Page 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Spring popped in small ways. The honk of geese, the waddle of ducks, the glide of newly hatched cygnets guarded by Mom and Dad. Daffodils opened to trumpets even through the occasional shower of snow.

And snow melted away in rising temperatures.

Boats and kayaks joined the waterfowl on the lake along with the occasional hardy, wet-suited skiers.

Those rising temperatures brought rain as well as a shower of snow. Rain and melting snow brought the mud. Sloan assisted more than one hiker with a turned ankle or wrenched knee down a sloppy trail.

And educated more than one camper about how to stow food unless they wanted a roaming bear to pay a call.

She spotted a couple herself, as anxious to keep their distance from her as she from them.

And she watched a vixen taking a mouse back to her kits in her burrow while songbirds filled the woods with wing and calls.

She sat in Travis’s office after filing her daily reports.

“How about an update on Elana?”

“I could write up her eval right now. I don’t see it changing in the next few weeks.”

“And what would it be?”

“She loves the work, and it shows. She listens, learns, and applies. She’s excellent with people, just naturally personable. Could be a little more firm when that’s needed, but that’ll come. She’s good at keeping it light, focusing on the educational aspect of the job. Physically, she’s damn near tireless. She rarely complains, and then it’s more of an observation or a joke. She works well with a team when assigned to one.”

“No downside?”

“Well, she tolerates bullshit more than I would, but that’s her nature. I’ve found her good backup when we have a dicey situation. With more experience she’ll be better at it.”

“Keep on the training for, let’s say through the spring season. Then I’ll toss another one at you.”

“I’ll catch them.”

“Counting on it. Now tell me how it’s going with the missings.”

“I wish I could tell you there’s been real progress. If the FBI or the law enforcement officers have made any, they’re not saying. I think O’Hara would. We talk at least once a week. I have one more possible victim from last May. Female, twenty-three. Alyce—with a y —Otterman. She worked in a bar in Morgantown, sporadically. Had a history of just taking off, coming back, taking off again. An oxy addict, did some sex work to pay for it, has a sheet for that and for assault.

“OD’d last March, collapsed right on the street. They lost her twice, got her back. She rolled on the dealer so didn’t do time, sixty days in rehab, mandatory. When she got out, she went into a halfway house—voluntarily. Two weeks after she went in, May twenty-fifth, she vanished.”

“Not surprising, Sloan.”

“No, but her counselor states she was doing well, sticking to it. And she took nothing with her. No clothes but what she was wearing. She left sixty dollars rolled up in her underwear. If she was going to walk, why leave sixty bucks behind?”

“You said she rolled on her dealer.”

“Yeah, and I have to factor that. He was still in, but sure, he had friends who’d be willing to take care of her. Still, no trace of her? Wouldn’t you want her body found? A warning against talking to the cops?”

“Or?”

“Yeah, or? She slipped, got another taste, and decided: Fuck this, I’m out of here . A lot of ors, Cap, but one’s that she fits the victim profile. So.” She shrugged. “I’m looking.”

“Good, because playing devil’s advocate aside, I agree with you. You’re a damn good sergeant, and God knows a tenacious investigator. Just don’t wear yourself too thin, Sloan.”

“I won’t. Give me another month, and I’ll be planting flowers or sitting on my new front porch drinking my morning coffee.”

“Go home, and enjoy your weekend off. I’ll see you Monday morning.”

“I’m ready for the weekend.” She rose. “Even if I’m called in.”

She hoped not.

Things were happening at her house, and she wanted in on it. She planned to scrape the damn popcorn off her bedroom ceiling, prime the walls, then paint them with the calm, soothing gray she’d picked.

Like a cloudy sky, she thought, that made you want to snuggle in and sleep.

She hoped.

And she wouldn’t feel her mood plummet every day she walked in there. She’d leave the exterior work to the crew, but it was past time she got her hands on her own house.

When she started to turn into her drive, she braked. Stared.

The bumpy, potholed stretch now ran smooth and level with a thick blanket of fresh gravel.

None of which she’d arranged to have done.

As she turned, the house came into view, and she had to brake again. That level, gravel drive now curved toward what would be her carport and mudroom.

