Heaven Preserve Us (36 page)

But someone was missing. "That disrespectful little wench," I
whispered.

Barr glanced over at me. "Who?"

"Ariel. Ariel Skylark. From the co-op. Tiny, blonde, sticks blobs of
paint on great big canvases, then calls it modern art? She's not here."

He shook his head. "Sorry. Have I met her?"

"I guess not." I was pretty sure any man who met Ariel remembered
the occasion.

Her absence was conspicuous, though. CRAG was closed for the funeral, so there was no need for anyone to mind the store. It was downright rude of her not to show up.

The priest appeared. The door to the street slammed shut. Daylight
winked out save the dim glimmer of the stained glass windows arching
above. The funeral had begun.

When we walked out of the church my dark linen suit smelled so smoky
I felt like I'd been in a casino bar. Father Donegan had not stinted with
the incense, and if the idea had been for the rising tendrils to raise Scott's
soul up to heaven, he was already well ensconced. Barr, a closet Catholic,
had explained some of the service to me. I had to admit, I really liked
the ritual aspect of it. My parents being dyed-in-the-wool, intellectual
agnostics, I hadn't grown up with any formal religious training. I could
see how it might be nice in situations like these.

I sniffed my sleeve and wrinkled my nose. "What's in that stuff,
anyway?"

"I never thought to wonder. Frankincense and myrrh?" Barr guessed.

"I think that might just be for Christmastime. Gifts of the three wise
men, and all that."

"Mm hmm."

"You okay?"

"What? Oh. Sure. Yeah. I'm fine." He watched a squirrel in a yard
across the street snake onto a tree branch and then down the chain to
raid an elaborate wooden birdfeeder.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. Of course he was upset about his friend's
sudden death. But there was something more. I waited.

He took a deep breath, then turned his attention to me. Brown eyes,
intelligent and discerning, met mine. "If I say this, promise not to make
it into something."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Was he finally going to tell me why
"we have to talk?"

"Just promise," he said.

I took a deep breath. "Okay." What on earth?

"I was just thinking how odd it was for Scott to die in a car crash."

Oh. Not about me. Go figure.

"Because he was a cop?" I asked.

"Well, that, for one. He had a lot of formal training for sure. But he
was also an amateur racer. Stock cars."

"Really? I had no idea."

"Almost every Sunday he was out at the fairgrounds speedway, racing
with his buddies."

"So he knew a ton about cars. And driving."

"Yes. Both."

"Do you think the crash was something besides an accident?" I asked.

His head swung back and forth. "No, no. Don't do that. You said you
wouldn't make it into anything, if I told you what I was thinking."

I shrugged. "Okay. You're the detective, and he was your friend."

He reached over and tousled my hair. I ducked away from his hand,
nearly twisting my ankle in my brand new three-inch heels, and he
grinned. I still wasn't quite used to my short bob, after having hair down
to my waist for most of my adult life.

"I need to get going," he said.

"You're not going to the reception?"

Crap. In the last two days I'd asked him twice what he'd wanted to
talk to me about, but he'd sidestepped me each time, telling me it could
wait. Maybe it could, but I couldn't.

"Robin's holding down the fort back at the cop shop with a lone
cadet;" he said. "She offered, since she hasn't been in the department all
that long, and she knew everyone would want to go to Scott's funeral.
But she shouldn't have to handle everything herself for too long."

Detective Robin Lane: Barr's new partner. She was also, I might add,
drop-dead gorgeous, a fact he pretended not to notice. It was even more
irritating because she didn't seem to realize it, either.

"I want to make an appearance at the reception and have a quick
word with Chris," I said. "And Meghan's booked with massages all afternoon, so I need to pass on her sympathies as well." Meghan Bly was my
housemate and my best friend.

We said goodbye, and Barr walked away down the sidewalk. I watched
him go, noting the lanky, confident stride. I was pretty sure he was The
One, but even though he kept pushing me to move in with him, I'd
resisted so far. Lately, I'd been thinking more seriously about doing it,
about actually sharing the address at his house on the edge of town.

The thought sent a bolt of perfectly balanced thrill and terror
through my solar plexus.

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CRICKET MCRAE has always enjoyed the kind of practical home crafts
that were once necessary to everyday life. Her first Home Crafting Mystery, Lye in Wait, focuses on soap making; the third in the series, Spin a
Wicked Web, features spinning and fiber art.