Free Broken Places by Sandra Parshall Page A

case. There’s nobody in the world I trust more than you.”
    Her hand felt cool and fragile in his, and the beseeching look in her eyes strummed a chord of sympathy in his heart. They’d known each other half their lives, been lovers off and on since their teens. He knew she was tough, but she’d lost both her parents today, in horrifying circumstances, and that was enough to break anybody. It had nearly broken him when he’d lost most of his own family. Yet all he could say was, “We’ll find out who did this.”
    Lindsay drew a deep breath and put on her best game face. “I’ll let you get on with it. Call me later, okay?”
    At the door, she paused. Looking back, she gave him a startling impish grin. “I’m going to enjoy getting to know Rachel. We have so much in common.”
    Chapter Seven

    Rachel stretched plastic wrap over the plate of chicken, rice, and green beans Holly had left untouched. She was sliding the plate into the fridge when a knock sounded on the front door.
    “Oh, go away,” she muttered. Company was the last thing she wanted.
    Another knock, this one louder.
    Sighing, Rachel headed for the door.
    Ben stood on her front porch, hands jammed into his pockets, his whole body thrumming with tension. “I have to talk to you,” he said.
    Tom had specifically asked her not to discuss the day’s events with Ben. What was she supposed to do? Tell her friend to go away and leave her alone? “I’ve talked about the Taylors more than enough for one day,” she said. “I don’t want to rehash it all now.”
    “Please, Rachel. You’re the only friend I’ve got in this place.”
    She hesitated, weighing Tom’s disapproval against Ben’s obvious distress. Tom would never know she’d talked to him . She swung the screen door open and let Ben in.
    Cicero squawked, “Help! Help! Save me, save me!” from the top of his cage, but he didn’t fly to Ben the way he always flew to Tom.
    Ben was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t seem to notice the bird’s cries. Instead of taking a seat, he began pacing aimlessly. “Did you know Taylor’s wife died today too, and they think she was murdered?”
    “Yes, I heard. It’s awful.”
    “I’m going crazy worrying about—” Ben halted and asked in a lowered voice, “Where is Holly? Are we alone?”
    “She’s upstairs. Sit down, will you? You’re making me nervous.” What did he have to say that he didn’t want Holly to overhear? Rachel took a chair and motioned Ben toward the sofa, where Frank already occupied one cushion.
    Ben dropped onto the couch and rubbed the cat’s head with his knuckles, but he didn’t relax. He seemed to be straining for a light tone when he said, “You’re a lucky guy, Frank, getting rescued by this lady.” He shot a glance at Rachel. “Remember when we stole Mary right off those people’s front steps?”
    Displacement activity, Rachel thought. Grabbing at any available diversion to ease his stress. She would play along if it helped him settle down emotionally. “I prefer to think we saved her. You did, anyway. I was too terrified of what my mother would do to me if I got caught stealing somebody’s kitten.”
    “I still carry Mary’s picture.” Ben shifted to pull his wallet from his back pocket. He slid out a photo and passed it to Rachel.
    Humoring him, she looked at the beautiful white cat in the picture, then had to smile at the memory. The first time Rachel and Ben had seen her, they were both fourteen years old—and outraged that someone had left the little kitten in a basket on the front steps all day in chilly November. They’d returned after dark to make sure the cat had been taken in out of the cold. But there she was, huddled in the basket while her owners moved about in the warm house. A food dish next to the basket provided proof enough that she was left out all the time. Ben hadn’t hesitated for a second. He marched onto the property, swiped the cat, stuck her inside his