“I am appalled that you have relatives who are so very close-minded and obnoxious, Lily,” Charlotte Frasier said, her words smooth out of her mouth. They left, not another word out of either mouth, but Tennyson did pause to give Lily a tormented look over his shoulder.

Sherlock said thoughtfully, “He was trying to reproduce a patented Heathcliff look there, all down-in-the-mouth and pathetic. He didn’t do it well, but he tried.”

Lily said, “Did you notice that lovely black turtleneck sweater Tennyson was wearing? I gave it to him for Christmas.”

“You know what I think, Lily?” Savich asked, shaking his head at her. “I think the next time a guy appeals to you, red lights need to flash in your brain. Then we need to take him in for questioning.”

“I was just thinking about that this morning. Maybe I’m too gullible. Okay, no more good-looking men; actually, no more men at all, Dillon, or I’ll kick myself from here to Boston. Nothing but gnomes with pocket protectors for me in the future, and they’ll just be friends.”

That was going overboard, Sherlock was thinking, but for the time being, not a bad way for Lily to think about the opposite sex.

Lily said, “I wish I had a beer so I could drink to that.”

Savich said, “No beer. Here’s more iced tea.”

“Thanks.” Lily sipped the tea and laid her head back against the pillow. “I wonder where my father-in-law was. You think they really thought he’d be a liability?”

“Evidently so,” Savich said. “What amazes me is they don’t seem to realize what a liability the both of them are.”

“I’ve never heard such a charming Southern accent,” Sherlock said. She sat down on the bed beside Lily and lightly rubbed her arm. “Talk about candy coating.”

“She frightened me more than Tennyson.” She gave both of them a fat smile. “I held up,” she said, gave a deep sigh, and said again, “I held up. He never guessed that I was so scared.”

Savich felt her pain in his gut. He gathered her against him, very careful with her stitches. He kissed the top of her head. “Oh no, sweetheart, there isn’t a reason for you to be afraid of him, ever again. I was proud of you. You held up great.”

“Yes, you did, Lily, so no more talk about being scared. Remember, you’ve got your two bulldogs right here. You know something? I don’t know what they thought they could gain by coming here. They didn’t try to be very conciliatory. Are they stupid or was there some method to their approach?”

“I surely hope not,” Lily said and closed her eyes.

Savich’s cell phone rang.

11

Washington, D.C. Three days later

“You go to bed now, Lily. No arguments. You look like a ghost out of A Christmas Carol.”

Lily managed a small smile and did as she was told. She was still weak, and the long plane trip back east had knocked her flat. She awoke an hour later to hear Dillon and Sherlock talking to Sean. They cuddled, hugged, and kissed him until finally he was so exhausted he hollered big time for about two minutes. Then he was out like the proverbial light. His nursery was right next to the guest room, where she lay quietly in the dim light. She didn’t realize she was crying until a tear itched her cheek. She wiped it away.

She closed her eyes when she heard her door open slightly. No, she wasn’t ready to see anyone just yet, although she loved them both dearly for caring about her so very much. She pretended to be asleep. When she heard them go downstairs, she got up and went into the baby’s room. Sean was sleeping on his knees, his butt in the air, two fingers in his mouth, his precious face turned toward her. He looked just like his father, but he had his mother’s dreamy blue eyes. She lightly rubbed her fingers over his back. So small, so very perfect.

She cried for the beauty of this little boy and for the loss of Beth.

Late that evening, over a good-sized helping of Dillon’s lasagna, she said, “Have you checked back with your office? Did they find Marilyn Warluski?”

Savich said, “Not yet. They found the boyfriend, Tony Fallon, but he claims she hasn’t contacted him. But there were a couple of folk in Bar Harbor who identified a photo of her, said they’d seen her recently. They’re going back to put his feet to the coals. We’ll know something soon.”

“We hope,” Sherlock said. Then she smiled. “You should have seen Dillon’s mother when we picked up Sean—she didn’t want us to take him. She said we’d promised her at least a week with him all to herself, but we’d lied; it was barely a week. She was shouting ‘Foul’ even as we were pulling out of her driveway.”