partner, Detective Wilson,” Tall White Guy said as they both produced their badges.

“Okay. I was in bed-over there-from about one A.M. until I heard the sirens yesterday morning.”

“Have company?”

“Yeah, Spock.” He gestured at the dog. “You could take a statement from him, but I’d have to translate so it probably wouldn’t work. Look, I get you have to check out everything and everyone, but the fact is somebody was out here a few nights before. I saw somebody skulking around with a flashlight.”

“We got that.” Urick nodded. “You’re the only one who claims to have seen anything. What’s your relationship with Miss McGowan?”

Ford beamed an exaggerated country-rube grin. “Friends and neighbors.”

“We have the impression, from other sources, that your relationship is more than friendly.”

“Not yet.”

“But you’d like it to be.”

As Ford blew out a breath, Spock began to circle the cops. He wouldn’t bite, but Ford knew if irritated enough, Spock would sure as hell lift his leg and express his opinion.

Bad idea-probably.

“Spock, say hello. Sorry, he’s feeling a little irritated and ignored. If you’d take a minute and shake, he’ll settle.”

Wilson crouched, took the paw. “How’s it going? Damnedest-looking dog I ever saw.”

“Got some bull terrier in there,” Urick commented, and leaned down to shake.

“Yeah, at least that’s what I’ve been told. Okay, back to would I like it to be more than friends and neighbors. Have you seen Cilla? Met her?

If so, you’d know I’d have to be stupid not to like it to be. What does that have to do with Steve?”

Urick gave Spock an absent scratch before straightening. “Miss McGowan’s ex-husband, staying with her. Three’s a crowd.”

“Again, only if you’re stupid. But you’ve made it clear that none of what happened was an accident.” Ford turned, studied the barn. “Somebody was in there, and whoever it was fractured Steve’s skull and left him there. Just left him there.”

The thought of that, just the thought of that stirred the rage he’d managed to hold still and quiet. “Son of a bitch. What the hell were they looking for?”

“Why do you think someone was looking for anything?” Urick demanded.

Ford’s eyes were cold green ice when he turned back. “Give me a fucking break. Not some scavenger, either, not some asshole poking around trying to score a pair of Janet Hardy’s shoes to sell on eBay. That doesn’t follow.”

“You’ve given this some thought.”

“I think a lot. Listen, look at me as long as you want, as hard as you want. If you’ve got more questions, I’ll be around.”

“We’ll find you, if and when,” Wilson called out.

No doubt about it, Ford thought as he headed for home with his dog.

He wanted to get into the barn, and Ford figured if he tried it, it would add a few more layers to the suspect cake the cops were baking for him.

He was a suspect. It was actually kind of cool.

God, once a nerd always a nerd, he thought as he went through a series of lats and flys.

Once he’d worked up a sweat and an appetite, he checked in with the hospital, downed some cereal. Showered, shaved, dressed, he stepped into his office, up to his workstation.

He closed his eyes, held up his hands and said, “Draco braz minto.” The childhood ritual put everything outside the work, and Ford into it. He sat, picked up his tools and began to draw the first panel for Brid.

CILLA HAD her chair angled toward the bed so she could look directly into Steve’s face as she spoke. And she spoke, keeping up a constant one-sided conversation, as if any appreciable stretch of silence could be deadly.

“So it’s moving. Clicking along better than I anticipated, even with the changes and additions I made to the original plans. The attic space shows real promise. Later on, I’m going to go pick out the flooring for up there, and the fixtures and tiles for that bath, and the master. We’ll be able to have a beer out on the patio, soon as you’re ready. What I need is pots. A couple of big-ass pots. Monsters. Oh, and I’m going to plant tomatoes. I think it’s about the right time to do that. And, like, peppers, maybe carrots and beans. I should wait until next year when the house is done, but I think I could scratch out a square for a little garden now. Then-”

“Miss McGowan.”

Cilla took a breath. When it hurt her chest to draw it in, it told her she’d been pushing too hard. “Yes.” What was the nurse’s name, the nurse with the curly blond hair and warm brown eyes? “Dee. It’s Cilla.”

“Cilla. The police are out there. A couple of detectives. They asked to speak to you.”

“Oh. Sure. Just a sec. I’ve got to do this thing,” she told Steve. “I’ll be back.”

Spotting the cops was the easiest thing she’d done all day, Cilla thought. She stepped up to them. “I’m Cilla McGowan.”

“Detective Wilson. My partner, Detective Urick. Is there somewhere we could talk?”

“There’s a little waiting room down here. They’ve got something they call coffee. You’re looking into what happened to Steve now,” she said as she led the way.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then you know he didn’t trip over his own feet, bash himself in the head and fall under his own bike.” She hit the coffeepot, added powdered creamer. “Do you know what did happen?”

“We’re looking into it,” Urick said. “Do you know anyone who’d wish Mr. Chensky harm?”

“No. He’s only been here a few days. Steve makes friends, not enemies.”

“You were married.”

“That’s right.”