to think of while she dressed, slept, and went
about her life? The top drawer revealed a pile of neatly folded
utilitarian cotton underpants and bras. He couldn’t see any of
those under the clingy red dress in the picture.
In the second drawer he found T-shirts,
and sweaters in the bottom one. Everything looked like it belonged
to the Kelli Carpenter he’d met. He moved on.
Beside the bed, a white porcelain
reading lamp sat on a white-painted nightstand. What was it with
this place and white? He sat on the bed and eased the drawer open.
Nothing visible but a box of tissues and the paperback he’d seen in
the living room when he’d arrived. Tucked into the corner of the
drawer was some kind of a satiny fabric. A pouch of some kind. When
he moved the tissue box to reach for it, he discovered another box,
this one of ammunition for a thirty-eight revolver.
When it hit him that ammunition meant
gun, but there was no gun in the drawer, he decided he absolutely
didn’t want to be caught in her quarters. Maybe she was one of
those people who practiced good gun safety and kept the weapon and
ammunition separate. Or maybe she had a loaded gun with her. His
heartbeat quickened when it dawned on him she might have blown his
brains out if he’d done anything to piss her off. Postponing any
plans to check out her office, he slid the drawer closed,
straightened the bedcovers and climbed out the window, careful to
leave it ajar, exactly the way he’d found it. With frequent looks
over his shoulder, he replaced the screen and jogged back to the
cabin.
* * * * *
It was after twelve when Kelli returned
from her work on the nature trail. Finding yet another batch of
forms in the fax machine, she went to her desk and pulled out her
legal tablet, drawing a fat line through “nature trail signs.” She
moved on to the next item on her list. Activity sheets for the
youngsters. She assembled her field guides, her notes and powered
up her computer. Sounds of hammering alternated with the buzz of a
power saw, eventually fading to white noise.
By four, she’d had enough. A shower,
dinner, and maybe she’d find her second wind. She moved into the
bathroom connecting her office to her bedroom. The power saw’s
whine seemed louder and she realized the bedroom window was open.
Had she left it that way this morning? She hurried into the bedroom
and took a quick survey, but everything seemed exactly the way
she’d left it.
Stop it. He’s out there doing his job
and you need to get on with yours.
Perfect gentlemen didn’t go snooping
through other people’s things. She sucked in a breath. It was time
to rejoin civilization. She put in a fresh pair of contacts,
clipped her hair atop her head and slid her glasses back on. The
reflection in the mirror was comfortably Kelli. She wondered if
she’d even recognize herself as Casey anymore. And if she couldn’t,
nobody else would. She wrapped her mind around that thought as she
went to the kitchen.
In the pantry, she found a bottle of
merlot. She opened it and set it on the counter to breathe while
she decided how to dress up chicken breasts.
She started by chopping some onions and
garlic. Unless you were making brownies, you could never go wrong
with onions and garlic. After a quick shuffle through her recipes
and a check of the refrigerator, she decided on a Dijon orange and
honey glazed chicken. Over rice. She set a pot of water on the
stove and measured the rice. A salad, and maybe green beans to
round things out.
She’d begun browning the chicken when
she heard Blake’s boots clumping on the porch. The door opened and
he peeked in, as if he wanted to make sure the coast was clear
before coming inside. No question he was keeping his distance. She
tried a smile and found it came easily enough.
His eyes widened and he smiled back.
“Smells good.” She followed his gaze to the array of ingredients
she’d spread out and saw a hint of longing cross his face.