about the young widow...
“You’re really concerned about this woman, aren’t you?”
For a second, Kevin considered the possibility Sally was psychic. She’d certainly tuned in to his train of thought. Nah, just perceptive and kind-hearted.
“Yeah, I’m concerned. She’s a nice person and she certainly didn’t deserve this crap.” Kevin’s hand fisted.
“Maybe you should follow up on the case. Give her another call.”
Kevin heard the hint of humor in Sally’s voice. “You’re as bad as Garrett. Never pegged you for a matchmaker.”
“Did I say anything about matchmaking? I’m solely expressing concern for the victim of a senseless crime. Suggesting you follow up with said victim.” Sally sounded quite serious and totally professional. And then Kevin heard the little laugh that escaped her.
“Solely concerned for the victim? Why do I detect a white lie here? Talk to you later.” Kevin hung up the phone and shook his head.
He grabbed the handset again, started to punch in Amy MacArthur’s number which he knew from memory already, and then returned the receiver to the cradle. Maybe tomorrow he’d call.
Maybe.
It was probably too late now to call her tonight. Of course, he wouldn’t be on duty again for four days. Oh hell, she’ll be fine, he decided. She’s a mature, intelligent woman. If she wasn’t doing okay, she would have called about the support services.
Wouldn’t she?
Shortly after finishing the last shift of his rotation, he stopped at the local watering hole. He played some pool and downed a beer with his buddy. At ten-thirty, he drove home and fell into bed. Immediately, his thoughts turned to Amy, and smiling, he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 4
Amy held the door open for Leslie and followed her into the Calgary Humane Society building. She spotted a cat enclosure to her left, and a pretty tabby kitten and a ginger-colored cat peeked out at her. Amy smiled at the furry duo and proceeded to the reception desk while Leslie talked to the felines through the glass.
A middle-aged woman greeted her with a smile. “May I help you?” she asked, in an English accent.
Amy smiled back. “I’d like to adopt a dog.”
“Excellent,” she replied. “Just take a chair and I’ll call one of our adoption counselors to come up front to help you. May I give her your name?” The woman picked up the phone.
“Amy MacArthur. Thank you for your help.” Amy retraced her steps to the middle of the room and seated herself beside the windowed cat room.
“Aren’t they cute?” Leslie settled herself on a chair opposite Amy.
“Yes, but I’ve got my heart set on a dog.”
“I didn’t mean for you.” Leslie tilted her head. “I’m seriously inquiring about that little yellow cat sitting on that padded perch. She high-fived me through the window when I put my hand up to the glass. I think she likes me.”
Amy shook her head. “Better call Rick and ask him first.”
Leslie met Amy’s eyes, looking sheepish. “I already did while you were talking to the receptionist. He told me to go for it.”
“Then there’s your answer.” Amy grinned. “It was meant to be.”
“You think?” Leslie’s eyes lit up.
“Definitely. Cats are much easier to care for than dogs. Just leave her with some food and water and her litter box, and she won’t mind you being away from home working at the salon all day.”
Just then a slim middle-aged woman, smartly dressed in designer jeans, a yellow and white striped cotton t-shirt, and a fitted yellow jacket, strode up to them. “Are you Amy?” she asked.
“Yes.” Amy leapt to her feet and shook the woman’s outstretched hand.
“I’m Mrs. Swainson. Come on back to adoption processing. I see you have the application and survey papers with you.”
“Yes. I found them on your website, printed them off, and filled them in last night.” Amy followed the woman past the Humane Society store and down a long hallway, with Leslie