She put the phone back to her ear. “Yeah?”
“You have dinner plans?” Ginny rolled her eyes heavenward at the sincere catch in his voice.
She pictured his sweet, unlined face and the gradual aging she saw day by day in his dark green eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked her out. It wouldn’t be the first time she said no, either. “You know how I feel about going out with the men I work with.”
His voice rushed over the line. “Hey, no. I’m your partner, I’m just worried about you. We missed lunch, remember?”
“I remember.” She forced a smile, as if he could see her relief. “I’ll get something to eat, don’t worry. You get out of that office, too, okay?”
“I will.”
“Good night, Merle.”
“’Night, Gin.”
She hung up and dug inside another pocket for a specific slip of paper. A business card. Taylor Construction, Brett Taylor, Owner.
She looked at the card and pictured the man. Big. Rugged. Smart-mouthed. “Do you always show up when there’s a dead body in the neighborhood?” she asked the image.
Memorizing the number, she hurried to John’s truck and dialed before climbing in.
John spared her an indulgent smile before putting the truck in gear. “Duty calls, I take it.”
She nodded through the unanswered rings. “I’ve got an opportunity to ask a few questions I shouldn’t put off.”
He wound through the hairpin turns toward the cemetery’s front gates. “One of these days I want you to tell me you’re in a hurry to meet a young man.”
She smiled. “John, you sound just like my dad.”
An answering machine picked up. Brett himself had left the recording. Even across transmitted miles of a recorded message, Brett’s basso profundo voice reverberated through her like a mellow jazz tune, at once enervating and intriguing her.
She asked him to call her cell number and then hung up.
“Just like that.” John’s amused voice captured her attention.
“What?”
He shook a gentle finger at her. “The look on your face when you talked to that man. That’s the look that tells me you’ve got a social life.”
Ginny frowned. “I talked to his machine.”
He pulled up behind her car and put the truck in Park. “But you’re wishing it was the real thing.”
“Please.” Brett Taylor? Social life? Neither phrase was part of her regular vocabulary. “He’s a possible material witness to a murder case, nothing more.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.” Her protest sounded vehement, even to her own ears. She tried to come up with a plausible explanation. For John. “Look, I don’t really date much. I’m too caught up in my work.”
“It’s important work you do,” he said in a voice of sage experience. “But it isn’t everything.”
For her, it had to be. Relationships were too awkward for her. Many men were threatened by the nature of her job, her devotion to duty. More men lacked the patience to work through her eccentricities, and she’d never developed those most feminine skills that could encourage a man to make the journey with her.
And if she should ever meet a man with the patience and fortitude and self-assurance to withstand a relationship with her, she’d run away as fast as she could. She would never put herself in the position of losing someone she cared about again.
Maybe John understood that, after all. His weary silence revealed a man who had lived more life than most people his age. He surprised her by reaching across the seat and squeezing her hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t see you again very soon.”
She squeezed back, understanding. “Me neither.”
BRETT PACED the small confines of his office, turning the mouthpiece away from his impatient sigh while one of his investors grilled him for information about the story he’d seen on the local evening news.
“The Ludlow’s still going to be renovated, right, Brett?”
Brett righted the phone. “No, Mr. Dennehy. That’s the one we’re tearing down, remember? The other buildings are structurally sound. But not the Ludlow Arms.”
“It was home to a lot of people, you know.”
The older man’s wistful tone added another rock onto the load of responsibility Brett carried on his shoulders. “I know, sir. Hopefully the refurbished buildings will draw quality tenants like yourself.”
Bill Dennehy perked up as a new thought hit him. “Do you think that body was in the basement when Alice and I were living there?”
“I don’t think so.” Bill had been lucky enough to live in the Ludlow Arms during the building’s heyday. He knew these streets the way Brett’s grandparents had known it. Thriving. Friendly. Safe. “Trust me. A little bad press isn’t going to stop me from renovating the neighborhood.”
“Alice won’t come to that fund-raiser of yours if there’s any more news like this.”
“Of course not, but…”
He felt a tap at his shoulder and stopped midprotest. Five perfectly shaped, copper-tinted nails reached for the phone. His gaze dropped to the half-amused smile on the mouth of the tall brunette beside him.
“I’ll handle this. You pace.” She nudged Brett to one side and turned her attention to the caller. “Mr. Dennehy. Sophie Bishop. Yes, I remember you from the old neighborhood…”
Brett’s frustration turned to admiration as he watched his old friend work Bill Dennehy through a trip down memory lane and onto the road toward a charitable donation. He sat back in the chair behind his desk and watched her do her thing.
He’d hired Sophie for her expertise in fund-raising and public relations. He could only afford to pay her peanuts, but she’d been quick to volunteer her time. She, too, came from the Market Street area of Kansas City, and seemed as eager to see a rebirth of the community as he was.
Things were a little awkward between them, but he hoped she’d moved past their broken relationship. No longer the adoring young college student he’d once dated as a favor to her brother, she’d matured into a powerful, successful woman of the world. And she put her money where her work was. Sophie had been the first to sign up for one of the luxury condos he planned to put in the Peabody Building. Surely that kind of support was proof that they could still work together as old friends.
“Mr. Dennehy, that’s sweet.” It wasn’t as if Sophie had to be any man’s charity date. With long, shapely legs that stopped somewhere just short of her neck, and the sleek, sculpted features of a fashion model, she’d draw any man’s attention. But Brett looked at her and saw…Mark’s sister.
His feelings for her weren’t all that different from what he felt for his own sister, Jessie. Just as strong, just as protective, just as pure.
He rolled his chair up to the desk and leaned his elbows on top, watching with pride and gratitude as she smoothed over the investor’s concern. “I’ll be sure we have a corsage for her at the fund-raising ball. I look forward to seeing you and Mrs. Dennehy there. Bye now.”
She pressed the off button and handed over the phone with a flourish that made Brett throw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, so you saved my butt. Go ahead and gloat.”
“I’m just doing my job, big boy,” she laughed. She perched on the corner of his desk