but meanness in them nowadays,” he muttered as he unlocked the door for Clay and Tamara to exit.
Night had fallen outside and overhead the bright, sparkly stars were companions to a three-quarter moon. Parked in the lot were two vehicles, the van that Clay had driven and the rusted-out pickup that belonged to Vernon.
“Where’s your car?” he asked.
“I don’t drive to school,” she replied. “I always walk to and from work. It’s just a little over a mile walk.”
He raked a hand through his thick hair and stared out into the darkness of the night. “I’ll drive you home.” It was obvious it wasn’t something he particularly looked forward to doing.
“That isn’t necessary,” she demurred. “I’m used to walking home and the darkness doesn’t frighten me.”
“It should,” he snapped. “You should be afraid of what the darkness holds. People can be perfectly safe in their own homes one minute, then dead or missing in the next.”
She knew that he was talking about what happened to his parents and her heart went out to him. But she had a feeling that Clay James was a man who didn’t appreciate empty platitudes.
“Thank you, I’ll accept the offer of a ride home,” she said.
He opened the passenger door for her and she slid inside. The interior of the van smelled like him, a combination of clean-scented cologne and breath mints.
He got in and started the van. “Which way?”
She pointed to the left. “Go down the road about a half a mile. There’s a dirt road. Turn right there and I’m at the end of the road.”
He didn’t speak again until they turned on the dirt road where thick trees crowded in from either side. “I didn’t even know this was here,” he said.
“Most people don’t. I found it two years ago when I returned to Cherokee Corners from New York. I like the woods and the solitude.”
He slowed as they came to the end of the road, and his headlights shone on the little cabin she called home. A faint light shone from behind the living room curtains.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” she said. “But it’s a perfect artist retreat, an adequate home and holds a sense of spiritual peace that is comforting.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me for your living conditions,” he said as he pulled to a halt before the place.
“On the contrary, Officer James, I wasn’t apologizing. I was merely trying to make pleasant conversation.”
She hesitated a moment, then continued. “I’m sure you’ve put in a long day. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?” She wasn’t sure what had prompted the invitation. He certainly hadn’t been overly sociable and there was no reason for any further contact with him.
He stared at the cabin for a long moment, then, to her surprise shut off his van engine and turned to look at her. “A cup of coffee sounds good.”
Chapter 2
He had no idea why he’d agreed to go inside her home and drink a cup of coffee. Maybe because he didn’t want to go back to the lab just yet. Maybe because he didn’t want to go to his own home, which would be far too silent and allow him far too many thoughts and recriminations.
“It’s pretty isolated out here,” he observed as they walked up the three steps that led to a long front porch. The small cabin was in the center of a copse of thick trees and brush.
She laughed, the sound echoing like birdsong in the air.
“That’s the difference between a cop and an artist. A cop sees isolated, an artist sees secluded.”
Despite the irritation that had filled him earlier, he felt himself relax a bit, as if the pleasant sound of her laughter had worked like a balm on a sore wound. “A cop sees lots of hiding places. I suppose you see lots of things to paint, Ms. Greystone.”
“Exactly, and please call me Tamara.” She unlocked her door and pushed it open. “Welcome to my secluded little cabin in the woods.”
He stepped into the door and felt as if he’d been swept into a different world, a different universe. The room was a visual wonderland filled with shapes and colors.
The beige sofa held an array of throw pillows in a variety of colors. Paintings covered the walls and a half-finished one rested on an easel in front of a side window that would catch the morning light.
Roughhewn shelves held pottery and woven baskets in all shapes and sizes and a collection of hummingbirds set on top of the fireplace mantle. Fresh wildflowers were in vases everywhere and the room was scented with their sweet fragrance.
The total effect should have been chaotic and cluttered, but instead the room radiated a sense of balance and serenity.
As he looked around, taking it all in, he felt some of the day’s pressures easing. His shoulder muscles seemed to unkink a little and the burn that had smoldered in the pit of his stomach for the last month dissipated somewhat.
“Please, come on into the kitchen and I’ll put the coffee on.”
He followed her into a cozy kitchen as colorful and unique as the living room. She gestured him to a small wooden table, then busied herself with the coffeemaker.
He noticed a shelf above the kitchen sink filled with healthy plants of various types. “You must have quite a green thumb,” he said.
“I like growing things.”
He leaned back in the surprisingly comfortable wooden chair and viewed her from top to bottom, taking in the length of her slender back and the curve of shapely hips beneath the dress. “I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before now.”
She turned from the coffeepot and flashed him a grin. “I try not to run into the police, Officer James.”
“Call me Clay,” he said. “Whenever you say Mr. or Officer James, I think you’re talking to my father.”
“All right, then Clay it is. And I don’t go into town very often, just when I need groceries or art supplies and occasionally to visit with Alyssa at the Redbud.”
He looked at her in surprise. “You know my cousin Alyssa?”
“She and I have become good friends recently, since I moved back from New York. I try to have her to dinner out here at least once every couple of weeks.”
“That’s nice. Alyssa could use more friends. So, you didn’t like the Big Apple?”
She hesitated a moment before replying. “No…it wasn’t my cup of tea.” There was something in her tone that forbid him to ask any more questions on that particular topic.
“But you’re originally from Cherokee Corners?” He was aware that he was talking more to her than he’d talked to anyone in the last several
