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“Put slices on your eyes, silly,” Shelley said in exasperation. She often sounded exasperated when dealing with Jaine. “It’ll make the swelling go down.”
“I have some eye pads for that.”
“Cucumbers are better. Sit down.”
Because she was so tired, Jaine sat. She watched as Shelley took an enormous cucumber out of her shoulder bag and washed it, then looked around. “Where are your knives?”
“I don’t know. One of the drawers.”
“You don’t know where your knives are?”
“Please. I haven’t lived here even a month yet. How long did it take you to get unpacked when you and Al moved?”
“Well, let’s see, we moved eight years ago, so … eight years.” Humor sparkled in Shelley’s eyes as she began methodically opening and closing cabinet drawers.
There was one hard rap on the kitchen door; then it opened before she could get up. Sam stepped into the kitchen. “I saw a strange car and came over to make sure no reporters were bothering you,” he said to Jaine. Legions of reporters had called the night before, including representatives from all four major television networks.
Shelley turned around with the huge cucumber in her hand. “Who are you?” she asked bluntly.
“Her neighbor the cop,” Sam said. He eyed the cucumber. “Have I interrupted something?”
Jaine wanted to hit him, but she didn’t have the energy. Still, something in her lightened at his presence. “She’s going to put it on my eyes.”
He gave her a sideways, you-gotta-be-kidding look. “It’ll roll off.”
She decided she would definitely hit him. Later. “Cucumber slices.”
His expression changed to skeptical, I-wanna-see-this. He went to the cabinet and took down another cup and poured himself some coffee. Lounging against the cabinets with his long legs crossed, he waited.
Shelley turned to Jaine, more than a little bemused. “Who is this?” she demanded.
“My neighbor,” Jaine said. “Shelley, this is Sam Donovan. Sam, my sister, Shelley.”
He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Shelley shook hands, but she looked as if she didn’t want to. She resumed looking for a knife. “You live here three weeks, and you already have a neighbor who just walks in and knows where your coffee cups are?”
“I’m a detective,” Sam told her, grinning. “It’s my job to find out stuff.”
Shelley gave him her Queen Victoria look, the one that said she was not amused.
Jaine thought about getting up and hugging him, just because he made her feel better. She didn’t know what she would have done without him yesterday. He had been a rock, standing like a wall between her and all the phone calls, and when Sam told someone to stop calling, there was a note in his voice that made people pay attention.
But he wouldn’t be there today, she realized. He was dressed for work, in light tan slacks and a crisp white shirt. His pager was clipped to his belt, and his pistol rode on his right kidney Shelley kept eyeing him as if he were some exotic species, only half her attention on finding a knife.
She finally opened the correct drawer, though, and pulled out a paring knife.
“Oh,” Jaine said with mild interest. “So that’s where they are.”
Shelley turned to face Sam, knife in one hand and cucumber in the other. “Are you sleeping together?” she asked in a hostile tone.
“Shelley!” Jaine said sharply.
“Not yet,” Sam said with utter confidence.
Silence fell in the kitchen. Shelley began peeling the cucumber with short, vicious strokes of the knife.
“You don’t look much like sisters,” Sam observed, as if he hadn’t just stoppe
