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with the satisfied smile of one who has done a good deed. “She’s so pleased. You can go over and talk with her right away and set something up.”
    â€œThat’s great.” Really great, that it had fallen into her lap so easily. Too easily? She had an almost superstitious mistrust of anything easy. Still, she couldn’t ignore the opportunity. Draining the rest of her iced tea, Kate stood. “Thanks so much.”
    Mrs. Anderson flapped away her thanks. “No trouble at all.”
    Kate couldn’t stop the triumphant smile that curved her lips as she headed out the door. So much for Mac Whiting’s warning. Not even he could turn a job at the bookshop into a matter of harassment. She’d like to see his face when he heard.
    Not that she cared, of course.
    * * *
    M AC TOLD HIMSELF he’d done everything he could about Kate Beaumont’s troubling presence in his town. Unfortunately, his efforts hadn’t amounted to much. As for Kate herself, she made him think of nothing so much as a barricaded fortification—impenetrable walls bristling with weapons, ready to fire at the slightest provocation, or even at nothing at all.
    Kate had every right to be here in Laurel Ridge. He just wished he could get rid of the feeling that she was nothing short of a roadside bomb, ready to explode at the slightest vibration.
    Kate lingered at the back of his mind throughout the routine on his plate for the afternoon. Plans for the usual fall safety talk at the elementary school reminded him of Kate, saying that her stepfather had drilled self-defense into her. A meeting with the downtown merchants’ association over a rash of shoplifting made him think of her insistence that someone had tampered with her computer.
    By the time he went back to his office, Mac had made up his mind. He had to find out more about Kate Beaumont, even if it meant letting her know he’d been inquiring about her. His lips twisted wryly. The words “police harassment” would undoubtedly be heard.
    Marge lifted her eyebrows at him as he walked in. “Something funny?”
    â€œNot really. Be sure all the usual stuff is collected for the elementary school safety talk, will you? We’re supposed to do it Friday afternoon.”
    Marge nodded. “Will do. Johnny is down at the bank. A fender bender in the parking lot.”
    Johnny was young John Foster, a raw patrolman who showed little signs of ripening. He sighed. “Maybe I’d better get down there.”
    â€œYou told me to remind you that he has to learn to do a few things on his own, remember?”
    Marge was right. She usually was.
    â€œOkay. I guess he can’t mess up a minor accident report too badly.” Doubt assailed him even as he said the words, but the kid had to do something to earn his salary.
    Besides, Mac had something else to do. “Tell him to check in with me when he’s finished.” He headed into his own office. “I need to make a couple of calls.”
    Actually there was one call on his mind. Phil Durban had served with him briefly in Afghanistan before returning to the Philadelphia PD, and he’d been Mac’s contact point over the whole disturbing business of Jason Reilley’s death. Phil knew the family, and if there were any rumors floating around about Kate Beaumont, he’d be aware of them.
    Luckily Phil was in the station. Mac leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest, propped his feet on the pulled-out bottom drawer and prepared to exchange the usual backchat with an old comrade.
    The genial exchange of friendly insults over with, Mac got down to business. “Listen, Phil, I need some information.”
    â€œDon’t tell me one of our local boys has ventured as far as the middle of nowhere to cause you trouble.” There was the ordinary gibe in the words, but he could sense Phil’s attention sharpen.
    â€œNothing like that, but someone has shown up