Tribute

in the afternoon, you said?”
    “Yes, about then. We went to the mall, to the movies, to dinner. I got back about ten-thirty.”
    “The three women you were with knew your house would be vacant?”
    “That’s right. My neighbor knew, as he called me while I was out. My father knew, and my neighbor’s parents. I suppose Mrs. Morrow’s husband knew, or could have. Basically, Detective, pretty much anyone who had any interest in my whereabouts could have known or found out.”
    “Miss McGowan, I’m going to suggest you get yourself a security system.”
    “Is that what you’d suggest?”
    “This area is lightly developed, it’s part of its charm. You’re relatively remote here, and your property has been a repeated target of vandalism. We’re doing what we can. But if I were you, I’d take steps to protect my property.”
    “You can believe I will.”
    Cilla pushed to her feet when she heard Ford’s voice, raised in obvious frustration as he argued with one of the cops currently prowling her house and grounds. “That’s my neighbor. I’d like him to come in.”
    Wilson signaled. A moment later Ford rushed in. “Are you hurt? Are you all right?” He took her face in his hands. “What happened now?”
    “Someone broke in while I was out. They did a number on two of the second-floor bathrooms.”
    “Mr. Sawyer, where were you this afternoon and evening, between two and eleven?”
    “Detective Wilson—”
    “It’s okay.” Ford took Cilla’s hand, squeezed it. “I was home working until about four. I went out to buy some wine and some flowers for my mother. I had dinner at my parents’, got there about five. Got home, I don’t know, about nine, maybe nine-thirty. I watched some TV, fell asleep on the couch. When I surfaced, I started upstairs. I looked out the front door—it’s a habit now—and I saw the cops.”
    “Ms. McGowan stated you knew she wasn’t home.”
    “Yeah, I called her to invite her to dinner at my parents’. No, walked over first to invite her. She didn’t answer, and I got a little worried with everything that’s been going on. Then I called. And a little while later, I talked to my father; my mother wanted me to stop and pick up some milk. I told him I was trying to reach Cilla to ask her over, and he said he’d run into her dad, and that she was out with girlfriends.”
    “What time did you come over here?”
    “Ah, about three, some after, I guess. I walked to the barn when you didn’t answer, but the lock was on, and I walked around the house. I was worried, a little. Everything looked okay. Where did they break in?”
    “Back door,” she told him.
    “The back door was fine when I did the walk-around. How bad is it?”
    “Way bad enough.”
    “You can fix it.” He reached for her hand. “You know how.”
    She shook her head, walked over to sit on the steps. "I’m tired.” After scrubbing her hands over her face, she dropped them into her lap. “I’m tired of it all.”
    “Why don’t you go over to my place, get some sleep? I’ll bunk here so somebody’s in the house.”
    “If I leave, I’m not going to come back. I need to think about that. I need to see if staying here matters anymore. Because right now? I just don’t know.”
    “I’ll stay with you. I’ll take the sleeping bag. Are you going to leave any cops here?” Ford demanded of Wilson.
    Wilson nodded. “We’ll leave a radio car and two officers outside. Ms. McGowan? I don’t know if it makes any difference to the way you’re feeling, but this is starting to piss me off.”
    She offered Wilson a sigh. “Get in line.”
    WHILE FORD WENT over to get the dog, she fixed plywood over the broken glass herself—a kind of symbol. At that moment, Cilla wasn’t sure if it was a symbol of defense or defeat. When she set down the hammer, all she felt was brutal fatigue.
    “You don’t have to take the sleeping bag. It’s a big bed, and you’re too decent a guy to try anything under the circumstances. And the fact is, I don’t want to sleep alone.”
    “Okay. Come on. We’ll figure everything out tomorrow.”
    “He used my own tools to ruin things.” She let Ford lead her through the house, up the stairs. “It makes it worse somehow.”
    In the bedroom, she toed off her shoes. Then pulled off her shirt. And had just enough left in her to be touched and amused when Ford cleared his throat, turned his back.
    Spock, on the other hand, cocked his head and—if it was