Free Murder in Hindsight by Anne Cleeland Page B

she had even attempted the subterfuge with her electronics.
    “Want to talk?” he asked quietly, his voice resonating against her head.
    “No,” she replied into his shoulder.
    “Want me to go?”
    “No.”
    They stood together and night fell quickly, as it tended to do this time of year. He finally said, “It’s cold; button your coat and we’ll go fetch your mobile.”
    “I’m glad you came, Michael.”
    “Next time may I accompany you?”
    She sighed into his lapel. “Oh, I don’t know; there’s a lot of weepin’ and wailin’ involved.”
    “I can handle it,” he said firmly as he opened the door for her. “I love you.”
    Granting him a wan smile for this accolade, she slid into the car. She was emotionally drained and just wanted to go to bed, but she was indeed glad he’d come; she hadn’t told him about her plans because he overreacted when she was upset about anything, and this visit was always the queen of all upsets.
    They returned to the church to fetch her things, and Acton visited with Father John for a few moments, making plans for his next class of instruction. Whilst waiting, Doyle turned to observe the faithful who were beginning to file in for the evening service, and then she saw him. He was seated near the back, watching her. Doyle met his eyes for an astonished moment, and watched as he deliberately raised a hand to display a small paper wedged between his fingers; then lowered it. For one confused moment, she thought her rescuer attended her church, but then he rose and left without looking back.

C HAPTER 10
    I N A CASUAL MANNER, D OYLE STROLLED TO THE BACK OF THE church and retrieved the wedge of paper, left on the pew. It said: “Tomorrow. Same time and place.”
    After tucking it in the missal box, she dithered, trying to decide what was best to do. She’d already made it clear she wasn’t going to fall in with whatever plan Solonik was cooking up, and she definitely didn’t want her rescuer to believe she was now at his beck and call—although he’d had some questions of his own at their last meeting, so perhaps he wanted to meet again because he was seeking more answers about Solonik. It didn’t matter, she should put an end to it; nothing good could come from another meeting, and her rescuer was definitely wearing out his welcome. Trying to come to a decision, she looked toward the sanctuary to see if Acton was coming, but he was still in conversation with the good father. Perhaps she should confess it all to Acton; it was Solonik, after all, and she was far out of her element. On the other hand, Acton himself was edgy for undisclosed reasons, and he was still recovering from the stupid therapy sessions that seemed to have done no good at all. She could go tomorrow and see what her wretched rescuer had to say; it was not as though she could be duped into doing something she didn’t want to do—she was wise to them. If it turned out to be anything remotely alarming, then she would confess the whole to Acton.
    Her husband came up the aisle to take her arm as they left the church. “Hungry? Shall we pick up Chinese?”
    “No need for such a sacrifice,” she teased. She was fond of Chinese food; he was not. “Is Reynolds in?” She would rather just go home and collapse; Reynolds could prepare something.
    “No, he’s left. I’ll make you something.”
    This was a sweet offer; Acton was no cook, having had various lackeys to do for him his entire life. “Soup does sound good.” Hopefully, he couldn’t ruin soup.
    “Should I pick up some fruit pies? You can wait in the car.”
    “Faith, Michael—you’re to be killin’ me with kindness; have done, please.” She had developed a taste for prepackaged fruit pies, and he feigned horror whenever she ate one; it was a sure sign of the depth of his affection that he was willing to do such a shameful thing.
    As they drove home, he brushed his thumb across the back of her hand; back and forth, back and forth. She