“My daddy brings my mama flowers once or twice a week, and I figured out it’s because they make her smile, just like you are now.”
“I worried things wouldn’t be right when you came tonight, that it would feel awkward after everything. And you brought me daisies.”
“Then you can stop worrying.”
She got a vase, wished she had a pretty little pitcher instead, and vowed to buy one the next time she went into town.
“Every time I come in here something smells good, in addition to you.”
“It’s the rosemary,” she told him, as she arranged the flowers. “It’s very fragrant. I found a new recipe for chicken I wanted to try.”
“Happy to be your taste-tester.”
“It should go well with thePouilly-Fumé.”
“If you say so.” He brushed her hair back, then indulged himself with a nuzzle of her neck. “How’d your day go?”
“I was restless and distracted, but I finished some work. And I was interrupted by a lost hiker—a photographer. I don’t understand why people don’t respect boundary lines. There’s so much land here open to the public, there’s no need to come onto private property.”
“Grass is always greener. He came to the house?”
“Yes. He set off the alarm, and I saw him on the monitor. He dropped and broke his compass, and apparently saw the cabin through his binoculars.”
Brooks paused in the act of pouring their wine. “Binoculars?”
She checked the chicken. “Yes. I wondered if he’d seen the camera through them, but apparently he was looking for his way, or some help. I went outside, around the greenhouse, so I could come up behind him.”
“You went out, when some strange guy was coming to the house?”
“I know how to take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time, remember? He was alone. I had my gun and Bert. He knocked, called out. And he was very disconcerted when I stepped out, with the gun.”
Brooks finished pouring the wine, took a long swallow. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“I didn’t mind frightening him. He shouldn’t have come onto posted property. I questioned him briefly, then directed him to where, if he told me accurately, he’d left his car. He left quickly.”
“An armed woman with a big dog? He’d’ve been a fool not to. What was he doing out here?”
“Photography. He said his name was Roland Babbett, and he was staying at the Conroys’ hotel.”
“That’s easy enough to check on.” Brooks dug out his cell phone. “What did he look like?”
“Mid-thirties. Between five-ten and five-eleven, about a hundred and seventy pounds. Medium complexion, light brown hair, brown eyes, prominent chin. He wore a brown cap with the Greenpeace logo, a black T-shirt with the name of the band R.E.M., khaki cargo shorts and hiking boots.He had a navy backpack, and a Nikon camera on a strap. The strap had multicolored peace signs on it.”
“Yeah, you would’ve made a good cop,” Brooks replied. “I saw him at the diner earlier today. Cherry pie à la mode.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Just curious. What time did he come here?”
“The alarm sounded at four-eighteen.”
“Yeah, that’s curious. I see him at the diner in town going onto four o’clock. Less than a half hour later, he’s out here.”
Her hand tightened on the stem of her glass. “You think they’ve found me.”
“Honey, did he look like Russian Mafia? And would it be their style to have some guy poking around up in your woods?”
“No.” Her shoulders relaxed. “He wasn’t armed. At least he wasn’t wearing a weapon. The Volkovs wouldn’t send a single unarmed man.”
