“I’m still a basilisk,” he said mildly.
She gave in to the instinct to laugh. So far, all points to him. “Got it. I can be ready in ten minutes.”
He sent her another of those innard-warming smiles. “It’ll take a bit longer than that to return to my motel and get my gear. I’ll be back in half an hour. Does that sound all right?”
“I’ll be waiting,” she said.
He pulled up in her driveway a short time later. She got out as soon as he stopped, and hustled inside.
The actual packing really would only take five minutes. Dealing with her guests might take longer, if they showed a tendency to hover, to worry, to issue cautions. She hated being treated like a doddering oldster, even if people were well-meaning, so she had to get her mind in the right space to be pleasant and grateful for the attention.
She found Wendy in the kitchen, in the midst of chopping veggies for the crockpot. The pungent aromas of fresh onion and carrot and greens hung promisingly in the air.
Tough, irascible Eve was unloading the dishwasher, and dignified, quiet Lily sat at the breakfast bar, keeping them company. Out in the garden, visible through the window, Wendy’s little boy was intent on some game, sunlight winking off his glasses.
Godiva stood in the doorway, braced herself, and stated, “I’m going on a road trip. The house is yours while I’m gone, of course.”
Wendy laid down the carving knife as the other women fell silent.
“Shouldn’t be real long,” Godiva said into the silence. “This is to Illinois and back.”
Eve set a cup on the hook and turned. “With?”
“Someone from my past.”
“You’ve got us on speed dial, right?” Eve said. “For ‘in case’ scenarios.”
Godiva tapped the pocket of her purse where her phone lived.
“When are you leaving?” Wendy asked.
“He’s picking me up in half an hour.”
“Shall I pack you both a sandwich?” Wendy asked.
“Thanks—I’m good,” Godiva said. “And I don’t even know what he eats anymore. Guess I’ll find out.” A quick scan of faces, and she knew they wanted to ask questions, but wouldn’t unless she gave an opening.
Which she couldn’t do now. If ever.
“You’re all awesome,” she said, and retreated to her room, her throat stinging a little, though this was just a road trip, not a Grand Move.
But she knew what that sting was: they cared. She had come to this town entirely alone, expecting to end her life alone. But gradually she’d somehow become a part of this . . . whatever it was.
She laughed at herself as she hauled out her suitcase once again. Wow, had her feelings . . . really, everything had done a 180.
She opened her closet and studied her clothes. The closet was half full of boxes of author copies of her mysteries, which she portioned out as giveaways for fundraisers and good causes. She’d never been heavily into clothes. In the old days she couldn’t afford it, and as she got older, she and fashion had gone down ever-widening roads, beginning with eighties shoulder pads, which she had ripped out along with the price tags on the few things she’d bought.
Mostly she’d worn out her old clothes. Her last pair of hip-hugger jeans had bit the dust in 1995, and since then, she’d pretty much gone with cotton drawstring pants, which were comfortable and airy. She had a couple of fringy, beaded things left over from the seventies that hung there for nostalgia reasons, otherwise most of her tops were chosen for practicality. The colors ranged between basic black, gray, rose, and teal, her favorite shade. It was the shade she invariably had her nails done in, though sometimes she opted for hot pink or glittery silver.
For warmth, she had a beautiful haori jacket Lily had brought back to her from Japan when she’d gone to visit her sister in Kyoto. That was Godiva’s dressy jacket. She kept it folded between tissue paper in her dresser. Should she bring it? She turned that way, then turned back. No.
She was not expecting to dress up. This was an investigative road trip, not a romantic getaway.
So she added her old zip jacket in case there was a cold night, and turned back to her bureau. The top drawer was full of lacy, colorful underthings.
She stood there, tapping her fingers on the suitcase, unwilling to open that drawer and display all those sexy undies. Ruby-crimson. Emerald-green. Purple-passion. That’s what it had said right on the label, and of course she’d bought them instantly, because no one would ever, ever see them.
But now she opened the drawer slowly, as if Rigo stood invisible in the room, watching her pack. But it wasn’t a creepy feeling. Whatever else had happened between them, he’d never been any kind of a creeper.