And her house sat, a sweet, pretty cottage now dressed in blue siding, her new windows gleamed, now framed in bright, clean white. The deck of the porch she’d envisioned had become reality. Even now she saw her father and cousin installing a section of railing.

And on the side, wonder of wonders, stood the posts of her carport and the framing of her much-desired mudroom.

A scatter of daffodils, buttery yellow, creamy white, danced along the edge of her currently scrubby, muddy front yard and the woods.

On the drive up, she heard the hard buzz of saws, the pop and bang of nail guns. It sounded like music.

She nosed in beside her father’s truck.

As she got out, he pushed up the bill of his cap and stood grinning.

“So, what do you think?”

“I can’t believe it! When I left this morning, I had footers. Now I have a porch, an almost carport, and the start of the mudroom. And the siding! It looks good, right?”

“Nice choice.”

“But the driveway. I didn’t order that work yet.”

“It’s a gift. Say ‘thank you.’”

“Dad.” She rushed to him, hugged hard. “Thank you.”

“Hey. I’m right here.”

Laughing, she hugged Jonah, rubbed a hand over his beard-free face. “Thank you. You’ve been working on this all day?”

“Us, and the Littlefield crew.” Dean gestured toward the side of the house. “After Jonah and I got the windows in the other day, we decided, hell, let’s go for it.”

He took a glug from his water bottle. “We juggled some scheduling, and so did Nash, so we could get this going good.”

“It’s going really good.”

“Your mom says those azaleas we had to dig up for this should stay in the back where we put them. What you need here are the smaller ones, more to scale. She says you want the ones that bloom a few times a year.”

“Yes to everything. I love it.”

“You’ll love it more when we finish the front door and replace this one. Should be ready to go in no time.”

“And I’ll have a Made-by-Cooper front door.”

“On the mudroom, too. You want consistency. You’ve got a nice little place, baby.”

“Thanks to you, and you,” she said to Jonah, “and the Fix-It Brothers crew. And I guess Big Mac took care of the driveway.”

“He sure did.”

“I’m getting in on all this and dealing with my bedroom this weekend. I’ve got to go see the rest!”

She jumped off the porch, hurried around toward the sound of building. Nash set down his nail gun, and in the way of men, put his hands on his hips as he looked up to where Theo and Robo finished the last of the roof trusses.

She leaped up, legs around his waist, and added a long, loud kiss.

“Thank you! It’s the best framed-out mudroom in the history of mudrooms.”

“It’s not bad,” he said as she jumped down.

“And the siding. Oh, you put in the new door to the kitchen already!”

“Yeah, you lost that excuse for a broom closet and some wall space, but the storage here’ll make up for it.”

“I really didn’t expect all this.”

When Theo came down off the ladder, she gave him a squeeze. Then did the same to Robo.

“It’s moving right along,” Robo said. “It’s the first time I ever helped build a whole room from the ground right up. It’s fun.”

“We’ll put in some time tomorrow,” Nash told her. “Since Dean’s got an in with the inspector, he’ll check out the framing, then we’ll wrap it.”

“I’ll provide food and drinks. I can make something now. What can I make? What have I got? I have some of my mom’s spaghetti sauce, I have pasta.”

“I appreciate it, but Drea and I are making fajitas.”

Nash turned slowly. “You’re making fajitas?”

Theo gave a grin and a shrug. “I’m learning how to make fajitas. Drea worked all day, too, so dinner’s a duet. But I’ll take that food and drink during work hours tomorrow, Sloan.”

“Got you covered.”

“I got a date.”

Sloan angled her head at Robo. “Same girl?”

He flushed, hunched his shoulders. “We’re going to get some dinner, then there’s a party. But I’ll be around tomorrow for sure. I never wrapped a room before.”

“I don’t have a date.”

Sloan looked over at Nash. “Looks like you do. Now I’m going in my new mudroom door before I go out and stand on my new front porch. Come in when you knock off.”

When he did, she’d changed out of her uniform into leggings and an oversized green sweater. She had the sauce thawing in a pot, a bottle of Chianti on the counter, and stood working on a salad.

