table. That necklace. And you.”
The antipasti came, which we lingered over. I can’t remember when anything tasted so good to me. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Being stalked by an ax murderer can help you work up an appetite, I guess.
“What was her name again?” David asked, spearing a slice of salami.
“Whose?”
“Your mother’s.”
“Mary Nell,” I said. “Everyone always called her Nell. She hated it. My brother and I had all sorts of variations on it. Mary Nelly, Mary Nelly Jelly, Mary Nelly Jelly Belly.”
He laughed. “I bet she loved that one.”
“She hated them all. She thought Nell was a more appropriate name for a bovine than a woman. She claimed she was named after a little red heifer.”
“Was it true?” he asked.
“Her dad raised cattle. Outside Hillsboro, actually. She spenther whole childhood milking cows, cleaning stalls, and kicking bales of hay out the back of her dad’s pickup.”
“Ah. The origin of the Texas milkmaid image.”
“Yep,” I said. “Pass the garlic bread, please.”
“Have you suspended your new thigh fitness program?” he asked, adding quickly, “Not that I think you need one in the first place.”
“Thigh
Recovery
Program. They used to be there. I just want them back.” I took a bite of bread. “I have a greater need for garlic bread and gnocchi than for firm thighs at the moment. It’s been a rough week.”
“Any new developments?”
I told him about Gordon Pryne. And the weird, murderer-stalker note.
“I might have to rescind my toast,” he said. “I didn’t think your life could get any worse.”
“Well it is.”
“You have a knack.”
“Thank you.”
“Pardon my provincial, controlling male attitude, but I don’t think I can let you stay at that house by yourself.”
“Let?” I raised my eyebrows. “Did I just hear you say let? Surely you didn’t say let.”
He nodded. “Let is exactly what I said. Don’t even start with me.”
“I don’t think it’s really up to you, David. But I appreciate your concern. I really do.”
“You are the most impossibly stubborn woman I have ever met in my life.”
I smiled sweetly. “Thank you.” I held out my glass for more wine. “Truth is, I don’t have anywhere else to stay. It occurs to me that I have no friends. Which is pathetic because I have lived in this city pretty much forever. I work too much.”
“No kidding.”
I glared at him.
“And even if I did have someone to stay with, I’d just be leading an ax murderer to their house. The man’s attacked two women at once before.”
“A hotel,” he said. “What about that?”
“A hotel wouldn’t do me any good. I wouldn’t be any safer there.”
“Stay with me,” he said.
“I’m not commuting from Hillsboro, David. And besides, it’s a small town. People would talk.”
“People talk anyway. The women of that town have had me married, divorced, and gay all in the same week.”
“You’re fast. And adaptable, apparently.”
He feigned modesty. “I do what I can.”
“McKnight suggested I buy a gun. Or get a dog.”
“How about both? I’ll pick out the gun, you pick out the dog.”
“We’ll see.”
I was tired of talking about Gordon Pryne and worrying about getting whacked with an ax. I wanted to enjoy my birthday supper. So I raised my glass and changed the subject, and we finished our dinner talking about regulation boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. I had my first taste of normalcy in days. Not to mention the gnocchi. Which was lovely.
Somehow the effort of conducting ourselves in a nonemergency manner wore us both out. I asked him to take me home after supper. David checked the house for me before he left, and then I sent him away with a good-night kiss, faking bravery but secretly wanting to be protected and rescued and saved from the bogeyman and the bogey-demon.
After he left, I paced the house for a while, unable to settle myself down. I finally landed at the dining room table
The antipasti came, which we lingered over. I can’t remember when anything tasted so good to me. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Being stalked by an ax murderer can help you work up an appetite, I guess.
“What was her name again?” David asked, spearing a slice of salami.
“Whose?”
“Your mother’s.”
“Mary Nell,” I said. “Everyone always called her Nell. She hated it. My brother and I had all sorts of variations on it. Mary Nelly, Mary Nelly Jelly, Mary Nelly Jelly Belly.”
He laughed. “I bet she loved that one.”
“She hated them all. She thought Nell was a more appropriate name for a bovine than a woman. She claimed she was named after a little red heifer.”
“Was it true?” he asked.
“Her dad raised cattle. Outside Hillsboro, actually. She spenther whole childhood milking cows, cleaning stalls, and kicking bales of hay out the back of her dad’s pickup.”
“Ah. The origin of the Texas milkmaid image.”
“Yep,” I said. “Pass the garlic bread, please.”
“Have you suspended your new thigh fitness program?” he asked, adding quickly, “Not that I think you need one in the first place.”
“Thigh
Recovery
Program. They used to be there. I just want them back.” I took a bite of bread. “I have a greater need for garlic bread and gnocchi than for firm thighs at the moment. It’s been a rough week.”
“Any new developments?”
I told him about Gordon Pryne. And the weird, murderer-stalker note.
“I might have to rescind my toast,” he said. “I didn’t think your life could get any worse.”
“Well it is.”
“You have a knack.”
“Thank you.”
“Pardon my provincial, controlling male attitude, but I don’t think I can let you stay at that house by yourself.”
“Let?” I raised my eyebrows. “Did I just hear you say let? Surely you didn’t say let.”
He nodded. “Let is exactly what I said. Don’t even start with me.”
“I don’t think it’s really up to you, David. But I appreciate your concern. I really do.”
“You are the most impossibly stubborn woman I have ever met in my life.”
I smiled sweetly. “Thank you.” I held out my glass for more wine. “Truth is, I don’t have anywhere else to stay. It occurs to me that I have no friends. Which is pathetic because I have lived in this city pretty much forever. I work too much.”
“No kidding.”
I glared at him.
“And even if I did have someone to stay with, I’d just be leading an ax murderer to their house. The man’s attacked two women at once before.”
“A hotel,” he said. “What about that?”
“A hotel wouldn’t do me any good. I wouldn’t be any safer there.”
“Stay with me,” he said.
“I’m not commuting from Hillsboro, David. And besides, it’s a small town. People would talk.”
“People talk anyway. The women of that town have had me married, divorced, and gay all in the same week.”
“You’re fast. And adaptable, apparently.”
He feigned modesty. “I do what I can.”
“McKnight suggested I buy a gun. Or get a dog.”
“How about both? I’ll pick out the gun, you pick out the dog.”
“We’ll see.”
I was tired of talking about Gordon Pryne and worrying about getting whacked with an ax. I wanted to enjoy my birthday supper. So I raised my glass and changed the subject, and we finished our dinner talking about regulation boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. I had my first taste of normalcy in days. Not to mention the gnocchi. Which was lovely.
Somehow the effort of conducting ourselves in a nonemergency manner wore us both out. I asked him to take me home after supper. David checked the house for me before he left, and then I sent him away with a good-night kiss, faking bravery but secretly wanting to be protected and rescued and saved from the bogeyman and the bogey-demon.
After he left, I paced the house for a while, unable to settle myself down. I finally landed at the dining room table
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