Page 86 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
“Has the auction taken place yet?”
“No, it has to wait until after the trial.”
“Then I want to see any drawings, paintings, or sketches. And the Monet in the master bedroom is a fake.”
“Yes, I noticed.”
Kimberly checked her watch. It was almost time to feed Clay. “Every paintbrush, canvas, paint, pencil, and what all from this room, other than the broken furniture. Also, the stained-glass window. It was a wedding present.”
“But that’s a Tessa Cavanagh!” This agent knew his stuff.
“Tessa Doyle. She gave it to me before she got married. And yes, she was my roommate.” Kimberly turned to talk to Alex, then remembered he wasn’t there. “Can we be finished now?”
“You haven’t looked upstairs. Your clothing.”
“I am assuming you have been through it all and cataloged it.”
“That is my job.”
She pictured him counting her underthings. “I don’t need any of it. Donate it to a shelter or something.”
“No jewelry?”
“I already have my mother’s wedding ring and my grandmother’s earrings. I can’t think of a single other thing I want.”
“Well then, Mrs. Thomp—”
“Mrs. Ha—I mean Benoit.” She’d gotten used to Hastings, but it wasn’t her right to use the name.
“Yes, we will inventory this and ship it to you.”
“May I take the books and tablecloth now?” She hoped the question sounded more like a command.
“I’ll clear that with my supervisor.” The agent left her alone.
Kimberly spun in a slow circle, taking in the building she used to call home one last time.Home. The word conjured a feeling she no longer associated with California. A picture of Alex holding Clay came to mind. If only he could be her home.
They hadn’t spoken since Clay was three days old. If he’d waited a week...
Kimberly left the house with too many regrets following her.
* * *
This date was going south fast. Alex tapped his phone three times. In seconds, a call came in from dispatch. Alex looked at the screen and gave the blonde next to him an apologetic smile. “I need to take this call. It’s work.”
“Oh, work. That is so brave.” The woman batted her eyes and tried to squeeze his bicep again.
Alex put the phone to his ear and, pointing outside the little café, excused himself from their table.
“Good evening, Mr. Alexander. Can I help you?” asked Elle’s cheery voice.
“Elle, you are working dispatch?”
“Alan wants me learning everything as long as I’m not in the field. What did you need?”
“You called. That was all I needed.”
“Oh, the dating-app date is tonight, isn’t it? That bad? Do you need to talk longer?”
