address in California. That, too, had been partially obliterated and the last direction was in her father's neat handwriting. He was the only one who knew her current whereabouts, she reflected.
With a sense of foreboding, Kirsten finished tearing off the brown paper and examined the shoebox inside. She was aware of Simon's gaze over her shoulder as she lifted the cover and stared at the contents.
Inside the box were a medal (from Vietnam, she knew), a Zippo lighter, and an envelope with her name on it. "Why in the world would anyone send me Jim's things?" Kirsten said disbelievingly.
CHAPTER FOUR
"These are probably some of what are usually called the 'effects of the deceased,' " Simon remarked, reaching into the box to lift out the medal. "Someone must have found them and decided you should have them." He fingered the decoration curiously. "Purple Heart? Your husband was in Vietnam?"
Kirsten nodded. "Long before I met him. I don't even know what sort of wound he received. Whatever it was, he recovered."
"What service?"
"The Marines," she told him bitterly. "What else?"
"Why do you say it that way?" Simon demanded, a strange glint in his eye that Kirsten recognized instantly.
"Oh, God! Not another one!" she groaned. "I should have guessed. What rank?" she added despairingly.
"Captain," he said, sounding somewhat apologetic. As well he should be, Kirsten told herself.
"It figures. Here, give me that," she said crisply, reaching for the medal. "Let's get something to eat. I'm starving." That was a lie, but she was desperate to change the conversation.
"Aren't you going to read the letter?" Simon was already moving his large hand back into the box before she could move it out of the way.
"Nope. If you want to know what I'm going to do with these things, I'll show you!" Putting the lid back on the shoebox after snatching the letter from him, she dumped the whole thing into the kitchen garbage.
"Hey, wait a minute! What about his folks? Maybe they'd appreciate having that stuff," Simon protested.
"As far as I know, Jim had no living relatives. What do you want for breakfast?" Kirsten opened a cupboard door and pulled out the skillet. "Omelets okay?" Perhaps food would distract him!
"Fine," he replied absently, his gaze on the garbage bag in the corner. "Maybe you ought to at least read the letter…"
"What is this? The old Marine esprit de corps coming to the fore? I will make one final pronouncement on the subject of Jim Talbot and that's it!" Kirsten turned away from the stove to face Simon momentarily, hands on hips. "He was a first-class bastard. Within a week of my marriage to him I knew I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. My only regret is that it took me almost two full months to work up the courage to leave him. But, then, he made it easy at the last. I was in the process of filing for divorce when he was killed in a car accident. The night I left I determined never to see the man again. As it turned out I did see him one more time. My lawyer contacted me when he was killed and I identified the body. I paid off the lawyer and left town. Fortunately I had enough to live on until this job with Silco came along. And that, Simon Kendrick, is that. Clear?"
"Very," he agreed dryly, leaning casually against the refrigerator again and gazing down blandly into her angry, upturned face. "I'm sorry, though, Kirsten, but I can't let it rest there. Why did you hate the man so much? In fact, why did you marry him in the first place?"
"None of your damn business!"
"Honey, everything about you is my business." Without another word he stepped over to the garbage can and retrieved the letter from the box.
"Read it," he said softly, handing it to her.
Kirsten shook her head mutinously, refusing to take it from him.
"Take it, Kirsten. I want all the ghosts put to rest." It was a command, clear and simple. And she wasn't going to obey it for the world.
"Kirsten, I never bluff. That means I never give orders
With a sense of foreboding, Kirsten finished tearing off the brown paper and examined the shoebox inside. She was aware of Simon's gaze over her shoulder as she lifted the cover and stared at the contents.
Inside the box were a medal (from Vietnam, she knew), a Zippo lighter, and an envelope with her name on it. "Why in the world would anyone send me Jim's things?" Kirsten said disbelievingly.
CHAPTER FOUR
"These are probably some of what are usually called the 'effects of the deceased,' " Simon remarked, reaching into the box to lift out the medal. "Someone must have found them and decided you should have them." He fingered the decoration curiously. "Purple Heart? Your husband was in Vietnam?"
Kirsten nodded. "Long before I met him. I don't even know what sort of wound he received. Whatever it was, he recovered."
"What service?"
"The Marines," she told him bitterly. "What else?"
"Why do you say it that way?" Simon demanded, a strange glint in his eye that Kirsten recognized instantly.
"Oh, God! Not another one!" she groaned. "I should have guessed. What rank?" she added despairingly.
"Captain," he said, sounding somewhat apologetic. As well he should be, Kirsten told herself.
"It figures. Here, give me that," she said crisply, reaching for the medal. "Let's get something to eat. I'm starving." That was a lie, but she was desperate to change the conversation.
"Aren't you going to read the letter?" Simon was already moving his large hand back into the box before she could move it out of the way.
"Nope. If you want to know what I'm going to do with these things, I'll show you!" Putting the lid back on the shoebox after snatching the letter from him, she dumped the whole thing into the kitchen garbage.
"Hey, wait a minute! What about his folks? Maybe they'd appreciate having that stuff," Simon protested.
"As far as I know, Jim had no living relatives. What do you want for breakfast?" Kirsten opened a cupboard door and pulled out the skillet. "Omelets okay?" Perhaps food would distract him!
"Fine," he replied absently, his gaze on the garbage bag in the corner. "Maybe you ought to at least read the letter…"
"What is this? The old Marine esprit de corps coming to the fore? I will make one final pronouncement on the subject of Jim Talbot and that's it!" Kirsten turned away from the stove to face Simon momentarily, hands on hips. "He was a first-class bastard. Within a week of my marriage to him I knew I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. My only regret is that it took me almost two full months to work up the courage to leave him. But, then, he made it easy at the last. I was in the process of filing for divorce when he was killed in a car accident. The night I left I determined never to see the man again. As it turned out I did see him one more time. My lawyer contacted me when he was killed and I identified the body. I paid off the lawyer and left town. Fortunately I had enough to live on until this job with Silco came along. And that, Simon Kendrick, is that. Clear?"
"Very," he agreed dryly, leaning casually against the refrigerator again and gazing down blandly into her angry, upturned face. "I'm sorry, though, Kirsten, but I can't let it rest there. Why did you hate the man so much? In fact, why did you marry him in the first place?"
"None of your damn business!"
"Honey, everything about you is my business." Without another word he stepped over to the garbage can and retrieved the letter from the box.
"Read it," he said softly, handing it to her.
Kirsten shook her head mutinously, refusing to take it from him.
"Take it, Kirsten. I want all the ghosts put to rest." It was a command, clear and simple. And she wasn't going to obey it for the world.
"Kirsten, I never bluff. That means I never give orders
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