Brush of Shade by Jan Harman Page A

myself by
slipping my right arm around his waist. He tensed up and drew a quick breath. I
tipped my head back to look at his face. Pain? Fear? In the shadowy lighting it was impossible to tell.

Chapter
6
     
    Hattie looked up
from attaching a silver beaded, snowflake onto a strand of garland in time to
catch me struggling to lift the odds and ends supply box back onto its shelf. I
almost had it until a torn flap got snagged and the darn thing refused to
budge. Shade reached over with one hand, lifted, and shoved. I nodded only
because Hattie was watching. The guy couldn’t resist a chance to prove that he
knew best. I had said I could do it. And I would have if it hadn’t hurt so much
to straighten my back after being crouched over doing inventory for the past
hour. I squeezed soundlessly past him, ignoring his sigh.
    “What is wrong
with you two?” Hattie grumbled, dropping the wire cutters onto the table. “This
is the first time in over a month that you’re working an entire shift together.
Enough with the strained politeness, it’s stymieing my creative juices.”
    “I didn’t say a
word,” Shade said in his defense.
    “Precisely. If I wanted to work in the morgue, I’d have set
up shop there. I hire young folks to give this place and me life. I’ve had all
I can take of your squabbling.”
    “Again, we’ve
not said a word.”
    Glasses perched
on the tip of her nose. A brow cocked. She pointed at the empty spool slot.
“Sometimes it’s what’s not said that screams the loudest. You, apologize!”
    “For what?”
    “That confirms
it. What did you do?”
    Shade shoved the
spool of wire into its slot with more force than necessary. The old, metal
stand creaked and wobbled unsteadily. “I’m not talking about this.”
    “But you are,”
Hattie replied, sliding her glasses into place while Shade glowered and
threaded the wire through the overhead hook.
    During the rest
of their argument, I maneuvered my way to the front of the shop. Tucked out of
sight and with luck out of the line of fire, I took extra care to be sure the
spirals in the window display were dust free.
    When I’d found
out that Shade was scheduled to work the full shift, I should’ve called in sick
or said I had too much homework to come in today. Ever since he’d escorted me
into the house to explain what had happened at the maze, I’d been practically
under house arrest. No more rides alone with Trent. Aunt Claire had rearranged
her schedule, so she could drop me off at school and pick me up after work.
From now on, my dates had to be group functions. I was the victim here, yet I
was being punished, and even worse, being treated like a child.
    After dusting
the last spiral, I flipped on the overhead spotlights and gave the spiral a
twirl. Prisms cast bobbing rainbows around the window display and out onto the
snow covered sidewalk. The duster slipped out of my hand. I barely registered
Shade calling out that he was leaving for the hardware store or the slamming of
the back door. A silver Chevy Cobalt was parked in one of the angled slots just
outside the shop. The driver, the police detective who’d come by the hospital
several times during my recovery, motioned for me to come out of the store. I
blew out a soft breath.
    “Hattie, I’m
taking my break,” I shouted, not bothering to wait for her reply.
    Detective Lawson
smiled and rolled down the passenger window. “ Brr ! That wind is bitter. Get in out of the storm.”
    I scrambled
inside and turned one of the vents straight at my face. “What are you doing
here?”
    “I’m in Denver
for a conference. You were pretty out of it those times we spoke when you were
in the hospital. Sometimes with trauma cases like yours, details surface with
the passage of time. I’ve got a few leads on your parents’ case that I need
your help clarifying. I tried calling to give your aunt a heads up, but I kept
getting the answering machine. I figured I’d pop over and do it in person.