Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [23]
It was an evocative scent. Mint had grown in the scrappy little garden his grandmother had tried to grow in the minuscule yard behind the Philadelphia row house they’d lived in when he was a kid. Nowadays, in some parts of the city, they called them town houses. He suspected that in his old neighborhood, they were still called rows. He couldn’t imagine that gentrification had arrived in that part of town. If it had, it could only have come kicking and screaming bloody murder.
For years, he’d avoided thoughts of that house, that neighborhood, that time in his life. Lately, he’d thought of little else. That’s what happened when the past unexpectedly collided with the present. He had a feeling that the rest of his day would provide ample proof of that.
He glanced at his watch. Almost noon. His stomach clenched. Only another hour . . .
He forced his attention back to Amanda Crosby and the results of the forensic testing that he’d found in an envelope on his desk when he stopped by the station last night. He still couldn’t figure out whether he was surprised by the findings. He just didn’t have a clear read on her yet.
The backyard was narrow but deep, with a koi pond complete with a lightly bubbling fountain and a stone bench near the rear boundary. At least, he assumed the post and rail fence marked the rear of the Crosby property. He wondered if Amanda spent much time back here. It was peaceful, serene, the sort of place one might seek out when the world got to be too much. He wondered idly what she might have on her mind those times when she sought some little bit of sanctuary.
For a moment, he was sorely tempted to sit on the bench and listen to the fountain and watch the koi for a while. But he had somewhere to go, someone to see. He walked straight down the drive and to his car. Later, maybe, after he’d done what he needed to do, he’d stop back to see Ms. Crosby. He couldn’t help but wonder just what frame of mind he’d be in by then.
“. . . and I just can’t help it, Manda. I know it’s silly, but I just can’t stay in that house right now.” Clark rubbed his forehead with his fingers.
“I don’t think it’s silly at all.” Amanda leaned over and patted his arm. “You’ve lost the most important person in your life. Of course you’re going to grieve. If you feel you will deal with this loss better someplace else, then for heaven’s sake, Clark, go. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“Oh, I feel as if I do. I know that you and Derek were like sister and brother. I know how much he loved you.” He wiped his eyes with his napkin and tried to smile. “You know, there was a time, early on, when I was so jealous of you. I knew how close you two were, and I was always afraid . . . well, that someday, maybe . . .”
“You know it was never like that between us. Derek never had any real love in his life before he met you.”
“Thank you, Amanda.” Clark did smile at this. “You have such a generous spirit. I know it’s one of the things that Derek admired about you. He could be so . . . bitchy . . . at times.”
“It was part of his charm.” She reached over and took his hand and squeezed it.
She looked up just in time to see Chief Mercer slide into a booth on the opposite side of the aisle and up about four tables just as the brunch crowd at the Sawmill Inn had started to thin. She had to look twice to make certain that it was in fact the chief of police at the table near the window. For one thing, she’d never seen him out of uniform, and today he was wearing khaki Dockers, a blue-and-white-striped shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and shoes without socks. For another, it was unusual to see any of the locals here on Sunday afternoon. The Inn was generally more popular with people passing through than with the residents who, if they were having breakfast out, tended to go early to the