just show you around and then take you up to your room,” she said.
He nodded, vaguely surprised by his instant attraction to her. God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything for anyone. He’d turned off his emotions a long time ago.
“This is the common room,” she explained as she led him into a large family-room-type area. There was a television, a bookshelf with books, puzzles and games, a table and a sofa and several easy chairs. “It’s just a place to hang out if you’re feeling sociable.”
The one thing he didn’t intend to feel while he was here was sociable, he thought, as she led him into the next room, a large dining area.
“This is where meals are served,” she continued. “Breakfast is from seven to nine, lunch is eleven to one and dinner is five to seven.” Her voice had the soft drawl of somebody born and bred in the region. “On Sundays the only meal I serve is breakfast, but there’s plenty of dining places in town. I also try to keep little nibbles in the common room if you get the munchies between meals.”
She offered him another warm smile, and he forced his lips to stretch in what he hoped was a smile of his own. It had been so long since he’d smiled at anyone the gesture felt forced and strange.
“Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room,” she said.
As he followed her up the wide staircase he tried not to notice the sway of her shapely hips before him. Normally, his head was filled with crime scene reports and grisly details of murders. He couldn’t remember the last time that his head had been empty enough to enjoy the view of a woman’s swinging hips, the weight of a fishing pole in his hand, the simple things that everyone told him made life worth living.
“Is it always this quiet?” he asked once they had reached the second-floor landing.
She turned to face him. “On the weekdays it’s fairly quiet. I have one man who has been staying here for the past two months, but other than that the place only fills up on the weekends and then things get a little livelier. So, that gives you the next three days to enjoy the peace and quiet, if that’s what you’re after.”
She gestured him into a room on her right. The large, airy bedroom was painted soft green with white borders. The four-poster bed looked as if it had one of those pillowy mattresses that instantly made Sam’s muscles moan in sweet anticipation.
He set his duffel bag on the floor and moved to the window to look outside. From this vantage point he could see a wooden walkway, which led to a dock, and a pond almost big enough to be considered a lake, which sparkled in the morning sunshine.
“The bathroom is here,” she said, drawing his attention away from the window. “And here’s the key to the room. Unfortunately the days of unlocked rooms in a bed-and-breakfast are over.”
He took the key she held out to him and noticed that she wore no wedding ring. Not that it mattered. Not that he cared in the least. There was only one thing he wanted to know from her. “What’s the best bait to use?”
“Worms or crawdads,” she replied. “And I don’t clean what you catch, but I’ll be glad to cook it up for you if you want. There’s a shed in the backyard that has bait and a place to clean fish, and you’re welcome to help yourself. Just let me know if you need anything else and once again, welcome to Bachelor Moon.”
He was grateful when she left him alone. Being sociable and pleasant had never been one of Sam’s strong suits. What Sam did best was crawl into the mind of killers.
“Not here, not now,” he muttered to himself as he opened his duffel bag and began to unpack.
It took him only minutes to store the jeans and T-shirts he’d brought with him in the dresser drawers. Then he left the room and went back downstairs, intent on spending the rest of the day with a fishing pole in his hand.
He didn’t see Daniella as he went back down the stairs although he heard the murmur of voices coming from another room. He walked back out the front door and to his car, where he grabbed a new fishing pole and tackle box from the trunk.
He’d been fishing only a couple of times in his life, the last time over twenty-five years ago, when he’d been about ten. At that time he’d gone fishing with his best friend and his best friend’s father. It had been one of the few good memories he had of his childhood.
He found the shed where Daniella had indicated bait was kept. Inside the cool, dark interior an old refrigerator hummed; it stored foam containers of fat worms. Crickets chirped from a cage, and a dank tank held crawdads. There was also a wooden table with a water spigot and a trough for cleaning the daily catch.
Sam grabbed a container of worms and tried to keep his mind empty as he walked down the wooden walkway that led to the dock at the edge of the pond. The dock held several lawn chairs. He grabbed one and positioned it facing outward, then eased down and drew in a lungful of the warm, humid air.
He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be in the field, hunting bad guys and getting them off the streets. He grabbed a worm and looped it onto his hook, then cast out into the sparkling pond.
His coworkers called him the Prince of Darkness because of his ability to creep into the mind and soul of evil. “You’re immersing yourself too deeply in your work,” Assistant Director Ken Walt had told him three days ago. “You need some time off, Sam. You need some distance, a reminder that there’s still good out in the world. You might not know it but you’re on the verge of permanent burnout from life.”
Sam had argued that he was fine, but ultimately he was given a choice: go talk to the company psychiatrist or take a vacation. So here he was, sitting on a dock wishing he were back on the job.
“If you cast closer to the shore, you’ll have better luck.”
Sam jumped at the voice coming from just behind him and turned to see a little girl in overall shorts and a red T-shirt, her long blond hair escaping from pigtails. It was a no-brainer who the kid belonged to; she looked just like her pretty mama.
“Thanks, kid, but I’m doing fine.” He turned back to stare out at the water, not wanting to encourage any further conversation.
“But if you want to catch fish you should do like I tell you,” she replied, and sidled up next to him. “Frank says the best fish in the world like to hide in those big cattails by the shore.”
The last thing Sam wanted was a fishing lesson given to him by a five-or six-year-old. “I’m doing just fine, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied. “But if you catch a big old catfish then Mommy can fry it up for supper, and there’s nothing better than Mommy’s fried catfish.”
“I’m not going to catch much of anything if you keep talking. You’ll scare all the fish away.”
She giggled, a pleasant, childish sound. “Silly boy. Fish don’t have ears and you sound a little bit crabby.”
“I am just a little bit crabby,” he replied, hoping that would end the conversation and she’d go find somebody else to talk to.
“Well, you can just get happy in the same pants you got crabby in,” she exclaimed.
An unexpected burst of laughter escaped him, the sound rusty from
