* * *
His hand was warm, his expression sincere. I smiled back, and told myself that this was what I wanted. A successful, famous, (age-appropriate,) man who could support me in the fashion to which David had accustomed me.
But even better than David, because Greg offered excitement and travel and no hateful stepchildren, and I probably wouldn’t have to worry about him leaving me for a woman young enough to be his daughter. If he had made it to forty-eight without any ex-wives, he wasn’t likely to start the trading in and up at this late date.
And if I got a flash of… what else? Mendoza in his waiter’s uniform, dimple flashing as he grinned at me, I was able to push it aside and tell myself not to be an idiot.
“That would be lovely,” I said, squeezing his hand before pulling mine away. “Why don’t you call me tomorrow and we’ll figure it out?”
He nodded and signaled for the check.
* * *
The drive back to Hillwood was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Greg kept the radio on low, some jazz station that filled the silence without demanding attention. It was a Sunday night, so traffic was slow, even on the busy roads, and after we turned onto Hillwood Drive, we didn’t pass another car until we reached the house.
As we turned up the driveway, I could already hear barking. The closer we came to the house, the more frantic and high-pitched it became.
“Something’s wrong,” I said, already reaching for my seatbelt.
Greg pulled up below the porch, and I was out of the car before he’d fully stopped, running toward the front door.
That’s when I saw it.
The door—my beautiful wooden front door—was splattered with red. Great gobs of it: running down the window and wood, pooling on the threshold, splashed across the brass knocker and handle.
I rocked to a stop and swallowed down the acid in my chest as I wondered how much blood it would have taken to get this effect. A bottle? A bucket? More?
But even as I reeled, my more calculating back-brain informed me that the color was wrong, too bright under the porch light.
And there was a smell. Not the coppery scent of blood but something harsh, chemical.
All the air went out of me as I recognized it for what it was.
Behind me, Greg had gotten out of the Jaguar and was approaching slowly, his phone already in his hand. “I’m calling the police.”
“That’s not necessary,” I told him. My voice was thin, but steady. “It’s just paint. I’ll take a picture of it?—”
I suited action to words, “—and then I’ll send it to Detective Mendoza. He’ll be able to determine whether it’s worth involving Lieutenant Copeland and CSI tonight.”
Greg was staring at me, and I added, “No one’s hurt. Edwina’s fine, see?”
She was hopping up and down inside the door, still barking frantically. We could see the top of her head and her bouncing ears on every jump. But while she was practically hysterical, that was par for the course when I was standing outside the door and she was stuck inside and couldn’t get to me. There was nothing wrong with her.
“There’s no need to call a crime scene crew out to my house at this time of night,” I said firmly. “Not for a gallon of paint. They’d be here all night, and I’d never get to sleep. It makes more sense to wait until the morning. If you’ll just escort me to the back door…”
I headed in that direction without waiting for an answer, and Greg, perforce, followed. His eyebrows were elevated, but he wasn’t objecting.
“I’ll go in through the kitchen door,” I explained, “and then I’ll contact Mendoza and tell him what happened. And tomorrow, in daylight, they can come out and take care of it.”
Greg looked around, at the small circle of light outside the back door and the black silhouettes of the tall trees rustling in the faint breeze. “Whatever you say.”
“I do say. It’s my house, and my front door, and my dog that’s going crazy inside. If I want to wait until tomorrow morning to deal with the police, then that’s my right.”
“And you’re not worried about staying here by yourself tonight?”
Of course I was. But— “There’s nobody here. Edwina wouldn’t be behaving the way she is if someone was. And I have a decent alarm system. It’s not that easy to get inside my house.”
Mendoza foray two days ago notwithstanding.
