Brazen Virtue

over, he watched the first pale light of dawn seep through his window. He’d find her.

Chapter 5
    G RACE AWOKE AT FIRST light. There was no buffer of disorientation, no momentary lull of confusion. Her sister was dead, and that one bleak fact hammered in her head as she pushed herself up and struggled to cope with it.
    Kathleen was gone, and she couldn’t change it. Anymore than she’d ever been able to change the flaws in their relationship. It was harder to face that now, in the daylight, when the first burst of grief had dulled to a dry kind of ache.
    They’d been sisters, but never friends. The truth was she hadn’t even known Kathleen, not in the way Grace could claim to know at least a dozen other people. She’d never been privy to her sister’s dreams and hopes, failures and despair. They had never shared giddy secrets or tiny miseries. And she’d never pushed, not really, not hard enough to crack the barrier.

    Now she’d never know. Grace rested her face in her hands for a moment, just to gather strength. She’d never have the opportunity to find out if the gap could be bridged. There was only one thing for her to do now: to handle the details that death callously left scattered for the living to sweep up.
    She pushed aside the blanket Ed had spread over her sometime during the night. She’d have to thank him. He’d certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty to stay with her until she’d been able to sleep. Now she needed a gallon of coffee so that she could pick up the phone and make the necessary calls.
    She didn’t want to stop in front of her sister’s office. She wanted to walk straight by without a glance. But she stopped, felt compelled to stop. The door would be locked, she knew. The police seal was already stretched across it, but her writer’s imagination made it too easy for her to see beyond the wood. She could remember now what even through shock her mind had absorbed. The overturned table, the shower of papers, the broken paperweight, and the phone, the phone upended on the floor.
    And her sister. Bruised, bloody, half-naked. In the end, she hadn’t even been allowed her dignity.
    Kathleen was a case now, a file, a headline for the curious to scan over coffee and during car pools. It didn’t help to realize that if Kathleen had been a stranger, Grace would have read the headline while downing coffee too. Her feet propped on the table, she would have absorbed each tiny detail. Then she’d have clipped the story and filed it for possible reference.
    Murder had always fascinated her. After all, she made her living from it.
    Turning away, she walked down the hall. Details, she would fill her time with details until she had the strength to face emotions. For once in her life she’d be practical. That was the least she could do.
    She hadn’t expected to find Ed in the kitchen. For a man of his size, he moved quietly. It was odd, the moment of awkwardness she felt. She couldn’t remember feeling awkward with anyone before.

    He’d stayed, not just until she’d slept, but through the night. He’d stayed with her. It might have been his basic kindness that caused the awkwardness. She stood in the doorway and wondered how you thanked someone for being decent.
    His sleeves were rolled up, his feet bare as he stood in front of the stove stirring something that smelled distressingly like oatmeal. Over that, gratefully, Grace caught the scent of coffee.
    “Hi.”
    He turned and in one quick glance noted that she was rumpled and hollow-eyed but sturdier than the night before. “Hi. I thought you might be able to sleep a couple more hours.”
    “I’ve got a lot to do today. I didn’t expect you to be here.”
    Ed reached for a mug and poured her coffee. He hadn’t expected to be there either, but he hadn’t been able to leave. “You asked me to stay.”
    “I know.” Why did she feel like crying again? Grace had to swallow, then take a couple of steadying breaths. “I’m sorry. You probably didn’t get any sleep.”
    “I caught a few hours in the chair. Cops can sleep anywhere.” Because she hadn’t moved, he crossed to her and offered the coffee. “Sorry, I make lousy coffee.”
    “This morning I could drink motor oil.” She took the cup, then his hand before he could turn away. “You’re a nice man, Ed. I don’t know what I’d have done without you last night.”
    Because he was never sure he had the right words, he simply squeezed her hand. “Why