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She turned toward him after she entered the house. “Your business is finished?”
“Yes. Unless there’s a new development. But I doubt that will happen.” Sad, but true.
“So why not set up a real date at the coffee shop with this intriguing woman?” Her eyes began to twinkle. “Your description of her, not mine.”
Radiation certainly hadn’t messed with Nan’s memory ... or her romantic inclinations.
“She’d have to be willing—and I didn’t get the impression she was.”
Nan arched her eyebrows. “How is that possible? She couldn’t do any better in the fine young man department than you.”
He managed to dredge up a chuckle. “You may be a mite prejudiced.”
“No, I’m not. But if she can’t see your stellar qualities, she’s not worth pursuing, anyway.” She clapped a hand over her mouth as a yawn snuck up on her. “The bed is calling. Give me an hour.”
“Take your time. I have plenty to do.”
They parted in the kitchen, and while Nan slowly traversedthe hall toward her bedroom in the tidy ranch house he’d called home for most of his growing-up years, Marc stowed their dinner in the fridge, returned to the car for his laptop, and booted up at the kitchen table.
Emails first.
He scrolled through the half dozen that had come in over the past forty-five minutes, searching for a name that wasn’t there, as he’d been doing for two days.
Of course Bri hadn’t contacted him. She’d assured him she didn’t expect him to stay involved in a case that lacked substance, and he hadn’t pushed to remain engaged.
Too bad he didn’t have something more to offer.
Unless he could think of something. An insight, perhaps, that would give him an excuse to call her again.
He rose and strolled toward the coffeemaker, rereading her last message to him from Friday night about their coffee shop meeting. Maybe a jolt of caffeine would kick-start his creative juices.
Because given the low odds that he’d ever hear from Bri Tucker again, it was up to him to come up with a plausible justification to initiate further contact.
And hope she was receptive.
THERE WAS NOEXCUSE TO CALL MARC.
Was there?
As she pulled out of the police headquarters parking lot and accelerated toward the highway entrance ramp, Bri flicked a glance at the cell on the seat beside her.
While she’d received confirmation that the piece of crystal he’d noticed in Les’s yard was, indeed, cut in the Lismore pattern and did match the corner of the Waterford clock County had given the former fire investigator as a retirement present, that didn’t constitute a breakthrough in the case or merit further discussion.
Nor was there news on any other front. No questions had been answered. No suspects had been identified. No solid evidence had emerged to substantiate her suspicions.
She tapped her finger against the wheel as she merged into westbound I-64 traffic, his offer from Saturday echoing in her mind.
“If anythingnew develops, feel free to reach out.”
The clock was all she had, and it didn’t qualify.
End of story.
Except it would be really nice to hear his voice.
Bri rolled her eyes and pressed harder on the gas pedal.
That was not a sufficient reason to call him. On the contrary. It was a dangerous reason to call him. One that violated the hard-and-fast rule she’d adopted after McCall.
