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her.”
    “Um…something like that.”
    His eyes narrowed. “And that made you even madder, when you discovered I was alive and well.”
    She couldn’t seem to look away from him. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Maybe.”
    Once again his mouth twisted and Adrian turned his head abruptly to stare across the street again. “I can’t even blame you.”
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
    “About?”
    “Misjudging you.”
    He met her gaze again, his face unreadable. “Are you so sure yet that you did?”
    Lucy nodded, the movement jerky. “Pretty sure.”
    After a moment of searching her face, he said, “Thank you for that, then.” He stood and held out a hand. “I know you don’t have all afternoon. Shall we move on?”
    Lucy stared at his hand, absurdly afraid that, if she laid hers in it, she would be sorry. Touching him might be dangerous to her peace of mind.
    But of course she had no choice, unless she wanted to insult him, so she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet.
    His grip was firm and warm and strong, his hand big enough to entirely engulf hers. Once she was standing, facing him, he seemed reluctant to release her. When he did, her fingers curled into a fist and she tucked her hand behind her back.
    “I am running out of time,” she said, trying to sound unaffected. “I was thinking, why don’t I introduce you to Cindy and leave you to talk to her? And then you might go up to Safeway and ask for the manager. Georgedid more for your mother than anyone. You haven’t run into him at the hospital, have you? I know he’d be glad to talk to you.”
    A couple of vertical lines appeared between Adrian’s dark eyebrows. “When will I see you again?”
    He sounded…perturbed. As though he would miss her.
    I’m in trouble, she thought dizzily, and knew she wasn’t smart enough to keep herself out of it.
    Before she could think better of it, Lucy heard herself say, “We could go to church tomorrow. Was your mother Catholic? She seemed drawn to Saint Mary’s.”
    “She was raised in the Catholic church.” His face tightened. “I have a vague memory of going to church with her sometimes when I was little. My father didn’t approve.”
    Of course he wouldn’t have, Lucy thought uncharitably. For the first time in her life, she was glad someone was dead.
    Adrian studied her. “Do you mind going to a service at Saint Mary’s?”
    Lucy shook her head.
    “What time?”
    “Let’s go to the second service at nine. That way Father Joseph might have time afterward to talk to us.”
    At some point they had started walking without her realizing.
    When Adrian said nothing, she stole a look at him. “I have your mother’s things at home. Maybe after church you can come and get them.” In a rush she finished, “I can make us lunch.”
    “Is the café not open tomorrow?”
    “No. It’s closed on Sunday and Monday. For my sanity.”
    They’d reached the main street and had to pause while cars passed before crossing. Once there was a break, he put a hand on her back as if the protective gesture was as natural to him as breathing.
    “That sounds good,” he said, stopping on the sidewalk in front of the Hair Do to meet her eyes. “Thank you, Lucy Peterson. For everything.”
    Flustered, she argued, “It’s…not so much.”
    “Yes. It is.” He held open the door to the hair salon. “After you.”
    Hoping she wasn’t blushing furiously, Lucy went in.

CHAPTER FIVE

    A DRIAN DID NOT GO to the café for dinner. He dined on a surprisingly good filet mignon and baked potato at the Steak House, where not a soul evinced any sign of knowing who he was. He had bought a newspaper earlier in the day and not had a chance to read beyond the front page headlines; now he read while he ate, discovering that the Mariners had lost to Texas, that the Seattle city council had another ludicrous idea for replacing the Alaska Way Viaduct, and that the ferry he had ridden over on had been dry-docked