to consult her directory to dial. She knew the number by heart. “I’m calling your mother.”
All the humor drained from Elijah’s face. Most of the color did, as well. “Oh, Miss Molly,” he whispered. “No.”
Chapter Sixteen
John
John couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this happy. He whistled “My Favorite Things”—the Coltrane version, not the one from the movie his daughter had liked so much as a kid—as he fried up bacon and eggs for breakfast.
He didn’t have to worry about anyone nagging him for eating such fatty foods, because Katie had spent the night with a friend from her dance team and wasn’t due to return home until noon. He had the house to himself to do whatever he wanted.
And what he wanted to do was eat breakfast and think about Molly Montgomery, at least in the short amount of time he had before he had to get back to the office and figure out how to catch Larry Beckwith III.
It was as he was thinking about Molly Montgomery and the impossible softness of her skin that his cell phone rang. He glanced down at the screen, irritated by the interruption, then saw that it was Peter Abramowitz, the state’s attorney. He picked up before the second ring.
“Pete,” he said. “What’s up?”
“You tell me what’s up.” Pete sounded as casual and good-humored as always. Like any true surfer, he didn’t get wound up about things that didn’t matter, which was one of the reasons John liked him. “What happened last night?”
“Beckwith hit the Tifton house.” John chewed on a piece of bacon. “Least, I’m pretty certain it was Beckwith. I’m still waiting for Murray to get back to me with prints. But I’m sure they’ll match. I’ve got every officer on staff out combing the island for that little twit. We’ll find him, and when we do, I need you to nail him to the wall this time. I don’t care what kind of big-deal lawyers his father brings down from the mainland, I want you to put the screws to—”
“I’m not talking about that.” Pete was laughing. “I already know about that. I’m talking about you and the librarian.”
John stopped chewing. He felt suddenly cold, even though Katie kept the air-conditioning at a meticulous seventy-five degrees, far too warm for him. But his daughter, like many in her generation, was ever conscious of wasting precious resources, frightened for the planet and its imminent demise. “What do you mean, me and the librarian?”
“The new children’s librarian. The one you were macking on last night at the bar on Jasmine Key.”
Macking? John had to take a hasty swig of coffee in order to wash down the bacon, on which he’d nearly choked.
“Don’t think I didn’t see you.” Pete was practically crowing. “Everyone did. You couldn’t have been more obvious.”
“We were not macking,” John said, when he could finally speak. “Miss Montgomery—Molly—is a very kind, intelligent woman, and we were merely—”
“Jesus Christ!” Now Pete was hooting with laughter. “I’m messing with you. Not that we didn’t all see you two kissing. But I think it’s great. How long has it been since you’ve been on a date? Not since you and Christina split, right? And before that, what was it, high school? Hasn’t Christina basically been the only woman you’ve ever—”
“All right.” John was on his feet, his breakfast and Coltrane forgotten. “We don’t need to go into the details about that. Especially since nothing happened last night. I got the call about the Tifton place and took Molly home.” He didn’t feel it was necessary to fill his talkative friend in on the details about what had happened after he’d taken Molly home. “End of story.”
“But you’re gonna see her again, right?” Besides being an excellent attorney—the Beckwith case aside—Pete Abramowitz was a good and supportive friend. He’d never missed a Snappettes performance since Katie joined the team, and had brought every single one of his relatives—including his elderly mother—to the jailhouse zoo when they visited Little Bridge for the holidays. Why, yes, that is a convicted felon holding a lop-eared rabbit on his lap. Go ahead, you can pet it. “You like her, she likes you, yadda yadda yadda?”
John’s mind went back to the night before. The softness of Molly’s body as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed up against him. The little sounds she’d made in her throat as he’d kissed her. The eagerness with which her nipple had hardened beneath the palm of his hand