leave?
I heard the footsteps retreat down the hall, then return. This time Laurie betrayed me, letting out an enormous wail.
The door to the closet swung open.
I yelled out my best self-defense karate scream—“Hi yaah!”—while kicking and punching with blind fury. The heel of my foot caught the intruder square in the groin, doubling him over.
Uh-oh!
The intruder was Jim.
He fell to his knees, glaring at me in disbelief. “Kate? What’s going on?”
Relief rushed over me. “Darling! Jim! Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were . . . I thought . . . the window . . .” I embraced him, tears burning my eyes.
“Where’s Laurie?”
I rushed back into the closet and picked her up.
Jim got to his feet. “What are you doing in the closet with the baby?” He scooped her out of my arms. “And why are you screaming at me and kicking me in the—”
“The window was open. I burned the lasagna. The alarm went off. I heard footsteps. You said you were going to be late.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks, exhaustion overcoming me. I collapsed into the rocker by Laurie’s crib and sobbed.
Jim put Laurie into her baby swing and knelt down beside me. He took me into his arms.
We heard sirens screaming down the block.
“Oh. And I called 9-1-1,” I whimpered.
“Let me get this straight. Did you say you burned the lasagna?” he said through a smile.
After reporting the false alarm to the police officers on our doorstep, we ate the burned lasagna in silence.
I filled Jim in on Galigani’s visit, finally asking, “You remember June fifteenth?”
“No. Should I? It’s not our anniversary or anything, right?”
“We were at Paula’s party.”
Jim took a swig of beer, shrugging his shoulders. “So?”
“You left early,” I prodded. “You said you weren’t feeling well. Sinus headache. Remember?”
“Not really. So what does it matter now? It’s October.”
“June fifteenth was the night Brad Avery was murdered.”
Jim stared at me. He put his beer down. “What are you trying to say, Kate?”
“Galigani asked me what we were doing that night. You left the party early. You said you weren’t feeling well. I’m wondering where you went.”
I tried to ignore the queasiness in my stomach.
“I came home.” He said it slowly, enunciating every syllable as though I were a two-year-old.
“That’s just the thing, Jim. I remember calling home that night. You didn’t pick up.”
He took a slow sip of his beer. He smiled widely, then laughed. Was it a nervous laugh?
“Come on, honey. Cut me some slack. I was probably asleep.” He reached out to touch my shoulder.
I sighed. He wrapped his arms around me. I inhaled his familiar scent, a mixture of wind and trees. The nervousness in my stomach dissipated a bit.
He squeezed my shoulders. “You’re getting too wrapped up in this Brad Avery stuff. You’re letting it make you a little goofy, honey.”
I stiffened and pulled away from him. “What do you mean?”
“Christ, Kate, you’re starting to hallucinate. Intruders in the house? Asking me where I was on the night some guy I don’t even know was killed.”
“George knew him.”
Jim frowned. “What are you saying? I haven’t seen George for months. What? You think I secretly met up with him and helped him murder someone?”
“No. I don’t think that.” I shook my head and let out a sigh. “Do you think George . . . Do you think he could kill someone?”
Jim raised his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He voice softened and his shoulders dropped. “He’s impulsive, irresponsible, and has a temper. Do I think George is a cold-blooded murderer? No. Do I think he could have killed someone under certain circumstances?”
He let his question hang in the air. Both of us nodded to each other, knowing the answer was a definite yes.
After a moment I asked, “Why would that investigator ask where we were that night?”
“Kate, they ask questions. That’s what they do. He
I heard the footsteps retreat down the hall, then return. This time Laurie betrayed me, letting out an enormous wail.
The door to the closet swung open.
I yelled out my best self-defense karate scream—“Hi yaah!”—while kicking and punching with blind fury. The heel of my foot caught the intruder square in the groin, doubling him over.
Uh-oh!
The intruder was Jim.
He fell to his knees, glaring at me in disbelief. “Kate? What’s going on?”
Relief rushed over me. “Darling! Jim! Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were . . . I thought . . . the window . . .” I embraced him, tears burning my eyes.
“Where’s Laurie?”
I rushed back into the closet and picked her up.
Jim got to his feet. “What are you doing in the closet with the baby?” He scooped her out of my arms. “And why are you screaming at me and kicking me in the—”
“The window was open. I burned the lasagna. The alarm went off. I heard footsteps. You said you were going to be late.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks, exhaustion overcoming me. I collapsed into the rocker by Laurie’s crib and sobbed.
Jim put Laurie into her baby swing and knelt down beside me. He took me into his arms.
We heard sirens screaming down the block.
“Oh. And I called 9-1-1,” I whimpered.
“Let me get this straight. Did you say you burned the lasagna?” he said through a smile.
After reporting the false alarm to the police officers on our doorstep, we ate the burned lasagna in silence.
I filled Jim in on Galigani’s visit, finally asking, “You remember June fifteenth?”
“No. Should I? It’s not our anniversary or anything, right?”
“We were at Paula’s party.”
Jim took a swig of beer, shrugging his shoulders. “So?”
“You left early,” I prodded. “You said you weren’t feeling well. Sinus headache. Remember?”
“Not really. So what does it matter now? It’s October.”
“June fifteenth was the night Brad Avery was murdered.”
Jim stared at me. He put his beer down. “What are you trying to say, Kate?”
“Galigani asked me what we were doing that night. You left the party early. You said you weren’t feeling well. I’m wondering where you went.”
I tried to ignore the queasiness in my stomach.
“I came home.” He said it slowly, enunciating every syllable as though I were a two-year-old.
“That’s just the thing, Jim. I remember calling home that night. You didn’t pick up.”
He took a slow sip of his beer. He smiled widely, then laughed. Was it a nervous laugh?
“Come on, honey. Cut me some slack. I was probably asleep.” He reached out to touch my shoulder.
I sighed. He wrapped his arms around me. I inhaled his familiar scent, a mixture of wind and trees. The nervousness in my stomach dissipated a bit.
He squeezed my shoulders. “You’re getting too wrapped up in this Brad Avery stuff. You’re letting it make you a little goofy, honey.”
I stiffened and pulled away from him. “What do you mean?”
“Christ, Kate, you’re starting to hallucinate. Intruders in the house? Asking me where I was on the night some guy I don’t even know was killed.”
“George knew him.”
Jim frowned. “What are you saying? I haven’t seen George for months. What? You think I secretly met up with him and helped him murder someone?”
“No. I don’t think that.” I shook my head and let out a sigh. “Do you think George . . . Do you think he could kill someone?”
Jim raised his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He voice softened and his shoulders dropped. “He’s impulsive, irresponsible, and has a temper. Do I think George is a cold-blooded murderer? No. Do I think he could have killed someone under certain circumstances?”
He let his question hang in the air. Both of us nodded to each other, knowing the answer was a definite yes.
After a moment I asked, “Why would that investigator ask where we were that night?”
“Kate, they ask questions. That’s what they do. He
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