As he left the room, she switched off the computer and went into her room to change clothes, Sinbad on her heels. She didn’t want to be in the house while Alex showered. Some of their most intimate moments had started in that shower. Just picturing him standing in it, naked, steam rising around him, his skin glistening wet and slippery to the touch made her feel faint. She felt the overwhelming need to escape the house and Alex and all her old feelings.
RON BOXER had joined the mall staff as the leasing agent eighteen months before. An easy man to like, he’d been friends with both Alex and Liz. After Alex’s troubles began and Liz felt so alone, Ron had introduced Liz to his sister, Emily, who had just moved to town following a messy divorce. Emily bought the duplex next to Ron’s. Over the months, Ron and Emily had become the big sister and brother Liz had never had.
Ron had already arrived at the narrow Italian restaurant and waved Liz to their favorite table in back. Liz was pleased to see Emily sitting beside him.
Ron was a little shorter than Alex, with hazel eyes and fine brown hair that flopped over his forehead. A fitness nut, he biked to work every morning when the weather permitted. He was good-looking in an all-American way; the female half of the office staff had a crush on him. His sister was in many ways a smaller version of Ron with the same fawn-brown hair and attractive face. She had used her divorce settlement to open a specialty yarn shop in the mall a couple of months ago. Liz knew Ron was in his early thirties and that Emily was a couple of years older.
“We ordered for you,” Ron said as he held a chair for Liz. “Iced tea, spinach pie, extra sauce, right?”
“I’m getting too predictable,” Liz said, longing for a bowl of minestrone soup instead.
Emily leaned forward. “How is Sinbad?”
“Oh, he’s fine. You haven’t been over in a few days, you’ll have to come pay him a visit,” Liz said, and then fell silent. How could she invite friends over with things the way they were? She suddenly realized that when she’d agreed to keep Alex’s innocence a secret, she hadn’t fully appreciated how difficult it would be.
“Are you feeling okay?” Ron asked as the waitress delivered their drinks.
“You do look a little weary,” Emily added.
“I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. I’m fine.”
“You should have come over,” Emily said with a laugh. “Ron and I were up to all hours moving my furniture around. He seems to think I’m going to win the lottery because he’s telling me I should buy myself all new stuff.”
Ron smiled. “You need more shelves for all you doodads. Anyway, I just think she should get rid of the castoffs. Most of them came from her marriage.”
“Ron is the one stuck in the past,” Emily protested. “All he has are the few things Mother left us. There’s not much since most went to pay off her last medical bills.”
“What’s left is sentimental,” Ron said. “You must feel that way, too, Liz, about all your uncle’s stuff. He had some amazing antiques, didn’t he?”
Liz nodded.
“I was just there the one time, but I couldn’t believe the quality…and the quantity.”
“Uncle Devon was quite a collector,” Liz said, her mind only half on their conversation.
“Have you thought about how you’re going to dispose of everything after the estate is settled?”
Liz shrugged. “Not really.” The fact was that Liz had no clear idea of what to do with her uncle’s house or its contents. Sometimes she thought of moving back—it was, after all, the home she’d grown up in—and at other times she never wanted to see the place again. For the moment, the vacant house was under the care of the housekeeper.
“Maybe someday you’ll remarry,” Emily said. “Your new husband might have the education and taste to appreciate things like antiques.”
Liz was still only half listening. She wished the town newspaper came out in the morning instead of the evening so they’d already know about Alex’s hung jury. In the end, it seemed best to just get it over with. Taking a shallow breath, she said, “Alex is home.”
Her declaration was met with silence.
Ron finally said, “Alex? As in your husband, Alex?”
“How in the world did he get out of jail? He’s a murderer!” Emily added.
Liz bit her lip as she took a sip of iced tea. “It’s a little complicated,” she said, suddenly wishing she’d said no to lunch. She’d had no idea how emotional she’d feel sitting next to her two friends and how hard it would be to say so little.
The waitress reappeared with a giant round platter and all conversation ceased as she set out the food. Liz stared at her wedge of spinach pie. The smell of the rich red sauce made her queasy and she longed to leave the restaurant and go outside, go home. To Alex…
When the waitress left, Ron spoke in a deep whisper. “Are you saying he was found innocent?”
“Well—”
“I can’t believe it,” Emily muttered. “What kind of idiots were on that jury? Everyone knows he’s guilty.”
Ron hunched forward. “Did they decide he didn’t do it? If he didn’t, who did? This is great news, isn’t it?”
These questions, assuming the best of Alex, brought a smile to Liz’s lips. “Yes, of course, except it’s not that easy. Everything is up in the air. It was a hung jury.”
“You must be scared to death he’ll come after you,” Emily said, her huge eyes filled with alarm.
“Oh, no. Of course not. Listen—”
“But he’s a killer!” Emily said. “You need a restraining order to keep him away!”
Ron put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Emily, let Liz explain.”
From over Liz’s shoulder came a calm voice. “Maybe I can help.”
With a thrill of recognition, Liz looked up to find Alex standing behind her. The thrill quickly degenerated to irritation. Frowning, she said, “Did you follow me here?”
He met her frown with a smile. “I made an educated guess. I know how you feel about Tony-O’s spinach pie.”
“But I told you this meeting was business. I told you—”
Ron cut in. “Oh, come on, Liz. Maybe the man is hungry. Sit down, Alex, it’s good to see you again.” Gesturing to his left, he added, “Let me introduce you to my sister, Emily Watts. I think she moved to town after…well, you know.”
Alex nodded in Emily’s direction as he took off his own jacket, a soft brown leather one that Liz had bought him for his birthday in January. She loved the way it looked on him, loved the feel of it against her cheek when he held her. She had the sudden and overwhelming desire for him to do just that, to hold her, to take her away.
He pulled out the fourth chair. “That looks good,” he said, looking at Liz’s spinach pie.
She pushed the plate toward him.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Not really.”
Alex took a bite and smiled. “Delicious.”
“It must beat jail food,” Emily sputtered.
The table grew very still.
“You have to excuse my sister,” Ron said. “She tends to be a little cautious where Liz in concerned. Alex, it’s good to see you. I trust there’s an explanation. I have to admit I’m dying to hear it.”
“I have to warn you,” Emily sputtered,