because we didn’t have any liquor here. But she had these awful mood swings, and sometimes she hit me...” She bit her lip.
“Well, people under the influence aren’t easy to live with,” Zack replied heavily. “Not at all.”
* * *
Zack sat down with Michelle and Gabriel at the kitchen table and questioned Michelle further about Roberta’s recent routine, including trips to see Bert Sims in San Antonio. Roberta’s last words were telling. He wrote it all down and gave Michelle a form to fill out with all the pertinent information about the past few hours. When she finished, he took it with him.
There was no real crime scene, since Roberta died of what was basically a heart attack brought on by a drug overdose. The coroner’s assistant took photos on the front porch, adding to Zack’s, so there was a record of where Roberta died. But the house wasn’t searched, beyond Zack’s thorough documentation of Roberta’s room.
“Bert Sims may try to come around to see if Roberta had anything left, to remove evidence,” Zack said solemnly to Michelle. “It isn’t safe for you to be here alone.”
“I’ve got that covered,” Gabriel said with a smile. “Nobody’s going to touch her.”
Zack smiled. “I already had that figured out,” he mused, and Gabriel cleared his throat.
“I have a chaperone in mind,” Gabriel replied. “Just so you know.”
Zack patted him on the back. “I figured that out already, too.” He nodded toward Michelle. “Sorry again.”
“Me, too,” Michelle said sadly.
* * *
Michelle made coffee while Gabriel spoke to his sister, Sara, on the phone. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. He was speaking French. She recognized it, but it was a lot more complicated than, “My brother has a brown suit,” which was about her level of skill in the language.
His voice was low, and urgent. He spoke again, listened, and then spoke once more.
“C’est bien,”
he concluded, and hung up.
“That was French,” Michelle said.
“Yes.” He sat down at the table and toyed with the thick white mug she’d put in front of him. There was good china, too—Roberta had insisted on it when she and Alan first married. But the mug seemed much more Gabriel’s style than fancy china. She’d put a mug at her place, as well. She had to have coffee in the morning or she couldn’t even get to school.
“This morning everything seemed much less complicated,” she said after she’d poured coffee. He refused cream and sugar, and she smiled. She didn’t take them, either.
“You think you’re going in a straight line, and life puts a curve in the way,” he agreed with a faint smile. “I know you didn’t get along with her. But she was part of your family. It must sting a bit.”
“It does,” she agreed, surprised at his perception. “She was nice to me when she and Daddy were dating,” she added. “Taught me how to cook new things, went shopping with me, taught me about makeup and stuff.” She grimaced. “Not that I ever wear it. I hate the way powder feels on my face, and I don’t like gunking up my eyes and mouth with pasty cosmetics.” She looked at him and saw an odd expression on his face. “That must sound strange....”
He laughed and sipped coffee before he spoke. “Actually, I was thinking how sane it sounded.” He quietly studied her for a couple of moments. “You don’t need makeup. You’re quite pretty enough without it.”
She gaped at him.
“Michelle,
ma belle,
” he said in an odd, soft, deep tone, and he smiled.
She went scarlet. She knew her heart was shaking her to death, that he could see it, and she didn’t care. He was simply the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, and he thought she was pretty. A stupid smile turned her lips up, elongating the perfect bow shape they made.
“Sorry,” he said gently. “I was thinking out loud, not hitting on you. This is hardly the time.”
“Would you like to schedule a time?” she asked with
“Well, people under the influence aren’t easy to live with,” Zack replied heavily. “Not at all.”
* * *
Zack sat down with Michelle and Gabriel at the kitchen table and questioned Michelle further about Roberta’s recent routine, including trips to see Bert Sims in San Antonio. Roberta’s last words were telling. He wrote it all down and gave Michelle a form to fill out with all the pertinent information about the past few hours. When she finished, he took it with him.
There was no real crime scene, since Roberta died of what was basically a heart attack brought on by a drug overdose. The coroner’s assistant took photos on the front porch, adding to Zack’s, so there was a record of where Roberta died. But the house wasn’t searched, beyond Zack’s thorough documentation of Roberta’s room.
“Bert Sims may try to come around to see if Roberta had anything left, to remove evidence,” Zack said solemnly to Michelle. “It isn’t safe for you to be here alone.”
“I’ve got that covered,” Gabriel said with a smile. “Nobody’s going to touch her.”
Zack smiled. “I already had that figured out,” he mused, and Gabriel cleared his throat.
“I have a chaperone in mind,” Gabriel replied. “Just so you know.”
Zack patted him on the back. “I figured that out already, too.” He nodded toward Michelle. “Sorry again.”
“Me, too,” Michelle said sadly.
* * *
Michelle made coffee while Gabriel spoke to his sister, Sara, on the phone. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. He was speaking French. She recognized it, but it was a lot more complicated than, “My brother has a brown suit,” which was about her level of skill in the language.
His voice was low, and urgent. He spoke again, listened, and then spoke once more.
“C’est bien,”
he concluded, and hung up.
“That was French,” Michelle said.
“Yes.” He sat down at the table and toyed with the thick white mug she’d put in front of him. There was good china, too—Roberta had insisted on it when she and Alan first married. But the mug seemed much more Gabriel’s style than fancy china. She’d put a mug at her place, as well. She had to have coffee in the morning or she couldn’t even get to school.
“This morning everything seemed much less complicated,” she said after she’d poured coffee. He refused cream and sugar, and she smiled. She didn’t take them, either.
“You think you’re going in a straight line, and life puts a curve in the way,” he agreed with a faint smile. “I know you didn’t get along with her. But she was part of your family. It must sting a bit.”
“It does,” she agreed, surprised at his perception. “She was nice to me when she and Daddy were dating,” she added. “Taught me how to cook new things, went shopping with me, taught me about makeup and stuff.” She grimaced. “Not that I ever wear it. I hate the way powder feels on my face, and I don’t like gunking up my eyes and mouth with pasty cosmetics.” She looked at him and saw an odd expression on his face. “That must sound strange....”
He laughed and sipped coffee before he spoke. “Actually, I was thinking how sane it sounded.” He quietly studied her for a couple of moments. “You don’t need makeup. You’re quite pretty enough without it.”
She gaped at him.
“Michelle,
ma belle,
” he said in an odd, soft, deep tone, and he smiled.
She went scarlet. She knew her heart was shaking her to death, that he could see it, and she didn’t care. He was simply the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, and he thought she was pretty. A stupid smile turned her lips up, elongating the perfect bow shape they made.
“Sorry,” he said gently. “I was thinking out loud, not hitting on you. This is hardly the time.”
“Would you like to schedule a time?” she asked with
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