Page 19 of Over the Edge

“I’ll stick around for a while.”

“That’s what I figured.” She shut down her laptop and stood. “Let’s see if anyone spotted suspicious activity, or if any security cameras caught a helpful snippet of action. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“A few more clues would be welcome.”

But as he turned up the collar of his coat, followed her out, and braced for another blast of frosty air, the gut instinct he’d learned to trust said this wasn’t going to be a case with a fast resolution.

Even more disturbing?

That same instinct was telling him other people might get hurt—or worse—before it was over.

Four

AT THESUDDEN RINGof her cell phone, Dara Allen jerked. Dropped her fork.

It clattered to the table beside her plate of pushed-around food, striking a discordant note in the silent, tension-filled room.

“Let it roll.” Her husband of nine months poked at a green bean on his plate, shoulders hunched, eyes bleak, stress oozing from his pores.

No wonder. The reporters who’d seen him drive away from the Robertson home after his truck was released two hours ago had been calling his phone nonstop.

“The news people don’t have my number.” She stood, crossed to the counter, and scanned caller ID. “It’s Lindsey.”

“I wonder if the press is bugging her too.” Chad set his fork on the table and shoved his plate away. “What a mess.”

Mess didn’t come close to describing the sudden upheaval in their lives.

Wiping her palm on her slacks, Dara picked up the phone and greeted the woman who’d gone out of her way to be kind at church—and convinced her to sign up for the Creative Cooking on a Budget class she was teaching.

“Is this a bad time?” Lindsey’s voice was laced with concern.

“No. We just finished dinner.” What little they’d eaten of it.

“I won’t keep you, but I wanted to see how you both were after everything that happened today. I don’t know if Chad realized it, but I was at the Robertsons’ too.”

“He didn’t know until Madeleine called me a little while ago. We’re hanging in.” Barely. “How areyoudoing?”

“Also hanging in. A hot bath helped.”

“Have any reporters been bothering you?” Dara peeked at Chad, who remained at the table, brooding, his picked-apart meatloaf forgotten.

“No. Are they harassing you?”

“Yes. I guess they saw the logo on Chad’s truck.”

“I never thought about that. There were press people around when I left, but I drove away fast. I’m sorry they’ve been giving you grief.”

“We’ll survive.” Maybe.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

“Thank you.”

Chad rose and began clearing the table.

“You’ll be at class next Tuesday, won’t you?”

“That’s my plan.” Dara cringed as Chad stacked the plates with more force than necessary.

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