Free Home Before Midnight by Virginia Kantra

Stokesville.”
     
    He didn’t let himself think about it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about it. He sent her a slow smile, designed to distract. “There’s yours.”
     
    But she refused to be distracted. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve come back.”
     
    “Why did you?” he countered.
     
    “Because of my job.”
     
    He raised his eyebrows. “Because of Ellis, you mean.”
     
    “They’re not involved,” Dorothy broke in. “Not romantically involved. Bailey isn’t seeing anybody now.”
     
    Except her boss, Steve thought. But maybe her mother didn’t want to acknowledge that.
     
    Bailey met his gaze, her dark eyes rueful. A shock of liking shivered through him. “Mom is letting you know, in her own subtle way, that I’m available.”
     
    Maybe Bailey didn’t want to acknowledge it either.
     
    “I have your number,” he drawled. “Maybe I’ll call.”
     
    “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”
     
    “Bailey!” her mother protested.
     
    Upset by her daughter’s lack of manners? Or her dismissal of a possible suitor?
     
    “I’m busy,” Bailey said. “I’ve got work.”
     
    Steve sipped his cold, too-sweet tea, observing her over the rim of his glass. “You can’t get much writing done with the house shut up.”
     
    “I don’t write.” Her tone was too sharp. She softened it with a smile. “I run interference.”
     
    He raised an eyebrow.
     
    “The accident made the local news at noon,” she explained. “We’ve already received some reader response.”
     
    Ah, crap . Walt wouldn’t want to hear that. Media attention was fine if you had a missing child or a fleeing suspect or even a traffic situation, but any speculation about Ellis’s role in his wife’s death could tip Steve’s hand. And it couldn’t help his case or his standing with his boss to have some nosy reporter stirring up Ellis’s fan base.
     
    “What kind of response?”
     
    She looked surprised. “Condolences, mostly. E-mails.”
     
    “You brought a computer with you?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral. Removing evidence from the scene. How had he missed that?
     
    But Bailey shook her head. “No. Paul has a laptop, of course, but I prefer a desktop. I logged on to his account from here.”
     
    “Frank has a computer in his office,” Dorothy put in.
     
    “I screen Paul’s mail and flag anything he needs to answer personally,” Bailey explained.
     
    “That’s what you’ve been doing today?”
     
    “A little. Paul’s fans like to feel they’re in the know, especially . . .”
     
    “When it comes to crime?” Steve supplied dryly.
     
    Bailey’s slender shoulders straightened. “I was going to say, when it’s a tragedy that affects him so personally. Most of today I’ve been handling Helen’s final arrangements. You know.”
     
    He did know. God, he remembered. Hushed, impersonal meetings in quiet, chilly rooms with the funeral director, the florist, the organist, the priest, while his heart raged inside him like an angry child. He’d done it all without help.
     
    He hadn’t accepted help.
     
    Or comfort, either.
     
    Paul Ellis’s Little Helper was watching with wide brown eyes, waiting for his reply.
     
    He pulled himself together. “That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. The arrangements. I’ll need days and times for the viewing and the service. Was Helen a church member?”
     
    Bailey nodded. “Saint Andrews Episcopal.”
     
    The church-going population in Stokesville divided between the Baptists, who didn’t drink, the Episcopalians, who didn’t sing, and the Methodists who fell somewhere in between. And the Catholics, too few to matter. It figured the upwardly mobile, imbibing Ellises attended Saint Andrews.
     
    “Nice pew?” he guessed.
     
    She smiled, surprising him. “Great vestments.”
     
    “Minimal commitment.”
     
    She shrugged. “Church was a social thing for Helen.”
     
    “What about for