Silent Killer Page 0,62
has told you recently, you’re even prettier now than you were at seventeen.”
A flush of warmth spread through Cathy, a direct result of the compliment he’d paid her. Odd. She didn’t remember Jack being the type to flatter a girl. He had been a moody, dark soul back then, and she suspected that in many ways he still was. But she liked seeing this side of him.
“So, did you really stop by to help me?” she asked.
“Absolutely. Point me in the right direction and issue orders.”
“How about helping me unpack the kitchen stuff,” she said. “I can’t reach some of the upper cabinets without a step stool.”
“Lead the way.”
Three hours later, with the kitchen boxes unpacked and the items neatly stored, the bed linens washed, dried and put in place on the four-poster, Cathy led Jack into the small bedroom at the front of the house.
“I’m going to use this as my workroom,” she told him.
He eyed the two large boxes pushed against the wall near the closet. “Want me to start with those?”
She nodded. “My portable sewing machine is in the smaller one. If you’ll unpack it and set it on that desk”—she pointed to the rectangular pine desk painted white—“I’ll take the packing tape off the larger one. My drafting table is in there. I haven’t used it in years.”
“Why didn’t you go to college the way you’d planned and become an architect?” Jack asked.
Bent over the large box, her back to Jack, Cathy stiffened. She had known that it was only a matter of time before he started asking questions. Not that this question would be difficult to answer, but the reply would invariably lead to more questions. And the answer to those would require either several lies or a major confession.
She took the box cutter in her hand and ripped through the packing tape. Staying focused on the task at hand, she replied casually, “I got married instead. And I intended to eventually go back to school and get my degree, but Mark and I moved around quite a bit as he went from one church to another. And, of course, Seth kept me pretty busy.”
Holding her breath, she waited for more questions. When Jack didn’t say anything else, she glanced at him and found him busy removing her sewing machine from the box. She breathed a sigh of relief.
As he placed the sewing machine on the desk, he asked, “How about we order something for supper and I stay here and help you until I have to go to work?”
“What time do you have to go in?”
“Eleven,” he replied. “I’m filling in for Tony Bradley. He’s at the hospital with his wife, who went into labor at ten-thirty this morning.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? I’d appreciate the help. Lorie mentioned coming back around six-thirty.”
“We’ll order dinner for three, my treat. Can you recommend a place that delivers?”
“Why don’t I call Lorie and have her pick up something on her way here? And dinner is on me,” she told him. “It’s the least I can do to pay you back for helping me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With a cocky, boyish grin on his face, he saluted her. “You call Lorie, and I’ll set up your drafting table.”
“Okay.” Feeling relaxed and happy, she returned his smile. “How about Italian? Frankie’s on Market Street has the best lasagna and a tomato pesto to die for.”
“Any Italian cream cake?” Jack asked.
“Oh my God, yes. You can gain five pounds just smelling it.”
He looked her over from head to toe and then leisurely made his way back up, stopping when their gazes met. “Why don’t you order cake for all three of us? A few extra pounds won’t hurt your figure.”
Cathy felt almost giddy and couldn’t hold back the laughter bubbling over inside her. After Seth was born and she’d been what some would have called pleasingly plump, Mark had helped her stick to a strict diet until she was at what he considered an acceptable weight. And over the years, he had kept a close eye on her eating habits. He had disapproved of her tendency to turn to food for comfort. And as J.B. had pointed out to her and Mona more than once, gluttony was a sin.
“I’ll order two pieces,” she said. “Lorie and I can split a piece and not feel too guilty for indulging.”
Jack shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He scanned the limited space in the small room. “Where do you want me to put the table?”
“There”—Cathy pointed