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There was one in particular who couldn’t get enough of Good Time Charlie.

With that thought in mind, he turned the nose of his car west, out of Portland and toward the coast.

CHAPTER 5

By the time Savvy got to Kristina’s, it was going on nine o’clock and she could feel her own tail dragging. How long had she been up? Too long for her condition, that was for sure. She needed a bath and a rest, and it would be nice to have a drink, but since that was out, a cold Perrier sounded fantastic.

But first ... Kristina.

She knocked on the door and peeked through the sidelight windows that ran along each side of the mahogany door. She looked past the entry toward the kitchen and sunroom beyond, but there was no one in sight. She rang the bell again and heard approaching footsteps—Hale’s probably, as the sound was heavier than her sister’s—and sure enough, Hale St. Cloud came into view and threw open the door.

He’d dressed down from work into a collared gray sweatshirt with a zipper at the throat and a clearly beloved pair of jeans, if the worn-white areas near his knees were any indication. “Hey, Savvy. How are ya?” he asked, giving her a quick hug, the most affection she ever got from him, as he seemed to be one of those guys who was naturally distant, or maybe he was just not interested in knowing anyone from Kristina’s family all that well.

“Not bad,” she said as she followed him into the kitchen, where a bottle of red wine and a half-empty glass sat on the counter. There was a bag with Gino’s name on it, and her mouth watered at the thought of Italian food. Her earlier peanut butter and jelly sandwich wasn’t going to cut it till tomorrow’s breakfast.

Hale saw her look at the bag and asked, “You had dinner, right?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“I’ve got an untouched plate that Kristina refused. Chicken and artichoke linguine.”

“She doesn’t want it?”

“Apparently not.”

“Then, yes,” she said with feeling.

He laughed, and Savannah was taken aback at how attractive he was without that layer of reserve. She’d always sort of felt Kristina had married him for his good looks and, well, money, but now she wondered if she’d been too narrow in her scope. There might be other reasons as well.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked.

“You have any sparkling water?”

“Ummm . . .”

“Or ice water?”

“That I have.” He plucked a glass from the cupboard and took it to the refrigerator door, where he first held it under the ice-maker slot and pressed a button, then, after several cubes had clinked inside, slid it under the coldwater dispenser and filled the glass to just below the brim. “Kristina’s in bed.” He handed the ice water to Savannah.

“She asked me to come by,” she said, surprised. “Is something wrong?”

He picked up the glass of wine and took a swallow. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Have any ideas? She sounded urgent earlier.” Savannah watched as he pulled out a plate of pasta wrapped tightly with plastic wrap and placed it in the microwave.

“She said . . .” He stopped himself and looked over to his left quickly. Kristina was suddenly standing in the aperture that led down the hall to the bedrooms. Her face was pale, and she wore a peach satin nightgown that accentuated her narrow shoulders and collarbones beneath the fall of her dark reddish hair.

“Go on. Tell her what I said,” Kristina stated flatly. “I’d love to hear it.”

Hale turned his attention back to the microwave, and they all waited for the ding that let them know the food was hot. “She said she didn’t feel like herself,” Hale added as he slid the plate in front of one of the stools that clustered around the bar, then turned his palm to it in a gesture that meant for Savannah to sit. “She said she did things she didn’t want to.”

“That’s not exactly what I said,” Kristina protested half angrily.

“Close enough.”

As Savannah seated herself, Hale pulled out flatware and yanked a square of white paper towel from a stainless steel holder on the counter, then handed them to Savannah. Then, with a lift of his hand and a smile of good-bye that was more of a grimace, he strode out of the room and down the hall toward the bedrooms.

Savannah gazed after him, realizing she’d lost her opportunity tonight to interview him about anything to do with Bankruptcy Bluff and the Donatella homicides. At some level she was almost relieved. Given her pregnancy and the fact that he was feeding her dinner, she didn’t really want to throw his hospitality in his face by jumping into an investigative interview. Better to do it in the light of day, she consoled herself. Tomorrow.

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