Even in that poor excuse of a kitchen, he thought, she looked just exactly right.

“I guess since you worked all day, too, this is another duet.”

She glanced over. “Can you boil water?”

“I can handle that.”

“That’ll be your job once the sauce heats up. For now, you can pour that wine. I can’t tell you how it felt when I started to turn into the driveway and saw the house. It looks happy. Before, it was it could be happy and now, it is.”

He poured the wine and felt himself falling just a little deeper into whatever it was she brought to him. Contentment, he supposed, where he hadn’t looked for it.

Or expected it, he realized, just as she hadn’t expected to come home and see her house happy.

She moved him, he admitted. He might as well get used to it.

So he took her by the shoulders, turned her, then drew her in for a kiss that spoke of that deeper slide.

“Since this is a date, and a dinner duet of sorts, I expect sex later,” he said with a smile.

“Well, you did help side my house, so it’s the least I can do. And it’s going to be the last night you spend in that dull bedroom.”

“It’s never dull when you’re in it.”

She toasted him, drank. “Littlefield. That’s a very clever thing to say.”

“Maybe, but true.”

“The next time you find me not dull in the bedroom, it’ll have a brand-new look. While you’re wrapping the mudroom tomorrow, I’ll be scraping popcorn off the ceiling. So Sunday, I’m priming the walls. If that goes smooth enough, it’ll get its first coat—Decorator’s White on the ceiling—the trim, too—and Cloudy Day on the walls.”

“I could send Robo in to do all that.”

She added thin strips of carrots to the salad bowl, then shot him a steely look. “You don’t think I can handle it, Littlefield?”

“I haven’t seen you not handle anything so far, Sarge. But he’s quick, thorough, and damn good.”

“You can take a look at my work tomorrow. I need to get my hand in, plus I need the mental health break. I don’t want to think about work tomorrow, especially what I’m doing on my own time.

“I think I found another one last night. I don’t want to get into the details, not now, but she fits the pattern for me.”

“And we’re in the first week of April. That weighs on you.”

“It does. So I’m taking a break from it.” She sliced some black olives for the salad, then smiled at him. “Besides, I have a date.”

In the morning, she stripped off all the bedding and hauled it down to the washer. Since Nash had already helped her cart out her dresser, the nightstands, she tarped the bed, the floor, taped plastic to the walls.

She got her new garden sprayer, added a touch of fabric softener to the water. After tying a bandanna over her hair, she wet down the first section of the ceiling.

As she worked, section by section, and the softened texture fell in gloppy piles to the mud pan, she heard the dogs barking.

Crews are here, she thought, and kept wetting, waiting for the softening, scraping.

In less time than she’d estimated, and with her shoulders burning a bit, she had a popcorn-free ceiling.

She cleaned up the mess, switched the laundry—maybe for the last time in the serial killer basement—then made a pile of sandwiches.

When she walked out the kitchen door, she walked into a room with walls, a window opening, a doorway, and a ceiling going up.

“Wow, just wow! I should’ve made steaks instead of sandwiches!”

The dogs surrounded her as she turned in a circle.

“Come in! Take a break. I’ve got food and drinks. Woo!”

Since five grown men couldn’t fit into her kitchen, they scattered. Standing, sitting at the table, on sawhorses in the under-construction mudroom.

Nash tugged at her bandanna. “Cute.”

“Does the job. And so do I. Popcorn is no more.”

Sandwich in hand, he walked out and into the bedroom. “Good job.”

Behind him, Dean nodded. “That’s my girl. Going to need to sand it some.”

“Yeah, that’s next.”

She spent the rest of the day in remodeling heaven. Even teared up when she watched Dean and Jonah finish installing her new front door. Stable style, painted a rich navy with a window to let in the light.

“It’s beautiful. Dad, it’s just beautiful.”

“Came out good.” He opened and closed it. “Damn good fit.”

“Of course. It’s Made by Cooper.”

“How’s your bedroom coming?”

“Scraping didn’t take as long as I thought, so I’m getting the walls primed. I’ll let the ceiling dry overnight, though the texture was such crap it didn’t take much to soften it.”

