Brazen Virtue

don’t you sit down? You could use something to eat.”
    “I don’t think—” She jolted and slopped coffee over her hand when the phone rang.
    “Sit down. I’ll get it.”

    Ed nudged her into a chair before picking up the wall receiver. He listened for a moment, glanced back at Grace, then turned the burner off under the pan. “Ms. McCabe has no comment at this time.” After he hung up, Ed began to spoon oatmeal into a bowl.
    “It doesn’t take them long, does it?”
    “No. Grace, you’re bound to have calls all day. The press knows you’re Kathleen’s sister and that you’re here.”
    “Mystery writer discovers sister’s body.” Grace nodded, preparing herself. “Yes, it would make an interesting lead story.” She stared at the phone. “I can handle the press, Ed.”
    “It might be better if you moved into a hotel for a few days.”
    “No.” She shook her head. She hadn’t thought about it, but her mind was instantly made up. “I need to stay here. Don’t worry, I understand reporters.” She managed to smile before he could argue. “You don’t want me to eat that, do you?”
    “Yeah.” He set the bowl in front of her, then handed her a spoon. “You’re going to need more than cold spaghetti.”
    Leaning over, she sniffed. “Smells like first grade.” Since she felt she owed him, Grace dipped in. “Do I have to come down and sign a statement?”
    “When you’re ready. Since I was here, it simplifies things.”
    She nodded and managed to swallow the first spoonful. It didn’t taste like her mother’s. He’d done something to it, honey, brown sugar, something. But oatmeal was oatmeal. Grace switched to her coffee.
    “Ed, will you give me an honest answer?”
    “If I can.”
    “Do you think, I mean going on your professional judgment, do you think that whoever … whoever did this chose this house randomly?”

    He’d already been through the room again the night before, as soon as he’d been certain Grace was really asleep. There’d been little of value there, but a new electronic typewriter had been untouched, and he remembered seeing a small gold locket that would have hocked for fifty or sixty around Kathleen’s neck before they’d put her body into the plastic bag. He could give Grace a comfortable lie, or the truth. It was her eyes that decided him. She already knew the truth.
    “No.”
    Nodding, Grace stared into her coffee. “I have to call Our Lady of Hope. I’m hoping the Mother Superior can recommend a priest and a church. How soon do you think they’ll let me have Kathleen?”
    “I’ll make some calls.” He wanted to do more but only covered her hand with his, the gesture clumsy, he thought. “I’d like to help you.”
    She looked down at his hand. Both of hers could fit easily into it. There was strength there, the kind that could defend without smothering. She looked at his face. The strength was there too. Dependable. The thought made her lips curve a little. There was so little in life you could truly depend on.
    “I know.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “And you have already. The next steps I have to take myself.”
    He didn’t want to leave her. As far as he could remember, he’d never felt this way about a woman before. Because he did, he decided it was best to leave right away. “I’ll write down the number of the station. Call me when you’re ready to come down.”
    “Okay. Thanks for everything. I mean it.”
    “We’ve arranged for pass-bys, but I’d feel better if you didn’t stay here alone.”
    She’d lived on her own too long to consider herself vulnerable. “My parents’ll be here soon.”
    He scrawled down a number on a napkin before he rose. “I’ll be around.”

    Grace waited until the door closed behind him, then stood to go to the phone.
    N OBODY SAW ANYTHING, NOBODY heard anything.” Ben leaned against the side of his car and drew out a cigarette. They’d been doing a house-to-house all morning with the same result. Nothing. Now he took a moment to study the neighborhood with its tired houses and postage-stamp yards.
    Where were the busybodies? he wondered. Where were the people who stood by the windows peering through openings in the drapes at all the comings and goings? He’d grown up in a neighborhood not so different from this. And, as he remembered, if a new lamp was delivered, news of it ran up and down the street before the proud owners could plug it in. Apparently Kathleen Breezewood’s life