Page 57

He did not expect to feel a sense of homecoming.

Or that sudden upswell of grief.

Grief that John would not be there to welcome him.

That he would never see John again.

Since John’s murder, he had felt shock, anger, guilt, determination that John get justice, but he had not experienced—not let himself feel until that moment—simple, uncomplicated grief. Grief for everything he had lost. Grief for all the things that would never be.

He had not cried.

He was not prone to tears and he didn’t cry now, though his throat locked, his vision blurred, and his breath shuddered in his chest. He struggled with it for a moment, then walked through the iron gate, letting it clang softly behind him, went up the steps, and blindly inserted his key into the lock.

The lock turned; the door swung open on a darkness scented with lemony furniture polish and the mild industrial odors that occurred during the collection of evidence.

A woman screamed.

Chapter Fourteen

The scream came from across the room, just a few feet away.

Shock froze Archie.

For an instant. But he knew that voice, that scream.

Well, not that scream, but a version of that scream.

“Mrs. Simms—Simmy, it’s me!”

The otherwise intrepid Mrs. Simms had a fear bordering on phobia of mice, and more than once Archie and John had been startled out of whatever they were doing by a sudden shriek from the kitchen or pantry when Simmy discovered a rodent invader.

Archie reached automatically for the wall switch. The bronze and frosted ivory glass lamp came on overhead, flooding the elegant front parlor with warm light.

Mrs. Simms stood paralyzed in the hallway, staring as though she’d never seen him before. “Archie? I heard the door. I didn’t realize…” She was clutching a carton of half-and-half.

At the same time, Archie said, “I didn’t mean to scare you. What are you doing here?”

“Chief Langham asked me to make sure the house was in order. He said you might be moving back in tomorrow.”

“I wish he’d told me.” Archie couldn’t hide his exasperation. His heart was still thumping in his ears. “I wasn’t sure the house had been cleared. I came to have a look.”

Simmy nodded, but she wasn’t listening. Her face twisted and she came to him, saying, “I’m so sorry about Dr. Perry.”

Archie nodded, hugged her, said over the tightness in his throat, “I know. Me, too.”

“He was such a good person. A good friend. A good…employer. A great man.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

“Yes.”

Simmy drew back, stared up at him. “I still can’t understand it. I keep thinking about it and thinking about it. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Not yet it doesn’t.”

“Everyone loved him.”

“We loved him. That’s…” Archie’s voice faded as he recognized the truth of it. He had never really thought about it, never put it into words, but of course he had loved John. John had been like a father to him.

In fact, John had been a fixture in Archie’s life for longer than his actual father.