He stands an inch or two over six feet, has slate blue eyes and blond hair that usually looks as though heâs just raked through it with his fingers. He was wearing jeans too, with a down vest over a soft brown corduroy shirt. He held out his arms and I walked straight into them.
That man can kiss. I tipped back my head, closed my eyes, and held on for the ride. When we broke apart, I was feeling a little tipsy. That gave me a good excuse to hang onto his arm as he whistled for the dogs, picked up a backpack, and pointed toward a path leading off from the side of his yard.
âThe foliage is incredible this time of year and the view from the top of this hill is spectacular. It takes about half an hour to hike up. Is that okay with you?â
âFine. Whatâs in the backpack?â
âLunch, cold beer, all the necessities.â
Iâve tasted Samâs cooking. Itâs several notches up from mine. I kicked back, relaxed, and went with the flow.
The sun was warm on our backs as we crossed the yard. In the woods it was slightly cooler, but still comfortable. The path was wide enough that we could walk side by side. Leaves crunched beneath our feet. The Poodles circled around us, running in and out of the trees, chasing squirrels and checking for deer.
âHow was L.A.?â I asked.
âWarm, sunny, same as always.â
âI donât think I could live there. Iâd miss the seasons too much.â
âMe too. Thereâs nothing in all of southern California that looks quite like this.â Weâd come to a small clearing from which we could see down over the surrounding hills. Vivid splashes of red, gold, and orange formed a mosaic of color over the countryside below us. We enjoyed the view for a few minutes, then moved on.
âWhat have you been up to while I was gone?â Sam asked.
He knew Iâd been taking Faith to handling class, but having recently moved to the East Coast, he didnât know Rick and Jenny Maguire personally. Still, he was shocked when I told him what had happened.
âHow did she die?â
âArsenic poisoning, apparently.â I plucked a bright gold leaf off a tree beside the path and twirled it between my fingers. âAunt Peg and I went to the wake last night and Crawford Langley told us that much. He said it must have been an accident.â
Both of us stopped as there was a sudden crashing in the underbrush. With two graceful bounds, a doe leapt across the path and disappeared into the trees on the other side. I grabbed for my puppy and missed. Immediately both Poodles took off in pursuit. Luckily Charm was too old to give much of a chase and when she circled back, Faith came with her.
Having recaptured the dogs, we decided it was time for lunch. I was just as glad the subject had been changed. The summer before Sam had done a great job of comforting me after Iâd stumbled across a dead body. I didnât want him to think of me as some sort of damsel who was perennially in distress.
Sam had packed ham-and-cheese sandwiches and tucked a pair of beers into a small thermal pouch. The dogs begged shamelessly and probably ended up with more than their share as we talked about Samâs trip, Aunt Pegâs new puppies, and the judges for the upcoming winter shows. The scenery was breathtaking, the company delightful, and the afternoon passed a whole lot faster than I wanted it to.
Frank usually dropped Davey off around five. When we got back down the hill to Samâs house, I knew I would have to hurry if I was going to make it. His arm was around my waist, his fingers skimming lightly just above my waistband.
âWant to come in?â he asked.
âYes . . .â I smiled an apology. âAnd no. I have to get back. My brother will be bringing Davey home.â
Sam was great with kids, and he and Davey were friends. I knew he wouldnât press; Sam understood that I had responsibilities. But that
Learning to Kill: Stories