“Man, that door’s a beauty,” Theo said as he walked in from the back. “I’m grabbing another Coke, Sloan.”

“All you want.”

“Baby, you can’t stay in that bedroom tonight. You can bunk in your old room if…”

Sloan saw the light dawn on Dean’s face, and the slight discomfort with it. And adored him.

“Yeah. Right. Fine.”

“It’s okay, Dean.” All cheer, Theo took a swig of his Coke. “Drea’s making dinner at our place for the four of us, then we’re going to have a gin rummy marathon.”

“Right,” Dean repeated. “Elsie and I have those, too.”

“Dad.” On a laugh, Sloan rolled her eyes.

“Anyway. We’ll get the other door in tomorrow. Time to head out,” he said, and clamped a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Just me tomorrow. This one’s busy.”

“We’ll help you get it in. Just me and Nash. Robo’s got a family thing. Taking his girlfriend.”

“That’s another first.” Dean gave Sloan a kiss, then went out, whistling for Mop.

Because she wanted to try out Nash’s kitchen—and possibly pick up some practical ideas for her own—Sloan made Sunday breakfast. She found both bacon and eggs in the enormous fridge. And some Drea additions.

Yogurt, coconut milk, arugula, spinach, Diet Pepsi, San Pellegrino.

Very Drea, Sloan thought, as were the lemons filling a glass cylinder, a vase of daffodils, and a wooden bowl of bright red apples, all artfully placed.

“Born to make a home,” Sloan murmured.

Her sister could hammer a nail, but she’d much rather arrange flowers.

Sloan took out the eggs, the bacon, the butter, and because it was there, a block of cheddar. She hunted up a skillet, found it stored logically in the lower by the glorious range.

And discovered the Littlefields’ cookware ran several levels above her own.

It didn’t seem quite fair.

She’d beaten the eggs and started grating cheese when Nash came in.

“My contribution is bacon and eggs,” she said as he headed straight for the coffee station. “I’m taking a leap and assuming since you proved you could boil water, your culinary skills include making toast.”

“I can make toast. After coffee.”

“I decided to make breakfast to spark ideas for my own kitchen. I know I want the spice pullout—which I’m confident Drea filled. I don’t have room for a coffee station or your magnificent machine, the appliance garage, and probably not the microwave drawer. And since your pantry is actually bigger than my entire kitchen, this has been a series of frustrations and disappointments.”

“Bad start to the day for you.” Nash shoved a hand at his hair as he drank coffee.

“Not entirely, as I’ve decided to make my kitchen a study in smaller space efficiency and innovative style. When the time comes. I like a challenge.”

Tic wagged his way in seconds before she heard Drea and Theo’s voices. She turned the flame on under the skillet, tossed in a slice of butter. “Better get on that toast, chef.”

She spent Sunday painting, and with the window open, painted to the sound of building.

After the first coat, she went into town to hit the grocery and replenish the supplies she’d depleted the day before.

She noted the car behind her most of the trip as a matter of course. An older Ford sedan, gray, West Virginia plates.

She thought no more about it, and pulled into the lot at the grocery store.

Clara drove past.

“We should’ve brought the van. We could take her now, babe, if we had the van.”

“We’re not ready for her, doll. And you saw those two trucks and the men at her house. Somebody’d likely notice pretty quick if she doesn’t come back. It’s enough we found where she lives, what car she’s driving when she’s not in that police truck. Makes it worth the trip, and using our Sunday off to take it.”

“I don’t like how much she’s worrying you.”

“Now, don’t you worry about me worrying.” With a little laugh, she reached over to pat his cheek. “We know she’s a resurrected, and I truly believe a witch along with it. It may be she’s what all our work’s been leading to, doll. We’ll send her where she’s meant to go. We need a plan.”

“I know you’re right. I know you’re right about it just like always. She’s different. I don’t just want her story, don’t just want to send her back. I want to make her pay for twisting you up the way she does.”

“Evil always pays in the end. This’ll maybe take a little longer, that’s all. We need protection against that evil, and the right way to stop her from using it against us.

“We’re going to drive by the place where she works. I don’t see us taking her there, but we need a look-see.”

