“What did you two do on this nice date?”
Mack got up from the table and went into the kitchen. “I had her over to my place and cooked dinner. I did a big Italian spread like my mom used to make. My mom always used to tell me that I shouldn’t trust a woman who didn’t eat well. If a woman picked at her food when faced with an amazing meal, she wasn’t right for her son.”
Grant nodded. “Did Cheryl eat?”
“Every crumb,” Mack said with a sly grin that made Grant think the date went better than he was letting on. “How could she turn down a feast like mine? You’ve had my chicken Parmesan. It’s to die for.”
That was the truth. The fire chief was the cook in the house, usually stepping up to feed the rest of the firemen, who were useless when it came to food. When Mack was on his off week, they ate a lot of pizza and picked up to-go orders from Ellen’s Diner.
Mack looked into the refrigerator for a minute, pulled out the carton of milk, then slammed the door shut and poured a bowl of cereal. “It was nice,” he continued. “Better than I imagined. We ate, we had some wine, and sat out on my deck and talked with the fire pit going. We graduated a year apart in high school, but our paths never really crossed. I was with my ex, Shelley, back then, so I only had eyes for her. Since the divorce, I’ve been more focused on the job. But talking to Cheryl, we have a lot in common.”
“Sounds interesting,” Grant noted with a flat tone. He could tell his boss was leaving out the key, juicy details of his date with Cheryl.
Mack clutched the bowl of cereal to his chest. “We did end up going to the ice-cream shop around two in the morning. She made me the best hot fudge sundae I’ve ever had in my life.”
Grant perked up and went to get his own cup of coffee. “You guys talked until two in the morning?”
Mack frowned at him and shoveled a large bite of cereal into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then said, “How about your date with Pepper?”
Grant grinned and let his boss change the subject. “We had a good time. No ice cream in the middle of the night, but I can’t complain.”
“I’m telling you,” Mack said, “take Pepper to Scoops and split the Fudge Royale sundae.”
Grant nodded. He’d keep that in mind; he already knew they both enjoyed chocolate fudge. He was thankful they’d hung window blinds in time for that encounter. But that reminded him of a question he wanted to ask. “Hey, Mack, did you happen to mention to anyone that we replaced that window at Pepper’s house?”
Mack finished chewing and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“Well, that night we had a visit from the peeper. It was either dumb luck on his part or he knew the window had been replaced and wouldn’t be covered up yet.”
Mack leaned back against the kitchen counter and frowned. “You know, Cheryl had a run-in with the peeper, too, about a week or so ago. A few days before the auction.”
“Was she home alone?” he asked, following up on Simon’s theory that the peeper seemed to target women alone at night.
“Yeah. It was pretty late, too. The shop closed up at nine, then she drove home. It was nearly ten when she noticed someone watching her through her living room window.”
Grant shook his head. “This was the second time he’s been to Pepper’s house. Simon says nearly fifteen different single women in Rosewood have reported prowlers since Christmas. I don’t like it. They need to catch this creep.”
“Yeah, they do. My sister is home alone with the kids at night while her husband works at the hospital. If that pervert cracks one glimpse of my sister or one of the girls, I’ll pummel him with my bare hands.”
His sisters. It hadn’t even occurred to him that this guy might go after his sisters. Hazel was probably safe since she still lived at home, but Maddie had recently bought one of the older houses on Daisy Drive. It was nearly spitting distance from the fire station, on a well-lit intersection, but it was also directly across the street from Woody’s Bar, where any drunken idiot could stumble into her yard to take a peek.
“I’d better talk to Maddie and make sure all her windows are locked and cover—”
The alarm went off, interrupting Grant and making his heart leap in his chest. They both sprang into action. He tossed his coffee into the sink and rushed down the stairs with Mack close behind him.
“What have we got?” Grant heard Mack shout into his radio.
“Ambulance and support rescue vehicle requested at 1473 Azalea,” the dispatcher responded. “Suspected heart attack victim. Possible DOA.”
They shot out the side door to the rescue truck and pulled out into the street just behind the ambulance. With sirens blazing, they raced through the streets to the address on Azalea Street.
Dead on arrival. Despite what the dispatcher said, a possible DOA usually meant a definite DOA, but it took a paramedic to officially confirm the person had died.
Every time a call came in to the station, there was a moment of panic as Grant waited to hear the address. Was it someone he knew? Someone he cared about? His family? This address was unfamiliar, but that didn’t mean anything. He knew most of the people in town, even if he couldn’t recite their addresses by heart.
It didn’t take long to get there. They rounded the corner in time to see the two EMTs, Naomi and Isaac, pull into the driveway and charge for the front door. Mack parked on the street and they followed behind into the house. The older sedan in the driveway looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
Until he got inside. Grant’s heart sunk when they went into the living room and he saw the portraits on the wall. This was Bert Swenson’s house. Had the widower’s heart finally given out?