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He sat down, caught her hand, and pulled her down into his lap. He studied her for so long and so intently that she flushed.
“I have to leave when I finish this case,” he said through his teeth.
Her eyes were full of the sadness she felt. “Yes. I know.”
“I’m too old for you, honey. And I don’t think I could give up the work I do.”
“I know all that,” she replied. She touched his wide, chiseled mouth with her fingertips. “I’m making memories to live on. That’s all.” She had to stop, because she choked up.
He drew her face into his neck and hugged her close. “Yeah. Me, too,” he whispered at her ear. “Sweet memories. And that’s how they’re going to stay.” He pulled back and met her watery eyes with his dark ones. “Innocent. Like you.”
She forced a smile. “Sorry.”
“What for?” he teased, and he kissed her nose.
“I don’t want to embarrass you or anything.”
“I’m never embarrassed. I’ll miss you,” he added quietly. “It will be hard, for both of us, for a few weeks. But we’ll adjust.”
“We will,” she said. “We both have important jobs.” She got up reluctantly. “Your soup will get cold.”
He smiled. “Okay.” He tasted it. “Wow,” he said, glancing at her. “It’s awesome.”
She smiled back, from ear to ear. “Mama’s recipe. She was a wonderful cook.”
“So are you, baby,” he said softly.
She flushed again, at the endearment. “I’ll just get the coffee,” she blurted out, anxious to find something to do that wouldn’t call attention to her embarrassment. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her because he was leaving. But it broke her heart. He might get over it in a few weeks. She knew that she never would.
He finished his soup, kissed her gently, and forced himself to go back to the motel. He really wanted to stay. He was being woven into the fabric of her life and he loved it. But there were just too many obstacles.
* * *
The next morning, thanks to a phone call from an acquaintance of his who was high up in politics, and who had pulled a few strings for him, Tom had the results of the thermos test. There was, indeed, poison in the tea May had taken to Billy Turner. He had concrete evidence that she’d killed the man, and he called in Jeff Ralston and a deputy to accompany him to the Downing home.
Alice opened the door, smiled, and ushered them in.
“I need to see May,” Tom told her.
“She’s in the living room trying to talk Mr. Downing into buying her a new couture dress,” she said, tongue-in-cheek.
“Oh, I’m going to make sure she has a nice new orange jumpsuit, the latest in fashion,” he returned. He walked on into the living room.
Downing was glaring at May. “. . . not about to spend that amount of money on—” he was saying. He stopped when he saw the delegation enter the room. “Hello,” he said, rising. “Can I help you?”
“We’re here for Miss Strickland,” Tom said. “She’s a material witness in a murder and kidnapping investigation.”
The deputy turned May around, handcuffed her neatly, and turned her back again.
“I didn’t kill Julie!” she exclaimed red-faced. “It was Billy Turner!”
Tom glanced around. Plenty of witnesses to that statement, including Alice. “But you helped him, Miss Strickland,” he replied, holding back his ace card.
“I just . . . just . . .” She stopped. She looked at Tom with cold eyes. “That’s not what you’re arresting me for,” she said suddenly.
“No, it isn’t,” Tom replied. “I’m arresting you for the murder of Billy Turner.”
She started to speak and then just slumped. “He ran out of money, and then he tried to blackmail me about Julie. We never meant to kill her,” she added curtly. “We left her in that cabin with the heat on. We couldn’t know there would be a power failure when we tied her up. She was supposed to be alive. We wore disguises. She didn’t even recognize us!”
