Page 44 of Welker

I’m at the checkout. Almost finished?

Welker’s text floored Moira. He’d completed everything on his list? How long had she been at it? Looking at the time on her phone, Moira felt heat move up into her cheeks. Wow. She’d somehow, completely lost track of time.

Finishing up, now. Moira returned.

“Is that your young man?” Margaret asked with a knowing smile. “You have that glow about you again.”

Moira’s face warmed even more. “Yeah. He, um, took care of the grocery shopping and wants to know if I’m all set.”

“And are you?” Margaret asked astutely.

Moira looked in her cart and frowned. “I…”

It was odd. Now that she’d begun to find things that actually worked, she wasn’t sure she was ready to leave.

“What else do you need?” Margaret probed.

“More underwear,” Moira decided, “and maybe some pajamas?”

Margaret’s face grew impish. “Something shear and sexy in both departments?”

“Umm, we’ll see what they have.” Damn. She felt her blush return because…she was making herself open to possibilities.

Her fingers reengaged with her keyboard.

Picking up toiletries. Don’t wait. I’ll meet you at the car.

Take your time, came the immediate response. I’ll see you outside.

Why was Welker so freaking accommodating? Moira was still looking for the one thing about him that would be a dealbreaker, and he wasn’t cooperating.

Luckily, Margaret didn’t probe as to her change of expression, and they companionably shopped on.

The rest of her purchases didn’t take that long to acquire, but what did prove difficult was convincing Margaret to give over her contact information once they deemed each other “friends”. It seemed that buddying-up and trust were two different issues. But after enjoying the woman’s company immensely, Moira wanted, no, needed to stay in touch. Not just for the social aspects, but because she worried that Margaret was so alone.

Margaret continued to demur, and rightfully so Moira acknowledged, skeptical about giving out her personal information.

“It’s not you, dear,” the older woman told her, evading for a third time when Moira asked for her phone number. “It’s just that I’ve had some…less than above-board interactions in recent years, and I’ve learned my lesson.”

Moira didn’t like the sound of that. And all the more reason for her to have the info it took to keep an eye on the feisty, yet vulnerable woman. Moira upped her game, and pulled out her shield folder.

“I don’t tell this to just anybody,” Moira explained as she flipped open the leather and held her badge out for Margaret’s perusal. “But I’m Chief Deputy with the Penobscott County Sheriff’s Department.”

“Ahh,” Margaret answered with a smile and a knowing dip of her chin.

“What?” Moira asked.

“That explains why you’ve been reticent regarding your new purchases.” She shook her head. “Your job… It’s still a man’s world out there, isn’t it?”

There were no buttons missing on Margaret.

“Yes, it certainly is,” Moira agreed, grinning, but her credentials got her what she wanted.

Moira felt instantly better as numbers were exchanged. Sharp or not, Margaret could clearly use a friend. Moira wasn’t all that pleased to subsequently find out the woman lived alone in a small bungalow she’d owned for years and years, just outside of town with no neighbors closer than an eighth of a mile away. If something happened to her, who would know?

“Have you ever thought of moving into a place where you’d be…safer?” Moira asked gently.

Margaret scoffed. “You mean one of those assisted living facilities where they take all your money and feed you mediocre food? Where the staff treats you like a daft old lady, and they’re so disorganized they lose all your clothes when they take them away to launder. That, and the rest of your belongings are then passed around because you’re too old to need anything personal? No thank you.”

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