Not a chance.
But it was nice that Pierce could enjoy her efforts.
With the dog under the table and Jennings atop the back of the sofa so that he could watch them, Nikki made sure Chloe managed to eat rather than just play with her food. She tried to bring up Billy Huber, but Pierce deftly changed the subject every time she mentioned his name. She had to let it drop.
For now.
After the table was cleared, the dishwasher loaded, Chloe was bathed and wrestled into pajamas, was read two bedtime stories, and finally fell asleep on her back, her little lips moving slightly, reddish curls splayed around her head. Nikki kissed her clean little forehead and whispered, “Sweet dreams,” as she tiptoed out of the room. The house wasn’t completely quiet, as Lily and Phee were watching television in their room and Pierce was in his den on the phone, but the day was winding down.
Nikki climbed the stairs to her office, where she went through her notes and, for what seemed the dozenth time, perused the pictures she’d taken of the Huber place, with its mountains of junk.
Had Billy Huber had any girlfriends? she wondered. Maybe one with a jealous husband? Or was there someone who held a serious grudge against him? A friend? More likely, an enemy? Maybe someone who would gain by his death? Who had motive and opportunity?
She heard Pierce on the stairs and Mikado’s paws scraping the floor as the dog followed him. “Thought I’d find you up here,” he said as he entered her study.
She rotated her desk chair and watched as he settled himself into the window seat that overlooked the backyard. He held her gaze. “Let me guess. You’re working on the Huber case.”
She laughed. “Ah, gee, you must be an ace detective or something.”
“Or you might be pretty transparent.”
“That, too,” she admitted, as Mikado found his bed near her desk. “You got anything for me?” she asked. “Fink is all over me for a story.”
“And he thinks you can get information from me.”
She lifted her brows. “Can I?”
He shook his head. “Nothing to tell.”
“Oh, come on. Really?”
“Really.” He held up his hands, palms out, as if in surrender, as he stood again. “Look, when I can tell you something, I will. You know that. Now, though, I’m heading to bed.”
“Want company?” she asked.
A smile inched across his chin, and she noticed the beard shadow covering his jaw and the twinkle in his eyes. “Always.”
She clicked off her computer, took hold of his hand, and tugged, pulling him to the stairs.
“And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men, because … no, as to the Lord and not to men, that’s it”—he murmured under his breath, remembering the verses he’d learned as a child—“not to men knowing that from the Lord you will … you will receive the reward of the inheritance. Because you serve only the Lord Christ.”
Not exactly word for word of the New King James Version of Colossians 3:23–24, but it would suffice. He loved to whisper Scripture as he worked, here in his basement, a private space,hisspace, carved beneath one of his sheds.
His tools surrounded him, all hanging on the stone walls, or arranged perfectly on the table next to his pistol and his open Bible. Chisels, hammers, and mallets. He felt a warm pleasure and a glow of anticipation as he fondled the stone, smooth now that the edges had been honed and polished in his tumblers.
And there was the antique bookcase with glass doors, behind which he kept his Bibles.
Yes, all was in perfect order.
He smiled, satisfied that he’d recovered his stolen property. Over the noise of the tumblers, humming and turning the stones, music was audible via the old stereo he’d refurbished, playing his father’s cherished vinyl records. Chamber music filled the small space.
Mozart.
For a second, he closed his eyes, listening to the woodwinds and piano.
His music collection was eclectic, what he played depending upon his mood. Everything from country to rock, jazz to blues, heavy metal to folk, hip-hop to ska. Whatever his mood dictated.
Tonight, he needed Mozart’s melodic strains.
