Page 60 of Over the Edge

At the mention of a psychologist, Jack stopped chewing as an image of Lindsey materialized in his mind.

“That got his attention.” Bri tapped her index finger on the table, watching him. “The case you were called out for this morning wouldn’t have been the Robertson murder, would it?”

He swallowed the mushy lasagna, since there was nothing left to chew. “I can’t comment on an in-progress investigation.”

“I’ll take that as a yes—and an answer to my earlier question.” Expression smug, she went back to eating.

“Does that mean this woman you like is related to a murder investigation?” Cara’s gaze zipped back to him.

Their younger sister might think she had deficiencies that handicapped her in the romance department, but her intellect and instincts were second to none.

“This discussion is over. Don’t forget to save room for dessert.”

“I always have room for Mom’s chocolate mint squares.” Bri took a second helping of green beans. “I’m glad one of us makes them on a regular basis.”

“Sorry. Not on the menu today. I ran out of time. But I have ice cream and sundae fixings.”

“No chocolate mint squares?” Cara’s face fell. “That was going to be my treat of the week.”

“I promise I’ll bake them for our next lunch. But I’d be happy to give you the recipe if you don’t want to wait that long. It wouldn’t hurt to expand your culinary repertoire beyond soup and omelets, you know.”

“Why bother? We have a ton of great takeout places in Cape. Cooking isn’t my thing.”

“Trust me, we know. I almost broke a tooth on those ribs you made last spring.”

“They weren’tthatbad.”

Jack hiked up an eyebrow.

“Okay.” She raised her palms in surrender. “I’ll concede they were on the crunchy side. But I’m too busy to hone my cooking skills.”

“If you’re interested in finding a guy, you know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.”

“Oh, puhleeze.” Bri set her fork down with a clatter. “You of all people should know cooking isn’t gender specific. Wouldyoucare whether a woman you liked could cook?”

Another image of the personal chef who’d captured his fancy materialized in his mind.

“He’s off in la-la land again.” Cara cocked her head.

“Uh-huh. Maybe he’s wondering if this woman he’s interested in can put a decent meal together.”

No need to wonder about that.

Besides, his interest in her had nothing to do with her skills in the kitchen.

“Could we change the subject, please? Cara, why don’t you fill us in on the plans you mentioned for a research project?”

“Shall we let him off the hook?” His younger sibling deferred to their sister.

“I suppose we’ll have to. He’s not going to talk anyway.And I’ve been wanting to hear more details about your plans too. The hints you dropped sounded fascinating.”

Cara was more than happy to expound on the project she hoped to undertake during her fall sabbatical. It seemed there was a remote estate in southern Missouri that was home to journals written in an arcane French dialect only the reclusive owner could decipher, which Cara believed would contain a treasure trove of anthropological data. She was in the process of securing the owner’s participation and applying for fellowships.

Jack listened with one ear while he mulled over next steps with Lindsey.

Based on that photo on her fridge, it wasn’t hard to deduce the source of her antipathy toward him.

How to mitigate it was far less clear. Because the simple truth was that if he hadn’t encouraged Clair to venture beyond her comfort zone, she’d still be alive.

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