Page 23 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
Alex checked his watch. Fifteen minutes. Long enough. He wandered down the back hallway. The bathroom light was on, but the room was empty. Writing on the mirror caught his attention: money, midwife, hospital—and him. He’d never seen a list written on a mirror. Alex turned to leave the bathroom and ran into the writer.
A blush rose up her cheeks. “I was going to erase that.” She maneuvered around him and cleaned the mirror with a wipe. “You are probably wondering what you are doing on my list.”
“Mildly curious.”
“Do you mind if we discuss it over breakfast? I’m starved.” She ducked back around him and left the room.
Alex followed her to the kitchen, where she poured a bowl of crisped-rice cereal and milk.
“Do you want anything?”
Alex shook his head and took the seat opposite her.
“I suppose I owe you an explanation.”
“Not really. It isn’t my business why or what you write on mirrors.”
“I think better when I write. Usually I doodle on my lists, but the eyeliner wasn’t working for me.”
Having witnessed both Mrs. Ogilvie and Mrs. Crawford draw or design when frustrated, Alex wasn’t sure he wanted to see Kimberly’s version of him.
Kimberly inhaled the bowl of cereal. “It was your yogurt I ate last night, wasn’t it? I realized as I finished that I hadn’t put Greek yogurt on my list.”
“Not a problem. Abbie is always stealing my food. Since she married, I’ve had too many groceries. Andrew lives with me, but as the youngest, he’s learned to stay out of my things.”
“You miss your sister, don’t you?”
“We lived apart for almost six years when she was in college and I was in the Marines, but we talked every day, other than when I was deployed. Then we were on the same detail as long as we both worked for our dad. It is strange not being her best friend anymore. I get she needs Preston more than me, but sometimes I miss our closeness.”
“Do you talk often?”
“Every couple days. When my nephews arrive, it will be less. She will have her hands full.” Even with the nanny she’d hired, three children would keep her busy.
“I need to see a midwife.”
The sudden change in topic caught him off guard, even if he did have it on his list of suggestions for the day.
She continued. “Mrs. Capps is one. Did you know that?”
“Abbie mentioned it last night.”
“I wonder if she could see me today.” Kimberly cleared her bowl and filled a water glass.
“Is something wrong?” The shrug of her shoulders while not looking him in the eye indicated there most likely was. “Should I see if she’ll come over?”
“We’ll have to tell her someone is looking for me and to not say anything. She is Beachy Amish, so she doesn’t have a radio or television, just a car and a phone. So she might not know the extent of it.” Kimberly played with her water glass, still not looking at him.
“I thought she was one of the older orders of Mennonites since she drove and wore more traditional clothing.” No wonder Mrs. Capps called so often. With no TV, she had nothing better to do than watch the neighborhood.
One side of Kimberly’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “I dare you to ask her about the difference.”
“Not taking that dare.” Mrs. Capps’s shorter conversations lasted a half hour.
“Chicken.”
“Do you want me to see if she’s available?”
“I was going to give her an hour to show up before I sent you over.”
