St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

historian who had innocence and female interest simmering in her eyes. “It makes the leg stronger and it hurts like a bitch.”
    “Which volcano were you climbing?”
    “The wrong one. Carly, I want to help you.”
    She looked like she was going to pursue the subject of where and how he’d been injured. Then the corner of her mouth quirked in a half smile. “Help me, huh? Never heard it called that before.”
    He snickered and shook his head. “Damn, but you’re getting to me. I thought nothing could, not anymore.” Before she could ask what he meant, he kept talking. “What did the governor say to you?”
    “That if I published anything without his permission, his lawyers would make my life a living hell.”
    Dan’s eyebrows rose. “Just like that?”
    “Yeah. He wasn’t feeling warm and fuzzy when he said it. I’ve got it recorded, if it matters.”
    “It might. I’ll listen to it while we have dinner.”
    “Tonight?” she asked.
    “Sure. Unless you’re doing something else?”
    “Going through my notes over cheese and crackers doesn’t count as something else.”
    “Did Winifred feed you breakfast or lunch?” he asked, remembering the day he’d met Carly, how hungry she’d been.
    “I happen to like cheese and crackers. And peanuts and raisins.”
    “Sounds like e-rations. Compact and survives well without refrigeration. Easier, more reliable, and more nourishing than snake.”
    “Were you a soldier?”
    “I’m assuming from your presence here in the archives that you’re not going to back away from Winifred’s history.”
    Carly took the change of subject without missing a beat. Around Dan, mental flexibility was required. “I signed a contract. I’ll honor it unless and until Miss Winifred tells me to stop.”
    He laughed curtly. “Don’t hold your breath on that one.”
    “I won’t. What is it between the governor and Winifred anyway?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I’m easy. I’ll settle for gossip.”
    “I still can’t help. Lucia might be able to.” Or his mother, if he could get her to talk about the past. “Maids overhear a lot. People are so accustomed to them coming and going that no one notices.”
    He took her arm and led her toward the stairs.
    “Alma sure won’t be helping me,” Carly said as cold air poured over her.
    “Why?”
    “She disliked me on sight.”
    “Odd.”
    The courtyard was bare but for patches of snow in the shade. Last summer’s weeds lay brown and flattened on the wet ground. The sun had been hard at work on the snow, but another storm was on its way. Dan opened the back door to the newspaper office.
    “Maybe Alma resents the extra work,” Carly said, leading the way down the hall. “Not that there’s been that much. Everything I get in that household I have to do myself.”
    “What does Winifred say about that?”
    “I haven’t told her. She has enough grief just taking care of her sister.” Carly shook her head at the thought of that sad, wasted body kept alive only by Winifred’s determination.
    As Dan opened the front door of the newspaper office, he filed the maid’s surliness along with the other facts he’d been accumulating since the moment he’d found himself standing on a ridge watching his great-grandfather being buried and not knowing why he’d walked three miles to do it.
    He hadn’t wanted to get involved in life again. To feel rather than to think. Somehow Carly hadn’t given him a choice. He didn’t know if that was good or bad, but he knew it was real.
    Her little SUV was parked half a block down, in one of the narrow alleys that crisscrossed Taos. He took her hand and headed down the block.
    “You’re sure you won’t back off?” Dan asked.
    “Yes.”
    He weighed her response. He didn’t sense any hesitation or weakness. “Too bad there’s only one bed in your room. Unless you’d rather stay at my place?”
    She stopped and stared at him. “Aren’t you taking a lot for granted?”
    “No. You are.” He tugged at her hand, leading her toward the alley.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You’re assuming that a dead rat and a threatening phone call are the worst you’ll have to face.” He watched understanding change her expression from anger to pallor. “Your place or mine?”
    “Why are you doing this?” Carly asked.
    “Doing what?”
    “Helping me.”
    “You were the only real color at the Senator’s funeral. Life is precious, Carolina May. You take it for granted. I