but he doesn't have the guts to get serious."
Officer Pierce studied his notepad. "Not even with you?"
Laura laughed. "I'm not stupid, Sergeant. We're good friends, that's all. He drops by my apartment two or three times a week and we drink tea."
"Funny. Sounds like the kind of guy who would have made a pass."
"You think I would have accepted?" Laura said lightly, but something about Pierce's comment needled her. Come to think of it, why
hadn't
Dante ever given her a line? She was no beauty, but then most of his women weren't. She wouldn't have taken him up on it, but it was galling to think she didn't live up to even Dante's fairly catholic standards.
Laura knew she wanted a husband and a family—just not quite yet. Was there something in her manner that warned men off? If so, she'd better find out what it was before she started looking for a mate; any signals that put off Dante Ratkay must be pretty hard to ignore.
Or—and this was another disturbing thought—maybe he had made a pass at her and she hadn't even noticed it. Was work absorbing so much of her attention (along with taking care of Mother), that the rest of life was passing her by?
A quick surge of loneliness washed through Laura. She found herself wishing that Dante were here himself, smartly dressed even in the wee hours and making coffee in the little espresso machine, answering questions with his indefatigable charm, joking with her and admiring (as he would) her courage in having driven the Bad Guy off.
But of course he was at the family home she envied so much, sleeping soundly in his childhood bed, no doubt, with the river rolling on at the bottom of the garden. He had a place to go home to for Thanksgiving, where he could still be someone's brother, someone's child. Unlike Laura, who never had a brother or a sister. Who was the only grown-up in her family now.
And what a grown-up thing to do: sit here feeling sorry for yourself!
Laura thought, tartly reprimanding herself.
It's the hour that's making you gloomy, and the aftershock from the excitement.
A faint, acrid smell of gunpowder still lingered in the living room, though a cold draft crept in from the broken kitchen window.
Officer Donnelly's hand crept to his mouth, and Laura couldn't help yawning herself.
"Almost done, Ms. Chen. Can you tell us what the firecrackers were all about?"
"To scare off evil spirits," the angel in the kitchen said promptly. "Right?"
Laura nodded. "I read about the Westwood minotaur in the paper yesterday. Dante has a bit of angel in him, so I guess it was on my mind."
"Does it work?" Donnelly asked, squatting down to examine the pack of used firecrackers with renewed interest.
Laura shrugged. "I don't know. It's what they do in China, and they never forgot how to deal with their ghosts and angels there. That's what my dad used to say, anyway."
Officer Donnelly smiled, and touched the walk-away clipped to his belt. "Man, anything to help out if we run into one of those creepy things."
"I think you'll find a clip of firecrackers in your holster there, Mr. Donnelly," Officer Pierce said witheringly. "A neat little firework that shoots off a steel-jacketed rocket, in fact." He looked back at his notebook. "Hey," he called into the kitchen, glowering. "Why didn't you tell me the occupant was an angel?"
The police angel returned. In her left hand she held a butcher knife, taken from the block on Dante's kitchen counter. "I don't know," she said slowly. "There's something... odd." She tapped the knife blade absently with her fingernails, and her shoulders hunched as she glanced at Laura. "Is your friend scheduled to go into the hospital? Elective surgery, something like that?"
"Not that I know of," Laura said, mystified.
"Oh." The angel's shoulders jumped again. With a small shudder of distaste, she slid the knife carefully back into its block. "Do you have the number where he's staying?"
"That's enough," Officer Pierce growled. "We'll be contacting Mr.
Officer Pierce studied his notepad. "Not even with you?"
Laura laughed. "I'm not stupid, Sergeant. We're good friends, that's all. He drops by my apartment two or three times a week and we drink tea."
"Funny. Sounds like the kind of guy who would have made a pass."
"You think I would have accepted?" Laura said lightly, but something about Pierce's comment needled her. Come to think of it, why
hadn't
Dante ever given her a line? She was no beauty, but then most of his women weren't. She wouldn't have taken him up on it, but it was galling to think she didn't live up to even Dante's fairly catholic standards.
Laura knew she wanted a husband and a family—just not quite yet. Was there something in her manner that warned men off? If so, she'd better find out what it was before she started looking for a mate; any signals that put off Dante Ratkay must be pretty hard to ignore.
Or—and this was another disturbing thought—maybe he had made a pass at her and she hadn't even noticed it. Was work absorbing so much of her attention (along with taking care of Mother), that the rest of life was passing her by?
A quick surge of loneliness washed through Laura. She found herself wishing that Dante were here himself, smartly dressed even in the wee hours and making coffee in the little espresso machine, answering questions with his indefatigable charm, joking with her and admiring (as he would) her courage in having driven the Bad Guy off.
But of course he was at the family home she envied so much, sleeping soundly in his childhood bed, no doubt, with the river rolling on at the bottom of the garden. He had a place to go home to for Thanksgiving, where he could still be someone's brother, someone's child. Unlike Laura, who never had a brother or a sister. Who was the only grown-up in her family now.
And what a grown-up thing to do: sit here feeling sorry for yourself!
Laura thought, tartly reprimanding herself.
It's the hour that's making you gloomy, and the aftershock from the excitement.
A faint, acrid smell of gunpowder still lingered in the living room, though a cold draft crept in from the broken kitchen window.
Officer Donnelly's hand crept to his mouth, and Laura couldn't help yawning herself.
"Almost done, Ms. Chen. Can you tell us what the firecrackers were all about?"
"To scare off evil spirits," the angel in the kitchen said promptly. "Right?"
Laura nodded. "I read about the Westwood minotaur in the paper yesterday. Dante has a bit of angel in him, so I guess it was on my mind."
"Does it work?" Donnelly asked, squatting down to examine the pack of used firecrackers with renewed interest.
Laura shrugged. "I don't know. It's what they do in China, and they never forgot how to deal with their ghosts and angels there. That's what my dad used to say, anyway."
Officer Donnelly smiled, and touched the walk-away clipped to his belt. "Man, anything to help out if we run into one of those creepy things."
"I think you'll find a clip of firecrackers in your holster there, Mr. Donnelly," Officer Pierce said witheringly. "A neat little firework that shoots off a steel-jacketed rocket, in fact." He looked back at his notebook. "Hey," he called into the kitchen, glowering. "Why didn't you tell me the occupant was an angel?"
The police angel returned. In her left hand she held a butcher knife, taken from the block on Dante's kitchen counter. "I don't know," she said slowly. "There's something... odd." She tapped the knife blade absently with her fingernails, and her shoulders hunched as she glanced at Laura. "Is your friend scheduled to go into the hospital? Elective surgery, something like that?"
"Not that I know of," Laura said, mystified.
"Oh." The angel's shoulders jumped again. With a small shudder of distaste, she slid the knife carefully back into its block. "Do you have the number where he's staying?"
"That's enough," Officer Pierce growled. "We'll be contacting Mr.
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