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Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling.
She pulled back onto the road and accelerated, heading toward home as quickly as caution would allow. The air was bitter cold, leaving the side roads icy and dangerous.
The feeling persisted.
A half mile before reaching her condo, she pulled off onto the shoulder again. This time, she cut the engine and turned off her lights so she could see without being seen.
Other than Terror and Scamp giving her puzzled looks from the backseat, she saw nothing.
Maybe she was becoming paranoid.
With a disgusted sound, she started her car and steered back onto the road. Minutes later, she turned down her winding street and into her driveway.
Gathering up the two dogs, she hurried up the walk that led to her town house.
“Hi,” Merry greeted her, glancing up from the computer she’d been working on. “Everything okay?”
“I guess.” Devon squatted down to deposit Terror and Scamp on the floor. “I’m a little strung out. Probably overtired. I need some sleep.”
“Who wouldn’t after two hot nights on the town?”
“Very funny.” Devon rose and shrugged out of her coat. “How about here? Everything all right?”
“Pretty quiet. Oh, except for your flower delivery.” Merry made the announcement in a slow, exaggerated tone. “An exquisite bouquet—orange lilies, yellow roses, and assorted purple sprays. I’ve been dying to read the card all afternoon.”
Devon chuckled. “So why didn’t you?”
“I’m nosy, but I’m not totally intrusive. I waited for you. But now let’s find out which one of your avid suitors is trying to impress you.” She jumped up and led Devon into the kitchen, where the flowers were displayed in a designer vase.
“You’re right. They are impressive
.” Devon tugged the tiny envelope free of its plastic tine holder and slipped out the card. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to see. And she wasn’t waiting to figure it out.
She scanned the card, which read: You’re in my thoughts. Hope I’m in yours. I’ll break away as soon as I can, and we’ll pick up where we left off. Till then, look at these and think of me.—James.
“Well?” Merry demanded.
“They’re from James.” Devon realized as she said it that she wasn’t surprised. This kind of grand gesture screamed “James” at the top of its lungs.
And Blake?
Blake’s idea of a postdate gesture would probably be lining up a sled rematch on Pilgrim Hill.
The thought made her smile.
“I guess you’re happy,” Merry observed.
“They’re beautiful,” Devon replied. “And, yes, flattering.”
“Good. You can tell that to James. He called twice. So did Blake. James left his number in Florida. Blake said to call his cell. So, the contenders are running neck and neck. The tension is mounting. I can’t wait to see who crosses the finish line first.”
“No one’s crossing any line,” Devon retorted. “This is a plan, remember? I’m helping Monty figure out who killed Frederick Pierson. Period.”
“Yeah. Right.” Meredith rolled her eyes. “I believe the helping Monty part. But the ‘period’? No way. You’re into this. Or into them. You’ve got those Pierson grandsons chomping at the bit—excuse the double entendre. And you’re chomping right back. No way this is just business.”
Devon shot her a look. “Go back to your econ assignment. I have to call James and say thank you.”
“Don’t forget Blake,” Merry reminded her good-naturedly as she headed back to the living room. “He’s waiting, too.”
