Free Sketcher in the Rye: by Sharon Pape Page B

back onto the road, no doubt thinking about the significance of his own time on Earth if someone of Nathan Hale’s stature merited such meager recognition . She didn’t try to draw him out about his feelings or try to paint things in a better light. The best medicine for his current distress was immersion in work.
    Five minutes later, they reached the home of James Harper and family. It was an impressive new Victorian, one of the many that had been springing up all over the Island for the past twenty years. It had all the typical hallmarks of that style, including a wraparound porch, peaked eaves and a turret or two. But as beautiful as it was, in Rory’s eyes it lacked the character and warmth of the original, nineteenth-century house her uncle Mac had so lovingly restored and left to her.
    â€œBig son of a gun.” Zeke’s voice came from out of the ether. He’d disappeared before Rory turned onto the block so that none of the Harpers or their neighbors had a chance to see him or his vanishing act. Over time, he and Rory had decided it was the most efficient way to conduct interviews. By remaining invisible, he didn’t expend as much of his energy; plus, it eliminated the chance of anything going awry with his appearance. When his energy level dipped, he would start to lose cohesiveness. No matter how creative Rory was, it was next to impossible to explain why the marshal was suddenly missing body parts.
    James Harper answered the door looking relaxed and stylish in chinos and a blue open-weave sweater. He greeted Rory with an easy smile and a dry handshake. If he had something to be worried about, it wasn’t apparent to her. He ushered her inside and led the way to a large den that flowed from the gourmet kitchen. Forsaking the traditional layout of a Victorian, the architect had embraced the open concept with twenty-foot ceilings and as few walls as he could manage without the whole structure collapsing. Except for the sound of their footsteps on the hardwood floors, the house was quiet. The children might still be at school, but where was the young Mrs. Harper? Rory knew from the info sheets that she was a full-time mom. Perhaps James had made sure she’d be otherwise occupied. Another good reason for him to be proactive about scheduling the date and time of the interview.
    â€œCan I get you something to drink?” he asked after inviting her to have a seat.
    â€œNo, no thanks,” she said, choosing one of the upholstered armchairs. The seating in the room formed a semicircle around the stone fireplace, where a fire crackled pleasantly.
    James settled himself on the couch directly across from her and lounged back against the cushions. “I’m not exactly sure how this works,” he said. “Until Matthew died, I’d never been interviewed by the police or investigated by anyone. It’s all very unnerving.”
    Then why aren’t you unnerved? Rory wondered. James appeared to be caught in a paradox of his own making. Why say that you’re agitated when you’re doing such a dandy job of acting calm, cool and collected? Would the real James Harper please stand up?
    â€œI understand,” she replied, her sympathy no more real than his alleged jitters, “but I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” She rummaged in her purse for a minute and came up with a mini legal pad and a pen. “I have to say I was a little surprised when you called. Most people aren’t so eager to be interviewed by an investigator.” She gave him the benign, unreadable smile she’d perfected in the bathroom mirror back when she was a newly minted detective. “You may be the first person ever to contact me before I had a chance to call them.”
    James shrugged. “I’m not a procrastinator. If something needs doing, I prefer to get it done.”
    Rory ratcheted up her smile by a notch. “Too bad everyone doesn’t share your