Free Desert Exposure by Robena Grant Page A

her nostrils. She kneeled, and sniffed at the floor.
    “I think this floor has recently been cleaned. It smells like bleach.” She stood, slapped her thigh, her heart pounding even harder. “Come on boy.” Ralph ran to her and she backed out of the room, causing Michael to back up a bit.
    “Did it look this way when you came here with the police investigation crew?” Michael asked.
    “I’m not sure.” She hurried out into the hall, shrugged, and then looked away. “But I’m certain I would have closed the door before leaving the cabin. It’s, you know, a reflex.”
    Michael put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed gently. “It’s okay. You were upset on that day. Maybe later on you’ll get a clearer picture.”
    “They use bleach to erase blood…don’t they?” she whispered.
    Michael turned her to face him, and held her tight, her head resting against his chest. She could hear the steady beat of his heart. It felt good to hear life. It felt wonderful to be held and comforted, and while she had good friends who had tried to support her, she’d also spent too much time alone in the past two weeks. But she was still scared for Grandpa, and for what could have happened to him. She eased back a little.
    “Don’t let your thoughts run wild,” Michael said, leaning down a bit and peering into her eyes.
    “I can’t help it, it’s—”
    “I know. It’s scary.” He took a step backward, but continued to lightly rub her shoulders and back. “I promise I’ll go over his case with a fine-tooth comb when I get back to the department. You can count on it.”
    Rachel pulled in a rickety breath, almost crying. Anyone who helped her, or tried to help her, caused the same reaction. It seemed nobody in the department in Indio had Grandpa high on their list though. She blinked rapidly for a few seconds, not wanting to cry and leave big wet splotches on Detective Michael’s freshly ironed shirt.
    She stepped away from him, and looking up, gave him a watery smile. “I’m okay now, thanks. It’s probably my overactive imagination. Let’s get coffee.” She indicated Michael should go ahead of her. And when he did, she swiped at her eyes with the hem of her t-shirt. Thank goodness she hadn’t put on mascara.
    “Kitchen is the first door on the right.”
    Ralph trotted beside her, but she pulled up short, and turned to look back toward the darkroom. Had Grandpa been murdered, in there? Had the floor been this way when the cops came to investigate his disappearance? She started to sweat, feeling the beginnings of panic. She still couldn’t remember how it had looked on the day of the police investigation. Or what they’d done, or what they’d asked her.
    There had been no evidence of him being attacked in his home. She took some calming breaths and put her right hand to her forehead and squeezed. If only she could remember the rest of the details. It seemed the cops thought he’d wandered off somewhere.
    “Are you okay?” Michael asked, and took hold of her hand as she walked into the small kitchen. He looked anxious, which made her feel worse.
    “I’m a little dizzy. Could be from the smell of the bleach,” she said. “Or the memories, you know.”
    “Sure. But listen, the floor wouldn’t smell like bleach from two weeks ago. If that’s where your thoughts had headed.”
    Of course! What a dummy . She almost slapped her forehead. She’d panicked when her thoughts had jumped to the worst possible thing. Her whole body began to relax, to soften. She felt like a balloon with a slow leak, letting all of her negative thoughts escape. The smell had to be from the chemicals, and the cabin being closed up for so long. The floor probably always smelled that way. She’d never actually gotten down and taken a sniff before.
    “You’re right, absolutely right.”
    “Why don’t you sit down, and—”
    “No,” she said, smiling. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
    His eyebrows shot sky high.
    She