And it wasn’t as if this pattern would last forever. Once they settled into their marriage and he felt more secure, he’d ease off, badger her less.
She began quartering the potatoes . . . but stopped as a putrid smell assailed her nostrils.
It didn’t take her long to find the source. There was a rotten spot in the middle of one, hidden under skin that had appeared normal.
Wrinkling her nose, she tossed the potato in the trash—and quashed a niggle of unease.
Hopefully the bad spud wasn’t an omen about the meal she was preparing. Steve wouldn’t be happy about an unpalatable dinner.
So in case the chops were dry or the potatoes were lumpy or the green beans weren’t cooked to his liking, she’d serve his favorite dessert tonight instead of keeping the sundaes until tomorrow.
That should earn her a smile.
And life was so much more pleasant when Steve smiled.
They were still at it.
Eve propped a hand on her hip and peered through the blinds in her spare bedroom. Brent’s Taurus and the car that belonged to the detective who’d joined him remained parked in front of her house, although the Crime Scene Unit van was gone.
She rubbed her fingertips together, still gritty after the elimination prints she’d provided. The house-to-house canvass Brent had said they were going to do must be taking a while.
She let the slat fall back into place.
It was possible one of her neighbors had noticed the person who’d dropped off her ticking package, but she wasn’t holding her breath. Most of the residents had arrived home from work after the police descended.
Wandering toward the kitchen, she detoured around the cans of light gray paint destined for the walls in her living room and hall. One of the many chores on her weekend to-do list.
Maybe she’d get a jump on it tonight. After today’s excitement, it would take hours for her vital signs to—
She jerked to a stop as the driving beat of “I Won’t Back Down” pulsed from her cell in the quiet house.
Lungs jamming, she rolled her eyes. Just what she needed—another adrenaline spike.
This did not bode well for a restful night’s sleep.
In fact, if her nerves didn’t settle down soon, she could end up painting until dawn.
As the ringtone filled the house with music, she jogged toward the kitchen. Thank goodness she’d remembered to stop and retrieve her cell when Brent escorted her back to the house after the all clear.
She snatched the phone off the counter and skimmed the screen.
Grace.
Shoving back a few errant strands of hair, she tapped talk. “Hi. I take it you got my message.”
“Yes. I was in the middle of an autopsy for a farm accident. It wasn’t as grisly as the one I did early in my tenure for a guy who got caught in a combine and lost both—”
“Stop! I do not want to hear the details.” Eve pressed a hand to her stomach, which was already flipping around like a beached fish.
“Fine. I didn’t call to discuss my job anyway. What’s going on? Why didn’t you respond to my texts?”
She checked the screen again.
Oh.
Grace had texted six times in the past hour.
“Sorry. I’ve been a little distracted.”
“Under the circumstances, you’re forgiven. Now fill me in.”
She gave her sister a quick recap, pulling a soda out of the fridge as she wound down. “Law enforcement is talking with my neighbors as we speak, but I’m not expecting any breakthroughs. Unless the person who left the package also left behind a piece of evidence or two—a long shot—we may have to chalk this up to a disgruntled listener who was more creative than most of my critics.”
“I don’t like this, Eve.”
Neither did she—but if she admitted that, Grace would toss all night too. No sense both of them missing out on their beauty sleep.
“I’m used to negative feedback.” Eve released the tab on the soda, and the CO2 hissed out. “This was nothing more than a prank. If the person had wanted to hurt me, the bomb would have been real.”
“Maybe next time it will be.”
“Gee, thanks for that cheery thought.”
“I’m being a realist.”
“More like a pessimist. You’re overreacting.”
“You always say that—and you’re too blasé about the risks of your job. Cate agrees.”
Eve snorted. “Like she has such a safe occupation.”
“She’s trained to deal with unsavory people—and she carries a gun. You ought to think about doing the same.”
“Get real, Grace.”
Her sister exhaled. “Fine. Scratch that idea. A gun would be useless to a woman who puts life and limb at risk to rescue a turtle stranded in the middle of a busy street. You can’t even kill a fly.”
“Not all of the Reillys were wired with a penchant for blood and guts, okay?” She sipped her soda.
“You are so like Dad.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. He’s the kindest, gentlest man I know.”
“I agree. And that’s fine for someone in his profession. Archaeologists don’t tend to find ticking bombs on their doorstep.”
“Tell that to the ones in Syria and the Middle East who are trying to preserve antiquities. ISIS is not their friend.”
“Dad’s in Cambridge at the moment. Not exactly a hotbed of intrigue or danger. You’re changing the subject. Should I drive in?”
“No. I’m fine.” Or she would be, if her nerves ever quit pinging.
“So you say.” A beat passed. “What was in the package other than a ticking clock?”
“I don’t know that there was anything else in there. I’ll ask the detective later. He said he’d stop by after they finish canvassing the neighborhood.”
“I bet there was a message inside. You’ll let me know about any new developments, right?”
“I’ll text you with important updates.”
“Your definition of important and mine don’t mesh. If I got one letter like any of the vile missives directed at you, I’d be rethinking my profession.”
“Then it’s lucky you picked a job where your clients can’t complain.”
“Ha-ha. Are you going to talk to Cate?”
“I asked the detective to get word to her that I’m fine.”
Another sigh. “Look, why don’t I come in tonight? We could go shopping tomorrow, have lunch, make a Ted Drewes run. It’s been ages since I’ve had a marshmallow concrete, and I’m in the mood for frozen custard.”
Pressure built in Eve’s throat.
Grace’s plate was already full. Too full. No surprise, given the short supply of forensic pathologists with her credentials, especially in rural areas. Carving out a weekend to babysit her sister would eat into what minuscule free time she had.
No way could she agree to that sacrifice—much as she was tempted to accept. While a whole day with her sister would be a treat . . . and a welcome diversion from this afternoon’s nastiness . . . it wouldn’t be fair to Grace.
“I appreciate the offer—but my goal this weekend is to paint the living room. Now, if you’d like to help with that . . .” The corners of Eve’s lips twitched. Considering how much Grace hated do-it-yourself home projects—with painting at the top of the list—it would be fun to see how fast she backtracked.