She took this in, apparently deciding whether or not she thought it was true.
“You’re a bit hairier than I prefer, though,” she assessed.
“Now, that’s a shame,” he said.
Apparently he intended to go down flirting. Interesting what one learned about oneself in moments of desperation.
She chuckled again, but the gun stayed pointed at him. “You’re quick. Like my Elwyn.”
“Elwyn your husband?”
“Was. Dead ten years.”
“Sorry to hear that, too. I’m not a housebreaker. Did I mention that?”
She still didn’t lower the gun. “I’m ninety-two,” she volunteered.
“See, I would have guessed sixty at the most. Because that there Remington isn’t a lightweight gun, and you’re holding it as straight and true as someone a lot younger would. I know how to hold a shotgun. I can even identify what kind of gun it is from the sound it makes when you cock it. I’m from Tennessee.”
Maybe he could bond with her over guns, was his thinking. He’d learned from his cop show that hostage negotiators try to find common ground with criminals that way.
“It’s a Remington, all right. This was my daddy’s gun. And you sure say all the right things, son. But Britt didn’t mention anyone coming to fix her porch, and she would have, because we look out for each other. She’s got nothing in there worth stealing, so you can just take your pretty self off.”
“Well, you see, I wanted to surprise her by doing something nice. If you take a look in my truck”—he wasn’t going to make any sudden moves, so he didn’t turn his head—“you can see the boards I plan to use. Britt is a... friend of mine. I helped her carry that there ficus plant down from that old cabin up the hill.”
The woman turned toward the plants thoughtfully. She kept that gun aimed right at him, though.
“And something tells me Britt would never ask anyone for help,” he added. “So I wanted to do this for him before she fell or tripped on it and got hurt.”
As it turned out, this was the right thing to say. At least it was the thing that got her to lower the gun.
A little.
“Well, that does sound like Britt. And that porch of hers is a hazard. She’s got a good heart, that girl. She loves those plants up until they’re thriving and gives them away again. But she needs someone to look after her. And she needs something to lookafterthat isn’t a plant or a cat.”
“I kinda got that sense, too.”
The gun lowered a little bit more.
“You must be the neighbor who called the police when Britt was singing in the shower,” he tried.
He hoped Mrs.Morrison’s memory was still sharp.
“I might be at that,” she hedged.
They continued eyeing each other, though she was a bit more thoughtful now.
“You like her quite a bit, don’t you, young man?” Mrs.Morrison shrewdly guessed.
He hesitated. “I might just.”
“I might be a might twitchy because you’re her first male visitor since she’s moved here.”
He smiled at that. “You don’t know how happy that makes me.”
She chuckled again.
Finally she sighed, locked the gun and set it aside, leaning it up against the house as casually as if it were a cane. She brushed her hands off on her apron.
