Through the Evil Days: A Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne Mystery (Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

looked up at him. Way up. She was tiny compared to his six-foot-plus. For a split second her dark eyes met his. “Sorry.” She dropped her gaze and bolted toward the squad room.
    Kevin rubbed his chest as he went to collect his parka. He was putting their nonrelationship behind him. He wasn’t still dreaming and hoping and wanting all the time. He—oh, hell, who was he kidding. He wasn’t moving on, he was just managing to keep from embarrassing the both of them. If he was going to be completely, brutally honest, he had to admit all those other reasons for not leaving were overshadowed by the fact that if he accepted the offer in Syracuse, he wouldn’t be seeing Hadley again.
    So the question he had to answer was, would he give up his dream job for the chance to keep bumping into Hadley Knox in the hallway? And if so, how pathetic a loser was he?

 
    6.
    Clare normally kept working—her secretary, Lois, referred to it as “hiding in her office”—until she was summoned to the monthly vestry meeting. But this wasn’t the usual meeting, and it wasn’t the usual church business, and so she startled Lois when the secretary, carrying a tray with two pots and a jumble of mugs, entered the meeting room and found Clare standing by the black oak sideboard. “Am I late?” Lois asked, setting the tray down. “Or are you early?”
    “I’m early.” Clare rubbed her stomach. She didn’t want to call attention to her pregnancy, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She had no idea where the impulse came from. She’d never had the slightest urge to touch another expectant mother’s abdomen.
    “Bearding the lions in the den?” Lois unstacked the mugs and set out the sugar and milk.
    “I feel like the politicians you see hanging outside the town hall on voting day. One last chance to shake hands and smile before my fate’s decided.” She looked around her at the reproduction linenfold paneling, the diamond-paned windows, the worn Aubusson rug. “Either that or Anne Boleyn. I can’t decide.”
    “Cheer up! They’re not going to cut your head off with a sword.” Lois handed her a mug. “Have some tea. It’s herbal.”
    Clare made a gagging noise but poured herself a cup anyway. “God, I wish I hadn’t agreed to this honeymoon thing. I should be here.”
    “Doing what? You met with the bishop. The vestry’s met with the bishop. You can be sure Elizabeth de Groot’s been meeting with the bishop.”
    “She probably has him on speed dial.” Clare’s deacon pulled her own weight, no one could fault her on that. Still, her primary job responsibility was to keep a close watch and an even closer rein on Clare.
    “The die is cast. What’s done is done. You might as well be off relaxing and enjoying that hunky police chief of yours.”
    Clare gestured toward her maternity clerical blouse. “That’s the point, isn’t it? I’ve obviously already been enjoying that hunky police chief.”
    Lois made a token attempt at schooling her expression, then guffawed. She was a petite woman, but she laughed like Santa Claus on nitrous oxide. Clare began laughing helplessly, too, which was when the first of the vestry entered the room. “Goodness.” Mr. Madsen blinked, making him appear more worried than usual. “Are we interrupting?”
    “I suspect they’re just blowing off steam, Norm.” Mrs. Henry Marshall released the arm of her gentleman friend and gave Clare a hug. “How are you doing, dear?”
    “I’ve been better.”
    The elderly woman nodded. “At least your trouble’s professional this time, instead of personal. Remember, jobs can be replaced. Husbands cannot.”
    Mr. Madsen paused while easing off Mrs. Marshall’s fur-collared coat. He frowned, as if trying to tease out where he fit in that statement.
    “Hi, everyone.” Geoffrey Burns, the youngest member of the vestry, strode through the door, shucking off his camel coat. He tossed his briefcase on the black oak table with the disregard that