The Witness

Abigail let out a small sigh of relief as the assistant made the three-quarter turn and drove away.
    All these years, she thought. Was it irony she was once again a witness to a crime, and once again the subject of threats and intimidation?
    No, she didn’t believe in fate, and yet … it certainly felt as though fate had decided to twist her life, and circle it right back to where she’d begun.
    It was something to think about.
    She looked at her work, sighed again.
    “I think we’ll take a walk,” she said to Bert. “I’m too annoyed to work right now.”
    Her mood leveled out in the air, calmed when she walked through the trees, studied the progress of wildflowers, considered again her private seating area with its view of the hills. She would start a search for the proper bench very soon.
    She felt … happy, she realized, when she received a text from Brooks.
    How about I pick up some Chinese? Don’t cook. You’re probably tired.
    She considered, texted back.
    I’m not tired, but I like Chinese food. Thank you.
    Moments later, she got another text.
    You’re welcome.
    It made her laugh, picked up her mood a few more notches. Since she was already out, she gave Bert a full hour of exercise, then went back home to work with a clear mind.
    She lost track of time, a rarity for her, and was prepared to be annoyed when her alarm beeped again. If that disagreeable man had come back, she wouldn’t be so polite, she determined.
    Her mood shifted yet again when she saw Brooks’s cruiser. A check of the time showed her she’d worked past six.
    No gardening today, she thought, and put the lack of that pleasure on the head of the disagreeable man and his stony-faced assistant.
    But she shut down and went to the door happy—again—at the prospect of having dinner with Brooks.
    Her smile of greeting turned to concern when she saw his face.
    “You didn’t sleep.”
    “We had a lot going on.”
    “You look very tired. Here, let me take some of that. You brought a great deal of food for two people.”
    “You know what they say about Chinese food.”
    “It’s not really true. You won’t be hungry an hour later if you eat properly. I see you brought
pijin
to go with it.”
    “I did?”
    “Chinese beer,” she said, as she led the way in. “Chinese villagers brewed beer as far back as 7,000 B.C.”
    “I don’t think the Zhujiang I picked up is that old.”
    “That’s a joke. It was used—not the beer you bought—in rituals. It wasn’t until the seventeenth century that modern beer brewing was introduced to China.”
    “Good to know.”
    “You sound tired, too. You should sit, have one of the beers. I slept another two hours, and had an hour’s walk. I feel rested. I’ll take care of the food.”
    “I just told them to load me up. I didn’t know what you wanted, especially.”
    “I’m not fussy.” She opened cartons. “I’m sorry you had a difficult day. You can tell me about it if you like.”
    “Lawyers, arguments, accusations, threats.” He opened a beer, sat at her counter. “Paperwork, meetings. You don’t have to put all that in bowls. The beauty of Chinese is you can eat right out of the carton.”
    “Which is rushed and less soothing.” She believed he required soothing. “I can fix your plate if you tell me what you’d like.”
    “Whatever. I’m not fussy, either.”
    “We should take a walk after dinner, then you should try a warm bath and try to sleep. You seem very tense, and you rarely are.”
    “I guess I’m just annoyed at having lawyers in my face, who try to push and intimidate me and my deputies.”
    “Yes, he’s a very annoying man.” She scooped rice out of the bowl, ladled sweet-and-sour pork over it, added a dumpling, some noodles, some butterfly shrimp. “I had to walk off my own mood after he left this afternoon.”
    “Left? Here? Blake came here?”
    “This afternoon, with his assistant. Ostensibly to apologize for his son’s ‘inadvertent’ trespassing. But that was just a ruse, not well disguised. He was displeased when I wouldn’t let him come in to discuss the situation.”
    “I bet he was. He doesn’t like being refused. It’s good you didn’t open the door.”
    “I did open the door, but wouldn’t invite him in.” She decided she’d try the beer straight out of the bottle, as Brooks did. “Are you aware his assistant carries a gun?”
    “Yeah. Are you telling me he pulled a weapon on you?”
    “Oh, no. No, don’t be