“Hell.”
Juliet headed for the kitchen and the coffeepot. If making love to Ethan last night had been an act of madness, she thought, then so be it. She was entitled.
Eleven
Spaceshot trundled behind Wendy to the apple orchard on the hill above the house, making her feel better because usually he would stay flopped down on the driveway in the sun. He seemed to sense that she needed company. He was uncritical, uncomplaining. And he didn’t hover. Her grandmother, her father—they’d been hovering since she got back yesterday and barfed up her guts.
Her grandfather, who’d been shot when she was still a baby, told his wife and eldest son to give her some space. Wendy had never felt such a sense of solidarity with him. Usually he was all about Longstreet landscaping, drainage and plantings and what trucks and bulldozers were on the fritz, or about talking cop stuff—but he hadn’t asked her to take him through what’d happened in New York yesterday. He had the story from her dad. That was enough.
Wendy set her half-bushel basket under a tree laden with fat, ripe apples. Cortland, perfect for applesauce and pies. The air was crisp, the morning sun sparkling on the bright leaves on the hills around her. Her father had taken the day off and said he was there if she needed him for anything. But she didn’t want to think about yesterday. She wanted to pick apples.
She patted Spaceshot’s head. “Why don’t you go find a rabbit to chase? The exercise will do you good.” She made a face. “Just don’t catch it and eat it.”
But the dog dropped into the tall grass and stretched out, summoning just enough energy to wag his tail.
Wendy started collecting the apples she could reach by standing on tiptoe. She picked one, then another, then stopped, taking a deep breath. Tears formed in her eyes. She blamed the cool temperature and the breeze. Her hands shook slightly—she’d had oatmeal with chopped nuts and apples for breakfast. Her grandmother had offered to scramble her some eggs.
A cluster of perfect apples teased her, just beyond her reach. Determined to stick to her task—to not weaken and succumb to her fears—Wendy hoisted herself onto a rough-barked branch, working her way out to the alluring apples. The branch hardly even moved under her weight. There were tools she could have used to reach the apples high in the tree, but she wanted to use her hands.
Spaceshot stirred. “Easy, boy,” a man’s voice said.
Peeking through the leaves of her branch, Wendy saw Matt Kelleher stepping around the dog, who hadn’t troubled himself to get up.
Kelleher, in jeans and a sports sweatshirt, squinted up at her in the tree. “Need some help?”
“Not really, but thanks.”
He raised both hands toward her. “Here. I can take those apples and put them in your basket.”
Sprawled out on her branch, her legs hooked around it for balance, Wendy lowered the two apples she’d picked down to him.
“These are beauties,” he said.
“Aren’t they? There are a couple more—”
“I can get them.”
But any help took the fun out of her adventure. She didn’t say anything as he reached up and plucked the two remaining apples from her elusive cluster, then dropped them into her basket. He was tall enough that he didn’t need to climb up into the tree.
“I’m sorry about what happened yesterday,” Matt said. “I hope you didn’t go to New York because of something I said.”
“No, I’d been wanting to do it for a while.”
He didn’t seem convinced. “Your grandmother asked me to check on you,” he said.
“I haven’t been gone thirty minutes—”
“She says it’s been an hour. She can’t help but worry.”
Wendy sat up on her branch and sighed. “I suppose not. Is my dad back?”
“Just pulled into the driveway when I left.”
Great, she thought without enthusiasm. Although she did want to see him. She couldn’t explain it. He’d slept on the couch in the living room last night—he wouldn’t go home and leave her there alone. But this morning, early, he’d gone to the state police barracks. He didn’t say why, but Wendy figured he wanted to check if there was anything new on Bobby Tatro and Juan’s murder. Her father wouldn’t say so to her, but Wendy knew he questioned whether Tatro had worked alone—she’d overheard him and her grandfather and uncle Paul talking last night. They were all irritated Juliet hadn’t told them the man who’d threatened her had just gotten out of prison. On the other hand, they also understood her reticence; law enforcement officers got threats all the time.
Reaching up over her head, Wendy grabbed another branch with both hands and swung herself to the ground, landing in a rut. She went flying toward the ground, but Matt caught her by the arm, steadying her before she could end up flat on her face.
Wendy brushed back her hair. “Thanks. I’m fine.”