of what that would entail made him cringe. He hadn’t sorted a thing before he left Charleston. Now the reminders of his life with Annabel waited for him.
And, as Dinah had pointed out, he should make the house look furnished if he intended it to show well to prospective buyers. That hadn’t occurred to him, and he could see already that Dinah would be invaluable to him. And to Court, apparently.
Court surely couldn’t remember her. He’d only been three that summer. Still, Dinah had spent a lot of time with him. Maybe, at some level, Court sensed that they already had a relationship.
He opened his briefcase and stacked files next to the computer. The vacation time he’d taken to come here had been well earned, but it was impossible to walk away completely from ongoing cases. He’d have to spend part of each day in touch with the office if he expected to make this work.
His mind kept drifting back to that summer, unrolling images he hadn’t looked at in years. Annabel hadn’t felt well much of the time, and she’d been only too happy to turn Court over to Dinah. Face it, Annabel had been annoyed at being pregnant again, and each symptom had been a fresh excuse to snap at him about it.
He should have been more sympathetic, and he knew that painfully well now. He’d been absorbed in prosecuting a big case and relieved to escape the tension in the house by the need to work late most evenings.
What he hadn’t expected was how devoted Dinah became to Court, and how well she’d cared for him. Maybe she’d loved him so much because she’d always been alone, the only child being raised by an elderly aunt, shipped off to boarding school much of the time.
That was one thing he’d been determined not to do with Court. The boy had lost his mother, but his father had been a consistent presence in his life. He’d thought that was enough for Court, until the past few months.
“Are you stacking those files, or shredding them?” Dinah’s voice startled him.
He glanced down at the files he’d unconsciously twisted in his hands. He put them down, smoothing the manila covers.
“I was thinking about something other than what I was doing. Where’s Court?” He turned away from the desk, the sight of Dinah bringing an involuntary smile to his lips. “You have cobwebs in your hair.”
She brushed at the mass of dark curls. “He found the boxes of Christmas ornaments, and he’s busy going through them. Your attic needs some attention.”
“That’s just what I was thinking.” He crossed to her, reaching out to pull the last wisp of cobweb from her hair. Her curls flowed through his fingers, silky and clinging. “I can’t close on a sale until I clear the attic.”
“I guess it has to be done.” The shadow in her eyes said she knew how difficult that would be.
“Maybe you could help sort things out.” There was probably every reason for her to say no to that. “There might be some things of Annabel’s that you would like to keep as a remembrance. I’m sorry I didn’t think of that sooner.” He’d been too preoccupied with his own grief to pay sufficient heed to anyone else’s.
She made a gesture that he interpreted as pushing that idea away with both hands. “I don’t need anything to help me remember Annabel.”
Once he’d been amused at how Dinah idolized his wife. Now he found himself wondering how healthy that had been.
“You might help me choose some things to keep for Court, then,” he said smoothly. Court was probably a safe way to approach her. She’d been crazy about him when he was small, and he’d certainly returned the favor. “I remember him running down the hall full tilt, shouting ‘Dinah, Dinah, Dinah.’”
A smile that was probably involuntary curved her lips. “I remember him singing ‘Someone’s in the Kitchen with Dinah.’ You taught him that to tease me.”
They were smiling at each other then, the image clear and bright between them. He leaned forward.
“You see, Dinah. We do have something in common.”
Her eyes darkened. “If anything, too much.” She took a breath, as if steadying herself. “Court really wants to have Christmas here.”
He nodded. He was playing dirty pool, getting at her through Court, but he’d do what he had to. Any excuse to keep her in the house might help her remember.
“A Charleston Christmas with all the trimmings.” He grimaced. “Thanks to the Internet, he has a calendar of every event through to First Night. If I try to skip a thing, he’ll know it.”
“Blame the tourist bureau for that.” Her smile flickered. “They wouldn’t want to miss a single visitor.”
“Anyway—” He reached out, thinking to touch her hand, and then thought better of it. “Anyway, will you help me do Christmas, Dinah? For Court’s sake?”
Aunt Kate had schooled her well. No one could tell from her expression the distaste she must feel, but somehow he knew it, bone deep.
“For Court’s sake,” she said. Then, cautioning, she added, “But we’ll have to work around my job.”
“You have a job?” He couldn’t help the surprise in his tone.
“Of course I have a job.” Her voice contained as much of an edge as she probably ever let show. “Did you think I sat around all day eating bonbons?”
“No. Sorry.” He’d better not say that he’d assumed she’d been like Annabel, doing the round of society events and charity work until she married. “I am sorry. I guess I’m still thinking of you as a schoolgirl.”
“I haven’t been that in a long time.” She seemed to accept the excuse, but those deep violet eyes were surprisingly hard to read.
“Sorry,” he said again. “So, tell me what you do.”
“I’m a forensic artist. I work for the Charleston Police Department primarily, but sometimes I’m called on by neighboring jurisdictions.”
He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d said she was a lion tamer, but he suspected it wasn’t a good idea to show that.
“That’s—”
“Surprising? Appalling? Not a suitable job for a well brought up young lady?”
Her tone surprised him into a grin. “That sounds like what Aunt Kate might say.”
“Among other things.” Her face relaxed. “She still has trouble with it. She doesn’t think I should be exposed to—” She stopped suddenly, her smile forgotten on her face.
“To violence,” he finished for her. “It’s too late for that, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Much too late.” It sounded like an epitaph.
If she let herself think about Marc’s intentions for too long, Dinah could feel panic rising inside her. She’d forced herself to hold the subject at bay but now, driving to police headquarters the next day, she took a cautious look.
