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“Maybe,” Natalie said noncommittally, though holiday displays were pretty much the last thing on her mind right then. She wasn’t in a holiday mood.
Though she consented to let Natalie help her clear the table after the meal, Molly refused to allow her to help clean the kitchen. “There’s very little left to do. Kyle and I will take care of it together after we put the kids to bed.”
Natalie lingered only a few minutes after the meal ended, just long enough that she hoped her visit wouldn’t qualify as an eat-and-run. Her chance to escape appeared when Micah began to fuss and Molly explained that he was ready to be fed. Natalie excused herself then, thanking both Molly and Kyle for the nice meal and telling them she’d like to get back up the mountain before it got too late.
Casey stood when she did. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“That isn’t—”
But he’d already opened the door and was motioning for her to go out ahead of him. She stepped out, snuggling into her black leather coat when a cool night breeze swirled around her. Casey closed the door behind them then fell into step beside her. He hadn’t donned a coat over the long-sleeve denim shirt he wore loose over a light gray T-shirt and jeans, but he didn’t seem to notice the chill.
“Nice meal, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “Very.”
“My cousin’s quite a talker.”
“I like her.”
“Everyone does. She’s a lot like her mom. My aunt Cassie.”
“Cassie? Were you named after her?”
“No. Mine’s a family name. On my mother’s side.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I thought I’d come do some work on the outside of your cabin tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”
“On a Saturday? Don’t you take weekends off?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really have anything else to do. And the weather’s supposed to be nice tomorrow. In the sixties. Might as well take advantage of it.”
Once again, she wondered about his background, and why he had nothing better to do on a nice Saturday than work on her cabin. But she simply said, “It doesn’t matter to me if you come tomorrow. I’ll be at my computer most of the day.”
She suspected that he was as curious about her as she was about him, but he seemed no more willing to open the door to questions. He nodded. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow then. I won’t come too early, so you don’t have to worry that I’ll wake you at dawn hammering or anything.”
“I tend to be an early riser anyway.” She opened her car door. “Good night, Casey.”
“Good night, Natalie. Drive carefully.”
“Yes, I will. Thanks.”
She noted in her rearview mirror that he waited until she’d started her car and exited the driveway before he turned to go back inside.
Natalie was in the living room with her laptop and a second cup of coffee when she heard Casey’s truck in the driveway the next morning. He didn’t come to the door to announce his arrival, probably because he knew she was expecting him to show up, but went straight to work on the outside repairs. She heard the hammering start and she hoped he didn’t break anything today—especially any of his bones.She sat on a deep-cushioned, comfortable, green micro-suede sofa facing a corner rock fireplace over which hung a flat-screen TV connected to a satellite dish on the roof. A DVD player, a selection of popular DVDs and a gaming system were discreetly hidden in a cabinet beside the fireplace. A recliner and a rocker were placed on either side of the couch, convenient for conversation, television or fire watching.
A wall of big windows and a sliding glass door that opened onto the deck were just beside the fireplace, providing scenic views of the surrounding mountaintops that could compete with any electronic media for entertainment value. From those windows, Natalie had watched birds, squirrels and deer emerging from the woods backed up to the small lawn area.
She tried to concentrate on her computer screen, bu
t she had grimly decided that she was even worse at computer investigations than Casey was at maintenance work. She’d used every search engine she knew, but she’d found nothing about anyone in the firm that could be perceived as evidence that she’d been set up by one of them to take a professional fall.
So Cathy Linski had bought a new car. That was far from incontrovertible evidence of anything except possibly questionable financial judgment.
As for her P.I.—she was beginning to have some doubts about the guy. She had tried twice to reach him that morning, and had gotten nothing but his voice mail. She should have listened to her instincts when she’d first met him. A burly, former police officer in his late thirties, he’d seemed a little sleazy, a bit of a braggart and more than a little annoying. But she’d convinced herself that most private investigators were probably like that, and that she didn’t have to like him personally to work with him. But had her intuition been trying to tell her that he wasn’t going to be a reliable resource?
She set the computer aside in frustration, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do if neither her own clumsy research nor her P.I.’s efforts turned up the evidence she needed to clear her name. Try to believe that some other firm would take a chance and hire her on the basis of her word alone that she had not betrayed the attorney-client privilege for monetary gain? Open her own storefront practice and pray the scandal wasn’t uncovered to humiliate her? Give up and find another career despite the long years of training she had put in to establish this one?
A tap on the back door broke into her unhappy musings. Sighing, she walked into the kitchen, hoping the first aid kit had the supplies to handle whatever Casey’s latest crisis was.
Automatically running a hand through her hair, she opened the door. “Good morning.”
