Frame-Up. Jill Elizabeth Nelson
tendered a slight smile in return. “Tea it is, then. If you’re looking for something to do, help yourself to a book or a board game.” He waved toward the floor-to-ceiling set of shelves built into the opposite wall.
“Thanks, Mr. Greene.” The girl bounced to her feet. “I know my mom’s bummed about missing her speaking gig, but we might as well make the best of being snowed in. Right?”
“You’re a public speaker, Ms. Adams?”
His question jerked Laurel’s focus away from her daughter, and her gaze met his. A spark lit the brown depths. “I travel quite a bit, speaking to groups about grief, loss and single parenthood.”
“Yeah, and she’s even got a reputation for being funny. Can you figure that?” Caroline giggled as she drifted toward the laden bookshelf.
“Really?” David raised his eyebrows.
Color rose in Laurel’s face.
He swallowed a smile. Whether or not her speeches were funny, the subject matter was still serious. Raising a kid alone was no laughing matter. Not that he’d know about it firsthand, but the mere thought gave him the willies.
Laurel’s chin lifted, and she rose in a fluid motion that dripped elegant dignity. David caught his breath. His mother was the only other woman he’d known to command a room so completely with a simple action. An ache throbbed deep in his chest. After all these years, he still missed Mom. Always would. This woman had his mother’s air of confident grace, though an unfortunate pinch of pride stiffened her spine.
Laurel wandered toward the bookshelf in Caroline’s wake. “Several years back, a few partners and I started a nonprofit organization called Single Parents Coalition. Have you heard of it?”
“Can’t say that I have, but it sounds like a needed service.”
“Oh, it is!” Her whole face softened and lit, and David’s heart went kabump for reasons he couldn’t entirely explain. Perhaps he was just responding to her passion for her vocation.
“I’ll get the tea.” He faded into the small but complete kitchen, and got busy at the single-cup brewer.
He shouldn’t let himself be too interested in his uninvited guests. There was no point in getting friendly with these people. The cloud of suspicion over his head nullified any prospect of warmth or ease between them.
Too bad even he didn’t know for sure what happened three years ago. He had no recollection beyond a night of partying that ended with him passing out—normal in those days.
What wasn’t usual? Waking up to the cold snap of handcuffs around his wrists, the reading of rights snarled from an icy-faced detective and the chilling sight of his girlfriend—a woman he’d planned to make his fiancée—lying lifeless by his side, strangled to death with her own scarf.
Sometime during his blackout had he attacked Alicia? That was the question he’d hoped to answer during this annual time of seclusion and crying out to God to release his memories. Maybe he’d get a breakthrough this time. Even if he discovered the worst about himself, at least he would know. The truth would bring a form of peace. It would be a relief to own up and take his punishment.
Now he was stuck with these people invading his space and his chance for self-reflection was lost. In its place, he got the judgment of strangers. Couldn’t they at least offer him the benefit of the doubt? But why should they? He didn’t even know if he should offer himself that much grace. Yet what no one seemed to understand was that as long as suspicion of murder hung over his head, rejection and isolation ensured he was serving a life sentence in Solitary.
The tune of “Chopsticks” from the baby grand dragged David from his mulligrubs. He flashed a wry smile toward the fresh lemon he was slicing into wedges. Caroline, no doubt. He added the dish of lemon to the tea tray and headed with it toward his guests.
“Honey, you haven’t asked permission to touch our host’s piano.”
The soft-voiced rebuke from Laurel met his ears as he entered the living room.
“It’s all right,” he said, taming his grin.
Caroline whirled from the piano, ponytail flipping and color in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mr. Greene.”
“No problem.” He set the tray on the small dining table in front of Laurel. “Feel free to do the honors.” He motioned toward the steaming teapot and the empty cups.
If he didn’t know better, he might think a smile had flickered across Laurel’s face. She poured the tea with quiet dignity.
“Thank you, Mr. Greene.” She handed him a cup, her gaze frank and open. “You’ve been very gracious to a couple of strangers bounding in on you.”
David barely stopped his jaw from sagging as he accepted the offering—both the tea and the slight thaw in attitude.
“Call me David, please. When you say Mr. Greene I feel like you’re talking to my father, and if you shorten it to Dave I’ll think I’ve gone back to grade school.”
“David, then. But you—” Laurel wagged a finger at her daughter “—should refer to him as Mr. Greene. It’s basic respect, like the way you address your teachers at school.”
“Gotcha, Mom.” Caroline accepted her cup and brought it to her nose. “Mmmm. This stuff smells great! Thanks, Mr. Greene.” Her enthusiasm was followed by a distinct slurp.
A chuckle escaped David’s throat, and Laurel lifted her cup to hide what looked like a suspicious twitch of the lips. Small talk occupied the next minutes, but at last David set his cup down and stood.
“I can fire up that CB radio now. It might take me a few minutes to tune it in to the right frequency. I’ve almost never used the gadget.”
Laurel rose. “Yes, please, that would be great. Let me know when I can speak to someone. In the meantime, I’d like to step outside and bring in our luggage. It would be so good to freshen up a little.”
“I wouldn’t feel right leaving you to go out in the storm.” He moved toward the coat closet and grabbed his outdoor gear. “I’ll get the bags if you give me your keys. We can do the radio after your things are inside.”
“You’ve done enough for us, Mr. Greene. I’ll handle it.”
Stubborn woman. His mom had been, too, but in her the trait hadn’t irritated him. “We’ll do it together, then.” If he could take back the bite in his tone he would.
Posture stiff, Laurel took her coat from him. He resisted the impulse to hold the garment while she shrugged into it. Under current circumstances, the common courtesy ingrained into him by his upbringing might feel like an invasion of her space. He put on his jacket, hat, boots and insulated mittens, but refrained from commenting about the wet loafers on his guest’s feet.
“I’ll set up a game of Scrabble while you get the bags,” Caroline said.
Tugging on thin gloves, Laurel nodded at her daughter and led the way to the door. David pulled it open for her. At least he could do that much.
Snow particles stung his cheeks, and icy air washed David’s face as he forged onto the porch after Laurel. He followed close on her heels as she eased down the steps. As she reached the ground, a drift swallowed her legs to the knees. He shook his head. She should have unbent enough to let him do this for her.
Frowning, he slogged after her toward the dark bulk of the car. The wind had already driven snowdrifts up to the bumpers. At last they reached the car’s trunk. Laurel fished a set of keys out of her coat pocket and pressed a button. The trunk lid sprang open, blocking the wind. David gratefully inhaled a long breath free of ice particles.
Laurel’s scream froze the oxygen in his chest. The car keys dropped from his guest’s lax fingers. David caught the keychain, then followed the line of her gaze into the trunk. There were suitcases, all right. But