Hatfield and McCoy by Heather Graham Page B

business.
    Well, she wasn’t particularly pleased about the turn of events herself. She had been so tired when he had left. Deliciously sleepy, worn and warm. She had barely roused herself when she’d heard him whisper that he was leaving and felt his kiss on her forehead. And when she had fallen asleep again, it had been a deep, comfortable sleep.
    Then her doorbell had seemed to shrill with the force of a million banshees, and she had shot up, disoriented. The doorbell had continued that awful screeching as she promised herself that she was either going to get a new one or rip the entire thing out while she hopped around, quickly trying to drag on a pair of jeans so that she could answer the summons and make the noise stop.
    Joe Silver and Patty had been on her porch. “Petty wants to see you, Julie. He said that we’re not to let you escape. We’re to sit right here until you’re ready to go to the station.”
    â€œYou’re kidding,” Julie told her.
    â€œNo. I’ll make the coffee. Have you any of that mocha blend to grind? I love it. It tastes better at your house than any other place in the world.”
    â€œThanks, yes, grind away,” Julie called after her, looking at Joe Silver. He was a nice-looking man, mid-thirties, medium height and build, dark brown eyes, with a great smile. Julie had wondered for a long time if there wasn’t something going on between him and Patty.
    Patty always denied it.
    â€œWhat does Petty want?” Julie asked Joe.
    â€œHe wants you to talk to a police artist from Charlestown, a man who’s supposed to be one of West Virginia’s finest.”
    â€œA police artist?”
    â€œYes. To give him a description.”
    â€œBut a description of what? I didn’t see anything!”
    Joe shrugged. “Well, I told Petty that. He’s just grasping at straws, but you know Petty when he gets something set in his mind.”
    â€œYes, I know Petty.”
    â€œCoffee’s on. Get ready, Julie,” Patty said. “We’re not allowed to let you dawdle.”
    â€œDoes our G-man know I’m coming?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.
    â€œYes, he knows,” Joe told her. He was watching her closely. So was Patty. Had they both guessed that there was something going on between her and McCoy?
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd what?” Patty demanded.
    â€œHe can’t be pleased.”
    â€œOh, he isn’t,” Patty assured her cheerfully, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “But it is Petty’s station. And even our real McCoy respects that. Um, wake up and smell the coffee. Isn’t that a great aroma?” she asked Joe. “I’ll get you some. Julie Hatfield, you go get ready!”
    So she’d gotten dressed, choosing a light knit business suit with a soft white lace-trimmed blouse beneath, and stockings, fully aware that she’d need to be composed around her doubting McCoy.
    She hadn’t quite expected the look she was getting from him now. He hadn’t addressed her since she’d come into the station.
    Now he was half leaning and half sitting on Petty’s broad desk, his arms crossed, one long leg firmly on the floor, the other dangling. The police artist was sitting next to Julie, and Petty was in front of her, straddling an office chair and resting his chin on the high arched back of it as he watched Julie. Joe and Patty had been dismissed after bringing her in. Timothy Riker, the chief’s right-hand man, was there, too.
    If McCoy wasn’t speaking to Julie at the moment, then Julie made sure she didn’t have anything to say to him. She addressed Petty and the artist. “I didn’t really see the man, Petty. If I’d had any kind of a picture, I would have told you. You know that.”
    â€œYes, Miss Hatfield, but anything would be helpful at this point. Any impression at all. All I want you to do is close your eyes and