Never Happened by Debra Webb

her knees and dug around inside the sink cabinet until she found what she was looking for. A box of tampons.
    Carefully, she pulled open one end and slid out the tampon. She removed the lower portion of the insertion tube, then gingerly slipped the contact lens from its plastic bag and tucked it into the larger section of the cardboard tube beneath the tampon. Using extreme caution she pushed the lower portion of the tube back into place and returned the whole thing into its plastic sleeve. She then tucked it, sealed end up, into the box, which she placed back under the sink.
    She stood and, as she dusted her palms together, got a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She didn’t like the uncertainty she saw there. For about two seconds she almost called Patton back and gave him the whole deal.
    The doorbell chimed, saving her from having to decide.
    â€œSaved by the bell,” she muttered as she made her way to the living room.
    She’d reached for the door when she considered that this could be trouble. Patton could have decided to stop by. Or it could be the guy who’d killed Henson. All right, she was getting paranoid here. Stay calm. Extra precautions were necessary, that was true, but there was no need to panic just yet.
    In spite of her determination to stay calm her skin prickled with the trepidation that fizzed along her nerve endings.
    Bracing herself, she leaned forward and peered through the peephole in her door.
    The Professor.
    Alex pulled the door open wide. “Hey.” She kicked aside her murder theories and reminded herself to smile. “Is this a social call or is something wrong at work?”
    His own smile was slow in coming. “A little of both perhaps.”
    She stepped back to clear him a path. “Come on in. I was just about to see what I could find in the fridge for dinner. You interested in joining me?” The abrupt yet overwhelming feeling came out of nowhere but she suddenly did not want to be alone this evening.
    â€œI’m always interested in you, Alex.” The Professorentered her home and immediately took stock of the environment though he’d been there at least a dozen times before. “I do love this house,” he noted aloud.
    Alex believed him. He frequently commented on how fortunate she was to have such a lovely yet cozy home in this neighborhood. She wondered if he missed Boston or if he simply felt wistful for a place of his own. He lived in a three-story villa that, several decades ago, had been reinvented as apartments.
    â€œHave a seat, Professor. Would you like a beer?”
    Disapproval flashed briefly in his eyes. “As long as you serve it in a glass.”
    â€œSure thing.” Alex restrained her grin until she’d hustled off to the kitchen for refreshments. The Professor had grandiose ideas about how ladies and gentlemen should conduct themselves. Drinking beer from a bottle or, God forbid, a can did not quite reach the standards to which he clung.
    That was just one of the things she liked about him.
    He was intelligent, charming and had himself some definite standards. She had standards, as well. They just weren’t as lofty as his.
    As she poured the brew into a clean glass, stemmed no less, she wondered what prompted his move fromBoston. She’d considered asking him on occasion, but reminded herself that he told her from the beginning that he didn’t like talking about his past.
    At the time she’d hired him she had been desperate for help. Her business had just taken off and she couldn’t afford to be choosy about personal lives. The man was meticulous at the job and that was all that had mattered at the time. Come to think of it, that was still pretty much all that mattered. The fact that she liked him, considered him part of the family actually, was just icing on the cake.
    That was the thing Alex liked about Never Happened. The whole gang was like one big family. A shrink would probably say her