“You think of everything, babe.”

“In this battle against evil, doll, a soldier has to think of everything.”

“It’s sure a nice day for a drive anyway.” Relaxing back, he tapped his fingers on his thigh. “You can feel spring coming on. How about after the look-see, I take my woman to Cracker Barrel for lunch?”

“There you go. You think of everything, too. It’s why we don’t lose, Sam. It’s why we were called. Together, we’re like one righteous Angel of God.”

She gave a contented sigh.

Nash found Sloan in the bedroom on a stepladder installing a new light fixture.

“Do you know what you’re doing up there?”

“Please. I thought you’d left, then I heard you come back.”

“I ran into Carl. He said he had time right now to do the rough-in electric.”

Holding the glass-and-iron drum light to the ceiling, she looked down. “That’s great.”

“CJ’s working in the plumbing tomorrow afternoon.” He glanced around. “You were right about the color in here. And good job with it. If you decide to switch careers, you’re hired.”

“Good to know.”

She finished the light, stepped down. When she started to fold the ladder, he brushed her aside. “I’ve got it.”

“Thanks.”

So she went out, flipped the breaker back on, then came in and turned on the light.

“And that’s a big yes. I now have a hundred and twenty-four square feet of fresh and soothing. And like my future kitchen, smaller space innovative style. I need new shades.”

“And here it comes.”

“No, it doesn’t. Or not much. New shades were already on the list. I won’t need a new closet door now, as painting it did the trick, but I will need the new bedroom door to match the other interiors. Stick with the white duvet I have, but add some shams. Dark gray, shades and shams. Small space, keep it simple. I can crochet a throw in ombre grays.”

“You can crochet a throw?”

“I have hidden skills. It’ll take me forever, but I can crochet a throw. I’ve got some art from my apartment I haven’t put up. Add a little splash, and done.”

“I guess you want to haul that dresser back in.”

“Yes, I do. Theo and Drea had that late-afternoon meeting with the caterer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s Tic?”

“At your parents’ with Mop. Theo calls it, and it just makes me sad, a playdate.”

She lifted her end of the dresser and grinned. “Well, they will play. Right under where I rehung the mirror.”

“I figured.”

They brought in the nightstands, the lamps, and since she had him, she enlisted him to help hang the art.

When he went out to check with the electrician, she remade the bed, fluffed pillows, smoothed the duvet.

And with an incredible feeling of satisfaction, stepped back to take it all in.

“I did this. By myself, for myself. Next time I feel like taking a couple days, I’ll tackle the other bedroom.”

More an energy color in there, she considered, since for the foreseeable future she’d use it as her gym.

She walked out, found Nash getting a Coke from her fridge.

“I’m helping myself.”

“Great, help me to one, too.” She stepped out, saw the rough electric in. “He finished already?”

“It’s not that much. Washer, dryer, lights, a couple outlets, the split for heat. You don’t have AC.”

“That’s why they invented windows. I’m ordering those stackables. The crap machines can stay in the serial killer basement for now.”

He brought her the drink, then stood with her. And understood she saw it finished as he did.

“Got a little paint.”

He rubbed some speckles off her cheek, then left his finger there another moment.

“Why don’t you clean up, and I’ll take you out to dinner.”

She looked up at him with those wood nymph eyes. “Out? As in out?”

“Yeah, out as in. You know, where they bring you food you didn’t have to cook, then you don’t have to do the dishes.”

“I’ve heard of the concept.” She continued to watch him as she sipped her Coke. “Would this be another date?”

“You could call it that.”

“Then I believe I will. Would this be a jeans and sweater date or more a little black dress date?”

He’d figured the first, and changed his plans.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a little black dress.”

“Luckily, I happen to have one.”

“I’ll go clean myself up, and swing back to get you in about thirty.”

“Make it about forty.” She smiled. “Little black dress dates take longer.”

“Forty then.” He opened her new mudroom door.

“Nash? It’s nice. Going out. It’s not something I need or want very often, but it’s nice.”

“Next time you want nice and I don’t think of it, you can do the asking.”

“That’s fair. See you in forty.”