The One Safe Place by Kathleen O`Brien Page A

someone?”
    â€œNot expecting, really.” She tried to smile again, but it clearly was becoming more of a strain every minute. “Just hoping, I guess.”
    He looked at her sad mouth and wondered if there was a boyfriend back in New York City, a guy who was ordinarily in charge of making her smile. “But I thought—I mean, who even knows you’re here?”
    â€œDetective Bentley. He promised he’d keep me posted. About the investigation. About whether they’re closing in on…on—”
    â€œOn Doug Lambert.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut it’s only been one day. Surely it’s too soon?”
    â€œYes. I know.” She took a deep breath. “I know it is.”
    They worked in silence another moment, and then she spoke again.
    â€œIt’s just that…they did expect to hear from the florist today. The one who might have sold him the roses.”
    â€œThe roses?” Reed was careful to keep any overly curious quality from his voice. He didn’t want to pry, but he wanted to know everything he could. And it would do her good to talk about it. After her tears last night, she had seemed much more relaxed. She had let him guide her to the bedroom door as limply as an exhausted child.
    â€œThey found three rose petals in my kitchen thatday, next to my sister’s body.” She scrubbed at an already clean glass so hard her knuckles turned as white as the suds. “The problem was that these roses hadn’t come from Doug’s regular florist. He sent me roses all the time, but not this kind.”
    Reed wanted to take the glass out of her hand. She was holding it much too tightly. But he didn’t dare break the flow of words.
    â€œThese roses were a much rarer variety. At first the police thought that meant it hadn’t been Doug after all. But Detective Bentley sent the petals to a botanist, who said it was a variety called ‘Faith.’”
    Reed made a noise in spite of himself.
    A shiver seemed to pass through her, and the glass slipped, plopping into the water. She fished it out again with trembling fingers.
    â€œI think that was when Detective Bentley began to believe me. He finally found the little shop that sold them. It was two blocks from my apartment. We’re waiting for the owner to get back from vacation, to see if he can identify Doug as the man who bought the roses that day.”
    â€œOf course it was.”
    â€œYes.” Her voice was even huskier than usual. “But they need evidence. For a jury. For a conviction.”
    Reed moved closer to the sink. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that call wasn’t Detective Bentley.”
    â€œIt’s all right.” But her voice cracked, and he knew it wasn’t true.
    She turned to hand him the glass. As he reached out, it fell from her shaking fingers and smashed on the wooden floor, splinters of crystal scattering in all directions.
    He bent quickly, and so did she. As they knelt, their faces were only inches apart, and he could feel waves of stress pulsing from her. Her brown eyes were almost black, and a sharp sliver of glass glinted on her shirt, right over her heart.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” she said, and he could feel her struggle to hold herself together, to keep her emotions from flying into a hundred different pieces, just like the glass. She gathered shards quickly, filling her palm. “Please. I’ll clean it up.”
    He caught her by the wrist. “It’s all right,” he said.
    â€œNo, it isn’t.” She bit her lower lip hard and inhaled deeply. The pulse in her wrist was like a jackhammer under his thumb.
    â€œI hate this,” she said. “This isn’t me. I’m not like this.”
    â€œLike what?”
    She held out her palm full of sparkling bits of glass. “Like this. Clumsy. Incompetent. You probably won’t believe it, but I have my own business.