apparently involved with someone else if that phone call was any indication. Completely off-limits in my book. I'd learned that lesson a few years ago, the hard way.
''I'll talk to him,'' Dovie said, downing another glass of Pinot Grigio. Looking at me pointedly, she added, ''And did you know that Elizabeth just had her first great -grandchild?''
''Boy or girl?'' I asked.
''Girl. Isn't it lovely to have had a great -grandchild so young in life?'' She tittered pretentiously. ''I certainly wish I'll be able to see a great -grandchild before I'm too old and feeble to enjoy the blessing.''
''You'll never be too old. Or too feeble.''
Dovie retrieved plates from an overhead cabinet. ''One never knows what life has in store.''
Not wanting to play her game, I turned my attention to the TV and the continuous coverage of the Little Boy Lost. Salty gusts of wind buffeted the cottage's windows. How long would the little boy last outside?
If he was even alive.
Dovie set the dishes on the dining room table, a rickety plastic folding table complete with tacky metal chairs. I'd been saving for my dream table but was still many dollars short of my goal. Until then a nice tablecloth and slipcovers did a great job camouflaging.
I did a double take.
''Four plates? Why four?''
Even if she had included Grendel in the meal, which had happened more often than I liked to admit, that would be three plates. ''Who's coming?''
Dovie waved a hand in casual dismissal. ''Marisol called earlier. Said she had something for you.''
Oh no. Whenever Marisol brought me something, it was usually furry and needed a lot of TLC.
''Who else?'' I asked.
''Don't you worry about such things.''
Grendel must have sensed my agitation; he jumped off my lap with a loud rrreow .
''Who?'' I asked again, slipping off the stool.
Ignoring me, she launched into a cheery rendition of ''Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.''
Panic set in.
She couldn't have possibly . . .
I eyed her.
She would have—she absolutely would have invited Butch the butcher to my house.
My cell phone rang. I pounced on it, not even looking at the ID screen.
''Hello.'' Please let it be salvation calling.
''Lucy? It's Sean.''
Temptation—not salvation. Close enough in my book.
My grandmother raised a thinly plucked eyebrow in my direction. Fight-or-flight had set in, and seeking to get out of my house as soon as humanly possible was foremost on my mind. I focused on the TV set, on the pictures of the little boy, and I quickly formed a plot to escape.
''Oh, hi, Suz,'' I said airily. ''Any word on the little boy?''
''It's Sean,'' he corrected.
''Oh, that's so sad,'' I said. ''They need more help? I don't think I can. My grandmother made din . . .'' I paused for dramatic effect. ''I know a little boy's life is at stake. . . . Okay, okay, she'll understand.''
''She will not,'' Dovie chimed in, tapping her foot. The staccato beat of her heel echoed.
''I'll call,'' I said, ''as soon as I get there.''
Sean cleared his throat. ''Do you need me to call you back?''
''That would be great.'' I darted for my coat and dug through my front closet for a suitable pair of shoes, a pair of mittens, and my Red Sox stocking cap. ''See you then.''
Dovie stared me down, hands on hips. ''You cannot leave.''
''Sorry, Dovie, but they need more help, looking for the little boy. Gotta run.''
''You wouldn't be trying to pull one over on your grandmother, would you?''
''Tell Marisol I said hi!'' I dashed out the door into the chilly night, my cell phone clutched in my hand.
I should have been feeling bad about leaving Marisol to deal with Butch. Or thinking about the little boy lost in the woods—because I really was going there to help look for him. Or even about Michael Lafferty and how finding him a match had suddenly turned my life inside out.
But all I could think about was Sean Donahue and wanting to hear his voice again.
Even though I knew better.
SIX
My cell rang ten minutes later, as I
''I'll talk to him,'' Dovie said, downing another glass of Pinot Grigio. Looking at me pointedly, she added, ''And did you know that Elizabeth just had her first great -grandchild?''
''Boy or girl?'' I asked.
''Girl. Isn't it lovely to have had a great -grandchild so young in life?'' She tittered pretentiously. ''I certainly wish I'll be able to see a great -grandchild before I'm too old and feeble to enjoy the blessing.''
''You'll never be too old. Or too feeble.''
Dovie retrieved plates from an overhead cabinet. ''One never knows what life has in store.''
Not wanting to play her game, I turned my attention to the TV and the continuous coverage of the Little Boy Lost. Salty gusts of wind buffeted the cottage's windows. How long would the little boy last outside?
If he was even alive.
Dovie set the dishes on the dining room table, a rickety plastic folding table complete with tacky metal chairs. I'd been saving for my dream table but was still many dollars short of my goal. Until then a nice tablecloth and slipcovers did a great job camouflaging.
I did a double take.
''Four plates? Why four?''
Even if she had included Grendel in the meal, which had happened more often than I liked to admit, that would be three plates. ''Who's coming?''
Dovie waved a hand in casual dismissal. ''Marisol called earlier. Said she had something for you.''
Oh no. Whenever Marisol brought me something, it was usually furry and needed a lot of TLC.
''Who else?'' I asked.
''Don't you worry about such things.''
Grendel must have sensed my agitation; he jumped off my lap with a loud rrreow .
''Who?'' I asked again, slipping off the stool.
Ignoring me, she launched into a cheery rendition of ''Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.''
Panic set in.
She couldn't have possibly . . .
I eyed her.
She would have—she absolutely would have invited Butch the butcher to my house.
My cell phone rang. I pounced on it, not even looking at the ID screen.
''Hello.'' Please let it be salvation calling.
''Lucy? It's Sean.''
Temptation—not salvation. Close enough in my book.
My grandmother raised a thinly plucked eyebrow in my direction. Fight-or-flight had set in, and seeking to get out of my house as soon as humanly possible was foremost on my mind. I focused on the TV set, on the pictures of the little boy, and I quickly formed a plot to escape.
''Oh, hi, Suz,'' I said airily. ''Any word on the little boy?''
''It's Sean,'' he corrected.
''Oh, that's so sad,'' I said. ''They need more help? I don't think I can. My grandmother made din . . .'' I paused for dramatic effect. ''I know a little boy's life is at stake. . . . Okay, okay, she'll understand.''
''She will not,'' Dovie chimed in, tapping her foot. The staccato beat of her heel echoed.
''I'll call,'' I said, ''as soon as I get there.''
Sean cleared his throat. ''Do you need me to call you back?''
''That would be great.'' I darted for my coat and dug through my front closet for a suitable pair of shoes, a pair of mittens, and my Red Sox stocking cap. ''See you then.''
Dovie stared me down, hands on hips. ''You cannot leave.''
''Sorry, Dovie, but they need more help, looking for the little boy. Gotta run.''
''You wouldn't be trying to pull one over on your grandmother, would you?''
''Tell Marisol I said hi!'' I dashed out the door into the chilly night, my cell phone clutched in my hand.
I should have been feeling bad about leaving Marisol to deal with Butch. Or thinking about the little boy lost in the woods—because I really was going there to help look for him. Or even about Michael Lafferty and how finding him a match had suddenly turned my life inside out.
But all I could think about was Sean Donahue and wanting to hear his voice again.
Even though I knew better.
SIX
My cell rang ten minutes later, as I
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