“No. I should do that? I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Don’t. I’m conducting an experiment. Have you ever heard it bong? Because that’s the word for it. On the hour, once for one, twice for two, and so on. One bong on the half hour.”
“No, I don’t … maybe.” She frowned. “Maybe.”
“Three bongs, at three a.m.”
“I didn’t dream that, or imagine that?”
“Not unless I did, too. And I didn’t. You slept through it last night. Collin never wound it either because who wants to try to sleep with that thing going off every hour? It woke me up, so I went down to take a look.”
She took a moment, ate some pizza. “I’m going to see your ‘call me’ and raise it with a ‘why didn’t you wake me up?’”
“Maybe you’d just wound it, and it seemed wrong to wake you up at three in the morning to ask.”
“If I’d wound it, we’d have heard it while we were eating, while we were having sex.”
“That’s a point. Blame three in the morning and fuzzy thinking.”
She took a moment for coffee while she studied him. “You’re probably good in court.”
“That’s what they pay me for. It wasn’t wound, and the hands stood at three—on the dot. If you haven’t used the room, you probably didn’t notice where the clock stopped.”
“No, but I’ll pay attention now.”
“I moved them—the experiment. Before I did, the piano music started. ‘Barbara Allen.’ I was going to check, and when I turned around? Hot babe.”
She nearly choked on breakfast pizza. “You saw her? Lilian Crest?”
“I’d say in the flesh, but that’s not really accurate.”
He told her, recounting the conversation.
“Lots of them,” Sonya repeated. “I thought I’d accepted that, but … I’d have to consider that confirmation. She had a ring. I thought she must have, since the number seven keeps coming up. But damn it, if she knows Hester Dobbs has them, why not tell you how to find them, how to get them back?”
“Not in evidence, but it might be she—they—just don’t know. I’m stuck on the clock, on three. Okay if I come back, after work? I could pick up something for dinner.”
“I’d like you to come back whether you pick up something or not. But that’s a plus.”
“How do you feel about Chinese?”
“Fondly.”
“Check the online menu at the China Kitchen, and text me what you want. I’ve got to move. Judges dislike a lawyer who’s late for court. I can drop Mookie at the office. Or I can leave him with you.”
“Oh, leave him. We’d love it.”
“So will he.” He cupped her face, kissed her before he got up. “Unless you say no, I’m tossing a change of clothes in a bag before I come back. And staying.”
“I’m not saying no.”
“Good. I’ll see you, probably about six again, depending.”
“Good luck in court.”
Alone, she rested her chin on her fist and thought just how much her life, her world had changed. As part of the change, she got up to call in the dogs and give them breakfast.
Chapter Twenty
Since Yoda had company, she got a spare chew bone so both would have something to gnaw on while she worked.
As they started up, her iPad greeted her with Adele’s “Lovesong.”
“It’s lust and like at the moment, thanks, Lilian.”
The music shifted almost instantly to “Crimson and Clover.”
“Okay then, Clover.” The dogs took their bones by the crackling fire—one she hadn’t started. “I’ve got to knuckle down to work. I’ve got a job to finish, two to start, and a major proposal to get going. And my mother’s coming for the weekend, so no making up time there.”
She pressed her fingers to her eyes, drew a deep breath. Then booted up her computer.
An hour in, and she would get the catering job to testing stage by midday, her phone signaled a text.
Which reminded her she had to look up the menu and text Trey.
She read the text from Bree.
This scallop and pasta dish is quick, simple, and delish. IF—listen up!—IF you don’t overcook the pasta or the scallops. Got that? Pay attention.
“I got it, I got it.” She scanned the recipe. “It doesn’t sound so simple—and you didn’t need to use all caps on don’t-overcook reminders. It’s intimidating.”
Your cook time’s about ten minutes, so don’t start it until your mom’s there and you’re ready to eat. Sometime during the day, you’re going to make some—quick, easy—beer bread.
“I am? Bread. Jesus, that’s crazy. I’m not making bread.”
But she read the instructions.
“Okay, that actually does sound easy. I can do that.”
I assume you can make a salad. If not, text me, and after I get finished mocking and judging you, I’ll send instructions. Finish off the meal with a raspberry sorbet. I could give you a recipe for that—basic—but you’ll buy this at the store so you don’t feel overloaded.
Bon appetit! Bree
It required another steadying breath.
Thank you. My mom may collapse in shock, but thank you. I do know how to make a salad—it’s a house specialty—so no mocking or judging required. I swear by all that’s holy I won’t overcook because I sense the scope of your wrath.
Much appreciated, Sonya
Bree signed off with an emoji of a smiley face wearing a chef’s hat.
Sonya set the phone aside. She’d take it when she went into the village to shop. And she wouldn’t think about it until.
By midday, the catering site was ready for testing. And the dogs ready for a walk. So, she realized, was she.
The dogs bounded through and wrestled in the snow. She thought, if she looked hard enough, she could see tiny patches of anemic grass on the south side of the house.
The bounding and wrestling meant she had to mop both dogs up. They got a treat, and she got a Coke, a bowl of pretzels, and a tangerine.
At nearly four she surfaced. Cursed when testing showed her an error. After some adjustments, she ran it again.
And something that had simmered in the back of her mind on the Ryder job popped out.
“That’s good. That could be good. Bold. Fun. Movement.”
She got up, got her tools, and started a fresh mood board.
At her desk, she did some quick sketches just to give herself another visual.
Caught up, she shifted back and forth between the testing and refining her vision.
And jumped when a dog stood on either side of her wagging.
“Oh! God, it’s almost six. I didn’t mean to work this late. Sorry, boys, sorry. Let’s shut it down and go—no saying the word yet.”
After she backed up everything, shut down, she jogged downstairs with them. Since they dashed to the door, she went after them. She’d let them out, come back for a jacket.
And opened the door just as Trey started to ring the bell.
“Oh! They didn’t bark.”
“Mookie knows when it’s me. I guess this one does now, too.” He handed her a takeout bag before he gave the dogs attention. “Hi, guys. Good day for you?”
“I should’ve let them out again an hour ago, but I got involved. I just shut down. You’re still wearing a suit.”
A deep, dark gray with a pale gray shirt and a maroon-and-navy tie.
She all but felt her mouth water.