From the Heart

was in college.”
    “She wants to be a chemist.” He gave a quick mystified laugh. “She said so after her first day in high school chemistry. You should see her mixing all those potions. This tall skinny girl with soft eyes and beautiful hands—not your average mad scientist. She blew up our bathroom when she was sixteen.”
    Jessica laughed—perhaps her first genuine laugh in twenty-four hours. “Did she really?”
    “A minor explosion.” Slade passed it off, pleased to hear the low gurgle that had been so much a part of her until the day before. “The super wasn’t too impressed with her explanation of unstable compounds.”
    “One can see his point,” Jessica mused. “Where does she go to school?”
    “Princeton. She got a partial scholarship.”
    And even with that, Jessica reflected, the cost of tuition must devour his income. How much did a cop make? she wondered. Not enough, she thought instantly. Not nearly enough to compensate for the risk. His writing takes a back seat to his sister’s education. Jessica studied the cold coffee in her cup and wondered if Janice Sladerman realized how much her brother was willing to sacrifice for her.
    “You must love her very much,” she murmured. “And your mother.”
    Slade lifted a brow. It wasn’t something he thought of, it simply was. “Yes, I do. Things haven’t been easy on either of them. They never complain, never expect.”
    “And you?” Lifting her eyes, Jessica gave him a long, quiet look. “How have you managed to hide from them what you really want?” Sensing his instant withdrawal, she reached out to take his hand. “You really hate anyone knowing what a nice person you are, don’t you, Slade? Doesn’t suit the tough cop image.” She grinned, pleased to see that she’d embarrassed him. “You can always tell me how you knock suspects around until they beg to confess.”
    “You’ve been watching too many old movies.” Linking his fingers with hers, Slade drew her to her feet.
    “They’re one of my vices,” she confessed. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen The Big Sleep. ”
    “That’s about a private detective, not a cop,” he pointed out as he walked her back to the library.
    “What’s the difference?”
    He shot her a look. “How much time do you have?”
    “Well.” She considered, glad to forget the outside world for a few moments. “It might be interesting to learn why one’s called a flatfoot and the other a gumshoe.”
    He stopped, turning to her with an expression between amusement and exasperation. “Very old movies,” he decided.
    “Classics,” she corrected. “I only watch them for their cultural value.”
    Slade only lifted a brow at that. It was a gesture Jessica had learned he used in lieu of dozens of words. “Since you want to help, you can do the cataloging.” He gestured toward the pile of books littering the work table. “Your handwriting has to be better than mine.”
    “All right.” Grateful for any task, Jessica plucked one of a neat stack of index files. “I suppose you’ll want to reference and cross-reference and all that sort of thing.”
    “Something like that.”
    “Slade.” She put the card back down before she turned to him. “You’d rather be working on your book than doing this. Why don’t you take a couple of hours for yourself?”
    He thought of the novel, nearly finished, waiting for him on the desk upstairs. Then he thought of the way Jessica had looked when she had walked through the library doors an hour before.
    “This kind of mess drives me crazy,” he told her. “While I’m here, I might as well point you in the right direction. How many books are in here?” he asked before she could voice another objection.
    Momentarily distracted, Jessica looked around. “I don’t have any idea. Most of these were my father’s. He loved to read.” A smile touched her lips, then her eyes. “His taste was eclectic to say the least but I think he had a preference for hard-boiled whodunits.” The thought occurred to her quite suddenly. “What’s your book about? Is it a detective novel?”
    “The one I’m working on now?” He grinned. “No.”
    “Well?” She lowered a hip to the table. “What then?”
    He began to make a clear space for her to work. “It’s about a family, beginning in the postwar forties and working through modern day. Changes, adjustments, disappointments, victories.”
    “Let me read it,” she demanded impulsively.