the bottom of the pan. “Given the chance.” He was standing so close to me I could feel the heat coming off of him. The smell of his cologne was expensively nauseating. He turned and gave me a steady stare that probably made his girlfriends in college swoon. It made me want to gag.
“He never tried anything with you?” The suggestion in his voice wasn’t lost on me. It wouldn’t have been lost on the most backward eight-year-old.
I returned his look with a cold stare, “Are you trying to insult me?” I asked, “Or are you always this crass?”
“Uh huh,” he said with a nod and a knowing smile, as if that decided him about me. “Just questions I have to ask, Mrs. de Montagne. A woman as attractive as you must be used to unwanted advances.”
“You’d be surprised how infrequently that happens,” I replied. “And Kevin certainly never said or did anything rude. More men should follow his example.”
“Just a question,” he repeated, holding his palm out as he backed away. “Has Ben already asked all this?”
“Most of it,” I replied as I spread the tomato wedges on top of the lettuce.
“Then I won’t take up any more of your time.” He turned up the wattage on his smile. “I do need to speak to your daughter, however.” He pulled a small leather bound pad from his jacket pocket and flipped to an inner page. “Jessica,” he read and snapped the book closed.
“Is that absolutely necessary?” I asked, unable to hide my exasperation. “She was asleep when it happened, and she barely knew Kevin.”
“I’m afraid so. Sorry,” Priest said, still smiling.
“Let me get these out of the oven and I’ll call her down,” I told him as I slipped on an oven mitt. The tomatoes’ skins were starting to shrivel and the cheese was bubbly and browned..
“Wow,” he said and I could feel his damp breath on my neck, “those look fantastic. Any chance of a lunch invitation?”
I gave him a fake-polite smile. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t expecting guests. I made only enough for the men and myself. Next time.” I hoped there never was a next time. I had already seen more of Priest than I cared to.
“Rain check,” he said. “Now, Jessica?”
“I’ll get her,” I said, glad to leave him behind.
I walked through the dining room furnished in antique English barley twist furniture, and through the sitting room, where a sheet of plastic was taped over the broken picture window. I seethed internally as I looked at the glass scattered over the floor, but tried to calm myself before heading up to Jessica’s room. Whatever she might decide, Stanley had been in my home, on my property, for the last time. If I saw him again, I’d do him great bodily harm. I made a mental note to call a glazier and have the window replaced. A thousand dollars down the drain.
Jessica was lying across her bed reading from a piece of notebook paper and crying when I pushed through her door. She stuffed the letter under her bosom as I came in, and looked guiltily at me. She tried on a wan smile that didn’t work with the tears.
“Hey, mom,” she said and the thoughts of Stanley and Jessica’s torturous love affair were banished by that starburst of love only a mother can understand. She was such a good person, caring, thoughtful, considerate. I was very lucky in so many ways, but her choice in men was as bad as my own. How many nights had we sat up dissecting Stanley down to the last greasy particle only to have Jessica go back to him the next day? But what could I do? I was her mother, not her jailer.
“The detective wants to speak with you,” I told her, crossing the room and reaching down to smooth her hair. She pulled away and stared up at me with startled eyes.
“Me?” she asked. “Why? I don’t know anything. I was asleep.” She sat up on the edge of the bed, slipping the letter into her front pocket. It was probably a note from Stanley, the window smasher. “What does he want?” She seemed
“He never tried anything with you?” The suggestion in his voice wasn’t lost on me. It wouldn’t have been lost on the most backward eight-year-old.
I returned his look with a cold stare, “Are you trying to insult me?” I asked, “Or are you always this crass?”
“Uh huh,” he said with a nod and a knowing smile, as if that decided him about me. “Just questions I have to ask, Mrs. de Montagne. A woman as attractive as you must be used to unwanted advances.”
“You’d be surprised how infrequently that happens,” I replied. “And Kevin certainly never said or did anything rude. More men should follow his example.”
“Just a question,” he repeated, holding his palm out as he backed away. “Has Ben already asked all this?”
“Most of it,” I replied as I spread the tomato wedges on top of the lettuce.
“Then I won’t take up any more of your time.” He turned up the wattage on his smile. “I do need to speak to your daughter, however.” He pulled a small leather bound pad from his jacket pocket and flipped to an inner page. “Jessica,” he read and snapped the book closed.
“Is that absolutely necessary?” I asked, unable to hide my exasperation. “She was asleep when it happened, and she barely knew Kevin.”
“I’m afraid so. Sorry,” Priest said, still smiling.
“Let me get these out of the oven and I’ll call her down,” I told him as I slipped on an oven mitt. The tomatoes’ skins were starting to shrivel and the cheese was bubbly and browned..
“Wow,” he said and I could feel his damp breath on my neck, “those look fantastic. Any chance of a lunch invitation?”
I gave him a fake-polite smile. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t expecting guests. I made only enough for the men and myself. Next time.” I hoped there never was a next time. I had already seen more of Priest than I cared to.
“Rain check,” he said. “Now, Jessica?”
“I’ll get her,” I said, glad to leave him behind.
I walked through the dining room furnished in antique English barley twist furniture, and through the sitting room, where a sheet of plastic was taped over the broken picture window. I seethed internally as I looked at the glass scattered over the floor, but tried to calm myself before heading up to Jessica’s room. Whatever she might decide, Stanley had been in my home, on my property, for the last time. If I saw him again, I’d do him great bodily harm. I made a mental note to call a glazier and have the window replaced. A thousand dollars down the drain.
Jessica was lying across her bed reading from a piece of notebook paper and crying when I pushed through her door. She stuffed the letter under her bosom as I came in, and looked guiltily at me. She tried on a wan smile that didn’t work with the tears.
“Hey, mom,” she said and the thoughts of Stanley and Jessica’s torturous love affair were banished by that starburst of love only a mother can understand. She was such a good person, caring, thoughtful, considerate. I was very lucky in so many ways, but her choice in men was as bad as my own. How many nights had we sat up dissecting Stanley down to the last greasy particle only to have Jessica go back to him the next day? But what could I do? I was her mother, not her jailer.
“The detective wants to speak with you,” I told her, crossing the room and reaching down to smooth her hair. She pulled away and stared up at me with startled eyes.
“Me?” she asked. “Why? I don’t know anything. I was asleep.” She sat up on the edge of the bed, slipping the letter into her front pocket. It was probably a note from Stanley, the window smasher. “What does he want?” She seemed
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