Morgan carried the pie as they walked to the front porch.
“Did I mention she’s also a hoarder?” he warned as he knocked on the door. No one answered, so he used his key and let them in.
“Mom?” he called out as they stepped into the living room.
He assessed a stack of shipping boxes by the door. Not too bad. Seven pairs of shoes. He’d last visited yesterday morning. These must have been delivered in the afternoon. Other than the new boxes, the living room was tidy.
A former computer science professor, his mom had turned to online teaching years before. She also did freelance website design, security, and maintenance. With her mortgage paid off, her expenses were minimal, and her salary enabled her to indulge in far too much online shopping. Lance kept close tabs on her credit cards, but it was still impossible to keep her completely in check. If he cancelled one credit card, she applied for ten more.
He pictured the clutter that had once filled the house. They’d barely been able to walk from room to room. Antidepressants, weekly group therapy, and Lance’s determination were the three keys to keeping Jennifer Kruger’s living conditions sanitary, safe, and relatively sane.
Morgan wandered into the living room and inspected the hanging glass cases full of thimbles and spoons. Several chests of drawers held more of the same. “Spoons and thimbles?”
“They’re small and nonflammable,” Lance said. His mother had needed to keep some of her treasures.
“Lance, is that you? I’m in the office.” His mom’s voice drifted from the bedroom wing of the house.
A doorway opened into the kitchen, while a short hallway led to the three bedrooms.
Morgan detoured to the kitchen with the pie while Lance headed for the hall and the extra bedroom that had been converted into an office when his mother had started working from home.
His mom sat behind the desk, hunched over a keyboard. On one side of her L-shaped desk, a computer was equipped with three monitors. A laptop was open on the second leg. A cat lounged beside the laptop. Another bathed itself in a patch of sun that streamed into the room and puddled on the floor behind the desk.
His mom smiled as he entered the room, leaned over her desk, and kissed her on the cheek.
On the outside, his mother looked ordinary. Her painfully slender frame, white hair she didn’t bother to color, and deep lines in her face aged her beyond her sixty years. The one highlight of her OCD was that she was routine dependent, and her therapist had designed daily hygiene rituals with her illness in mind. She was now incapable of sleeping past her seven a.m. alarm, skipping a shower, or not washing her clothes at exactly nine o’clock every morning. The end result was a seemingly put-together older woman who functioned with a precision that even drill sergeants would envy.
But the ever-present bright sheen of apprehension that clouded her pale blue eyes gave her away. No amount of medication or therapy would ever bring her back to the woman she’d once been.
In the blink of an eye, his mother’s expression shifted from resignation to fear. “Who is that in the hallway?”
Looking lawyerly—and gorgeous—in her navy-blue suit, white blouse, and heels, Morgan stepped into the doorway. She must have left the pie and her giant purse in the kitchen.
Lance gestured for her to come into the room. “Mom, this is Morgan Dane.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kruger.”
He braced himself for a panic attack as his mother studied Morgan for a full minute without speaking. In his mind, Lance was already fetching antianxiety meds from the kitchen when the most extraordinary thing happened.
His mother smiled.
Rising, she came out from behind the desk and extended a hand to Morgan. “Please, you must call me Jennifer.”
What the hell?
When was the last time Mom had willingly touched a stranger?
“Let me make you some coffee?” His mom led Morgan toward the kitchen. The pair of cats weaved precariously around their ankles.
Feeling like he was having an out-of-body experience, Lance followed. His mom gestured toward the round oak table that had graced the gray sheet vinyl since the house had been built. He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than he, his mom, or Sharp had sat at it. Even the social worker who visited once a month usually set off an anxiety attack.
But his mom was at the counter making coffee as if she entertained on a daily basis. She pointed to a high cabinet. “Lance, get some plates down.”
“OK.” He did as she asked, his emotions bouncing between suspicion and guarded relief.
“Can I help?” Morgan asked.
His mother waved away Morgan’s offer. “No. No. You’re our guest.”
Lance spent the next twenty minutes in an utter state of confusion as they ate pie and drank coffee like normal people. His mother finished an entire slice, the most he’d seen her eat in one sitting in years, and she wore the first genuine smile he’d seen in a very long time.
Who was this woman, and what had she done with his mother?
“Mom, we need to ask you for a favor.” Lance collected their dirty plates and put them into the dishwasher. His mother would run the appliance at seven o’clock this evening, whether it was empty or full.
“What is it?” his mom asked.
“Morgan is a defense attorney. Sharp and I are assisting with her investigation. We’re shorthanded, and we could use some help running background checks.”
“You want me to help you?” She perked up even more.
“Yes,” he said.
“Of course I will.” She rose, a flustered hand going to her throat as she scurried back to her office.
Lance rushed after her. Was she going to freak out? What had he done? “I don’t want to give you any stress.”
But his mom slid behind her desk. Did she really just crack her knuckles over her keyboard? “Did you bring me a list?”
“Yes.” Lance froze.
Luckily, Morgan kept her wits. From behind him, she said, “I’ll get it.”
When his mom looked up at him, her eyes were wet. Lance had a moment of fear before he realized it was gratitude shining from his mom’s face.
Sharp had been right.
His mother was thrilled to be helping.
“So you’re OK with this?” Lance asked.
She nodded. “I’m so glad you asked.” Her gaze went around the office. “The fall term just began. There isn’t that much I can use to fill my work hours.” She focused on him. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than help you and Sharp. I know I’ve been a terrible burden to you both.”
“Never a burden.” Lance rounded the desk. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he bent and kissed her on the cheek.
She turned, smiled up at him, and whispered, “She’s lovely.”
The waggle of her eyebrows shocked the hell out of him, and he couldn’t stifle the laugh that burst out of his chest.
Another first, his mother showing a sense of humor.
“We work together.”