Sketch a Falling Star Read Online Free PDF Page A

sleep-deprived mood would allow, “but this really isn’t the best time for a visit. I need to get up to Page to make sure my aunt is as fine as she claims to be.”
    Since her cotton nightgown was neither skimpy nor in any way revealing, she threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. It was obvious that for a moment Zeke thought he’d be treated to a more interesting sight. His disappointment with the gown’s utilitarian nature was plainly written across his face. It occurred to Rory that if he’d played poker when he was alive, he must have lost a lot more often than he won.
    She grabbed her clothes from the suitcase and excused herself to use the bathroom, with a reminder to Zeke that he wasn’t welcome to join her in there. Back home, he wasn’t allowed in her bedroom either, but she couldn’t very well blame him for joining her in the motel bedroom, since that was all she had at the moment for receiving guests.
    After she’d changed, she ran a comb through her hair, which had grown over the winter from a neat auburn cap that framed her features into an unruly set of layers that turned and twisted every which way, not unlike Medusa. Her hairdresser had told her on more than one occasion that she ought to take advantage of the fact that she looked best with short hair. According to him, she was one of the lucky few whose features didn’t need camouflaging or balancing. Rory didn’t agree with him. With her one dimple, she thought she looked about as unbalanced as one could be, and as far as she knew there was no hairstyle to correct that particular deficiency. In any case, since she had neither the time nor the inclination to fuss with her hair on a daily basis, she was going to have to let him have his way with it. Somehow it had been easier to schedule such things when she’d worked the regular hours of a police sketch artist. Once she opened Drummond and McCain Investigations, her work hours seemed to eat up each day in its entirety.
    When she emerged from the bathroom dressed and ready to leave, Zeke was still sitting in the armchair. Although he seemed to be staring at the cheap print of Sedona that was hanging over the bed, his eyes were unfocused, as if he were actually looking inward instead.
    He turned to her. “I’d sure as hell like to take the ride with you,” he said wistfully, “but I’m nearly out of time.” His record for remaining intact when he traveled beyond the house was presently in the fifteen-minute range. Since he hadn’t yet shown signs of erosion, Rory figured he must have arrived shortly before the alarm went off. Thank goodness he was at least being reasonable about his limitations. She had enough on her mind without having to worry about a passenger who was shedding body parts. She could just picture the faces in the cars that came alongside them as the marshal started to disintegrate. No amount of creative lying could explain away a sight like that.
    “Once you’re back home, we’re goin’ to have to work at increasin’ my endurance,” Zeke intoned, as if it were a right guaranteed by the Founding Fathers and protected by the Constitution.
    Well, so much for being reasonable. Considering that he needed her cooperation for any traveling practice, she thought he could have phrased it more like a polite request than a demand. Hadn’t he learned by now that she didn’t respond well to orders?
    She tucked her toiletries and nightgown back into the suitcase without comment. Discussions about his traveling always seemed to end in arguments, and this particular one was likely to follow suit. The bottom line was that she didn’t want him to increase his traveling time. Fifteen minutes was more than adequate in her opinion. At home she lived with the potential of his appearance pretty much 24/7. Even happily married couples needed time apart.
    “Did you come up with anythin’ useful in Tucson?” he asked, perhaps believing that her silence meant she’d acquiesced on