snowed, everyone was on holiday, I realized. A legacy of my southern upbringing. "No, no. We can just as well do it this afternoon. I've enjoyed the break in routine."
Luke said to Martin, "My wife tells me you've had a prowler."
"You wouldn't think this was the weather for it, would you?"
"Mighty brave guy," Luke commented in agreement.
"Or desperate."
Martin went to put the groceries in the kitchen, leaving this little chilling statement hanging in the air behind him like an icicle from the eaves. I smiled at the Granberrys, but I felt it was an anxious sort of smile. "I'll go see if we can find some hot chocolate," I murmured, and scooted into the kitchen after Martin.
"What are you in such a snit about?" I breathed at him. He was standing in his "I'm mad" pose, shoulders hunched up, hands in his pockets, staring out the window.
"I can't track down that slippery little bastard," Martin growled back. I assumed he meant Rory Brown.
I started to point out that this was no big surprise, but my better sense came to my rescue. "We'll talk about it later. Let's serve the Granberrys some hot chocolate. After all, they came to help when we needed it." » Martin carried the tray with the four mugs out to the living room and set it on the battered table in front of the couch. The tray was clearly one of Regina and Craig's wedding presents, probably from Pier 1, a rattan and iron construction that would have looked charming in more congruent surroundings. "Do you have any idea how long you'll stay?" Luke asked, taking a mug of chocolate and dropping some miniature marsh-mallows on top. He seemed like a different person now that he was sure his wife was safe - relaxed and secure, even physically larger somehow.
I let Martin field that one.
"We have no idea," he confessed. "If Regina is found, and under what circumstances... if we can track down my sister Barby and her fiancé ... if we can find out if the baby is really Regina's ... All that will have a bearing." "What a terrible set of circumstances," Margaret said. She didn't seem inclined to repeat the ideas she'd voiced to me when we were alone, and I thought that was wise. I'd try to tell Martin when the Granberrys left. Luke was the first to hear yet another vehicle coming up the driveway.
"Expecting anyone?" he asked Martin.
"No." Martin went to the front window. "Blue Dodge pickup." To my astonishment, our newest set of callers consisted of the hunky Dennis Stinson, Cindy Bartell, and our erstwhile trip companion, Rory. This house had seemed isolated. Now it was beginning to feel like a social center. We should have charged for parking and hot beverages. I went to the kitchen to put some more water in the pot, found some cookies in the bags Martin had carried into the house, and put them on a plate. "The shop's closed on Saturday afternoons, so we thought we'd come out to check on you," Dennis said. He looked even larger in the layers of cold-weather wear. Cindy looked like one of Santa's elves next to him, with her pixie-cut hair and narrow face. She was in a red-and-green sweater, which heightened the impression. Rory wasn't smiling, or even wearing his usual look of amiable stupidity. On the contrary, he seemed sullen and stubborn. He didn't speak, but grabbed a cookie and ate it in one bite.
I sidled over next to him, since all the other people in the room were talking to each other and I had a little time on my own. "How come you're here?"
"That Stinson guy grabbed me," Rory said. He looked down at me, ran his tongue around his teeth to clean off the cookie remnants, and summoned back up his charm. "I oughta call the police," he said, all naughty. "I was just walking around downtown, minding my own business. Then I cross in front of Cindy's Flowers, and out comes this Stinson guy, and he grabs me, and tells me your husband is looking for me, and I gotta go with him. Then Mrs. Bartell, she says I got to go, too. Since it was her, I came without giving them no trouble." "Thanks, Rory. We really do need to find out more about what happened to Craig and why."
"I told you everything I know!"
"That's hard to believe," I told him, surprised at my own directness. "You were