ready in a minute, Violet. Pot roast and mashed potatoes. Clay said you were friends in Chicago.” The older woman smiled. “He saw my Room For Rent sign in the window and needed a place to stay. After that ruckus last night, I decided we could use a man around to keep us both safe.”
“You’ve moved in with Bernice?” Violet glanced from Clay to Bernice and back to him again.
“The man’s a gem.” Bernice’s face glowed with approval. “I told Clay about that leaky faucet in the back bathroom, and he’s already fixed the problem.”
Violet smiled, although the effort appeared painful. Clay imagined her mentally reviewing everything she’d said at the coffee shop and weighing whether dinner was worth having to put up with him. Hopefully, the mouthwatering aroma of Bernice’s pot roast would convince her to stay.
“I was worried last night and asked the Lord to protect both of us,” Bernice continued. “Then Clay appeared on my doorstep today. He’s an answer to my prayer.” She patted his arm and headed back to the kitchen.
The delightful landlady put more stock in his attempt to help than was deserved, but Bernice’s stamp of approval must have had a positive effect because at that moment, Violet shrugged out of her coat and handed it to Clay.
“Did Bernice run an FBI check on you before you moved in?” she asked.
So that was the problem. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Violet.”
“And get me fired.”
He hung her wrap in the hall closet then followed her into the living room. A couch, love seat and overstuffed chair sat around a brick fireplace where logs blazed.
“The fire’s warm, and you look cold. Didn’t your mother tell you to wear a hat and gloves in the winter?”
Violet threw him a frosty stare. “She was partial to mittens.”
“Which you probably lost on occasion.” He indicated for her to sit on the end of the couch closest to the fireplace. “I picture you as a free-spirit type of kid.”
“More like strong willed. I don’t give up.” She raised her brows.
He got the message. She was determined to write the article on the mob and their connection to the two murdered Montana women.
“My mother called it my Aunt Lettie stubbornness,” Violet added as she settled into the plush cushions on the couch.
“Her sister?”
“Sister-in-law.” Violet’s face shadowed for an instant.
“A favorite aunt?” he asked, hoping to determine the reason for the momentary change of expression.
“According to my mother, I followed in her footsteps.” Violet failed to say more, and Clay wouldn’t push the point.
She crossed her sculpted legs. He fought to keep his eyes from straying south, although he did glance at her shoes. Open toes and much too delicate for Missoula’s winter. “You ever wear boots?”
She looked at her feet. “Only when it snows. Are you always so inquisitive? You sound more like a reporter than a cop.”
“Look, Violet, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot last night and then again today.”
She smiled. “You’re going with a theme. Don’t tell me you have a thing for feet?”
He swallowed down the laughter that tried to surface. The first comment that sprang to mind was he liked all parts of her anatomy, but that hardly seemed appropriate. Besides, their relationship needed to remain focused on the business at hand.
Her safety. What she knew about the Mafia. Thename of her informant. All important topics that had nothing to do with shoes or feet or how he wanted to sit next to her on the couch.
Instead, he plopped down on the love seat. One guy in a two-person couch made him feel like the odd man out.
For the next few minutes, they chatted about Missoula and the scenic spots located in this section of the state, keeping the conversation neutral and safe.
Bernice stepped into the living room and invited them to the table. She led the way and explained the seating arrangement. “Clay, help Violet with the chair on my left.
“You’ve moved in with Bernice?” Violet glanced from Clay to Bernice and back to him again.
“The man’s a gem.” Bernice’s face glowed with approval. “I told Clay about that leaky faucet in the back bathroom, and he’s already fixed the problem.”
Violet smiled, although the effort appeared painful. Clay imagined her mentally reviewing everything she’d said at the coffee shop and weighing whether dinner was worth having to put up with him. Hopefully, the mouthwatering aroma of Bernice’s pot roast would convince her to stay.
“I was worried last night and asked the Lord to protect both of us,” Bernice continued. “Then Clay appeared on my doorstep today. He’s an answer to my prayer.” She patted his arm and headed back to the kitchen.
The delightful landlady put more stock in his attempt to help than was deserved, but Bernice’s stamp of approval must have had a positive effect because at that moment, Violet shrugged out of her coat and handed it to Clay.
“Did Bernice run an FBI check on you before you moved in?” she asked.
So that was the problem. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Violet.”
“And get me fired.”
He hung her wrap in the hall closet then followed her into the living room. A couch, love seat and overstuffed chair sat around a brick fireplace where logs blazed.
“The fire’s warm, and you look cold. Didn’t your mother tell you to wear a hat and gloves in the winter?”
Violet threw him a frosty stare. “She was partial to mittens.”
“Which you probably lost on occasion.” He indicated for her to sit on the end of the couch closest to the fireplace. “I picture you as a free-spirit type of kid.”
“More like strong willed. I don’t give up.” She raised her brows.
He got the message. She was determined to write the article on the mob and their connection to the two murdered Montana women.
“My mother called it my Aunt Lettie stubbornness,” Violet added as she settled into the plush cushions on the couch.
“Her sister?”
“Sister-in-law.” Violet’s face shadowed for an instant.
“A favorite aunt?” he asked, hoping to determine the reason for the momentary change of expression.
“According to my mother, I followed in her footsteps.” Violet failed to say more, and Clay wouldn’t push the point.
She crossed her sculpted legs. He fought to keep his eyes from straying south, although he did glance at her shoes. Open toes and much too delicate for Missoula’s winter. “You ever wear boots?”
She looked at her feet. “Only when it snows. Are you always so inquisitive? You sound more like a reporter than a cop.”
“Look, Violet, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot last night and then again today.”
She smiled. “You’re going with a theme. Don’t tell me you have a thing for feet?”
He swallowed down the laughter that tried to surface. The first comment that sprang to mind was he liked all parts of her anatomy, but that hardly seemed appropriate. Besides, their relationship needed to remain focused on the business at hand.
Her safety. What she knew about the Mafia. Thename of her informant. All important topics that had nothing to do with shoes or feet or how he wanted to sit next to her on the couch.
Instead, he plopped down on the love seat. One guy in a two-person couch made him feel like the odd man out.
For the next few minutes, they chatted about Missoula and the scenic spots located in this section of the state, keeping the conversation neutral and safe.
Bernice stepped into the living room and invited them to the table. She led the way and explained the seating arrangement. “Clay, help Violet with the chair on my left.
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