Joe himself hurried over to me. "Ophelia, nice to see you. Is anybody joining you? Do you want a booth?"

"Yes, there is and a booth would be good. Thanks, Joe," I said, smiling at his kindness.

"This way, this way," he said while he hustled me to a booth in the back. "How's this one? You can enjoy your meal without everyone's eyes boring a hole in the back of your head," he said with a wink and laid two menus on the table.

"Thanks again, Joe," I said, slinging my backpack onto the bench seat and sitting down.

"No problem." He put a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. "Don't let these fools get to you. They're scared right now. It'll blow over soon enough."

"I won't," I said with a quick smile.

He gave my shoulder a small squeeze. "That'a girl."

After Joe left, placing my car keys on the table, I picked up a menu and held it in front of my face. I peered over the top, checking out who was here. I saw Mr. Carroll and Mrs. Simpson at the table by the door, locked in conversation. Over by the far wall sat Edna and Harley Walters.

Harley was going for the slicked-back look tonight. His hair was either plastered down with water or too much hair gel. And his face was shiny, as if he'd almost scrubbed it raw. A shirt with a b.u.t.ton-down collar replaced his normal cut-off T-shirt and he kept tugging at the collar of the shirt. His shoulders were hunched forward and his eyes downcast.

Easy to see why-his grandmother was going at him like a fury. Once, Edna even shook her finger at him, followed by a quick look around to see if anyone had noticed. Her eyes met mine and she blushed. Quickly, she directed her attention back to Harley.

Lowering my eyes, I noticed my keys, still on the table. I scooped up the keys, opened the backpack, and dropped the keys inside. I was so intent on my task that I didn't notice Charles walk in. Suddenly there he was, sliding across the seat opposite me.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself. You know, Charles, you don't have to do this," I said, propping my arms on the table.

"What? Eat? Of course, I do, I'm hungry," he said and picked up a menu. "What do you recommend?"

"The roast beef is good."

"I don't suppose Joe has wine?"

I rolled my eyes and chuckled. "Sorry, no. But the food's good."

Within minutes Joe hustled over and took our orders. After ordering, Charles grinned at me. "Since Joe doesn't have wine, maybe we could have a gla.s.s later at your house?"

I pushed back against the booth and tilted my head. "Charles, are you flirting with me?"

"Maybe. Would you mind-if I were?" he said, his eyes twinkling.

Fl.u.s.tered, I folded my hands on top of the table to keep them still. "Hmm, well, ahh-"

"You don't get out much, do you, Ophelia?"

Feeling my cheeks grow pink, I stared at a spot over his shoulder. "Truthfully? No, I don't." Shifting my gaze toward him, I said, "My life changed five years ago when my best friend was murdered. It's only been within the past six months that I've started to feel I'm getting my life back."

He reached across the table and placed his hand on mine. "Poor Ophelia. I can empathize with you. I know how it feels to lose someone that you care for deeply. When my mother died, I didn't know if I could bear it."

"Was your loss recent?" I asked softly.

"No, it's been over fifteen years now. My mother was never strong and she suffered from heart-related seizures after I was born." Charles pulled his hand away, his body tensing. "My father's lifestyle placed a lot of demands on her. He expected her to entertain business a.s.sociates, do charity work, keep up family appearances. It was a real strain on her. I don't know what we'd have done without my nurse."

My eyes widened. I'd never met anyone with that kind of lifestyle. "You had a nurse?"

"Yes." Charles smiled tightly. "A nurse was almost required in my parents' social circle."

"And where was that?"

His tight smile turned to a frown. "In Ma.s.sachusetts. My father was a captain of industry, as they say. His family had been prosperous mill owners for generations. But I was lucky, thanks to my mother and nurse, I was allowed to choose my own career instead of being forced to join the family business. In fact, even as a child, they tried to keep me as far away from the mill as possible. Most of my summers were spent at my uncle's vineyard in Long Island."

"You must've learned at a young age to appreciate wine," I said with a grin.

His face and whole body seemed to relax. "Yes, but I a.s.sure you the lessons in appreciation didn't begin until I was well into my teens. Cousin Lucy would've skinned both me and my uncle if I started drinking wine too young. She had very definite ideas about such things."

"Cousin Lucy?"

"Yes, my nurse, governess, second mother, whatever you want to call her. She basically raised me. Mother was too ill and my father was too busy at the mill and too occupied with his cronies." He gave me a sad smile. "One of my favorite memories is of Mother reading tales of King Arthur and Knights of the Round Table to me every night before I went to bed-when she was well enough to do so. Mother believed in the old virtue of chivalry." His smile faded. "How she ever married my father, I'll never know."

Now it was my turn to take his hand. "I'm sorry, Charles."

He smiled again. "It's all in the past now. I've created a life I think she'd be proud of and that's a comfort to me."

"She died from a seizure?" I asked gently.

Charles grimaced. "No, ironically, she didn't. She had a tumor the doctors didn't know about until it was too late. In her trachea. The tumor hemorrhaged and it killed her," he said, squeezing my hand tightly.

While I tried to think of something to say, I broke eye contact with Charles and looked up to see Ned standing by the booth.

"Ned," I said, surprised. Releasing Charles's hand, I quickly shoved both hands in my lap.

Too quickly. My elbow collided with my still-opened backpack. The bag and its contents clattered to the floor.

Before I could move, both men knelt and began picking up my scattered stuff and dropping the items into the bag. Embarra.s.sed, I looked the other way.

Charles stood first and handed me the backpack.

"Thanks. Umm, Charles, I'd like you to meet Ned Thomas. He's the editor of our local paper."

Charles offered his hand to Ned. "My pleasure. I think I saw you at the demonstration yesterday," he said, shaking Ned's hand.

"Yes. The demonstration changed into something more than we antic.i.p.ated. How are you holding up, Ophelia?"

"I'm okay," I said without looking at Ned.

I was uncomfortable with Ned meeting Charles. And I didn't understand the reason. Maybe it was the unwanted commotion I'd caused when I spilled my backpack. Maybe it was the way everyone had stared at me when I walked in. Whatever the reason, I squirmed in my seat.

"I met Charles at the meeting at the MethodistChurch. He's in the area to photograph the covered bridges and he's interested in environmental issues. He might do a story on the situation with PP International."

Shut up, Ophelia, you're rambling, I thought.

Ned smiled down at me and patted my shoulder. "It's okay, Slugger. We'll talk later. Charles, nice to meet you."

After Ned left, Charles sat back down. "I take it he's someone important to you?"

"Yes, we're good friends."

"But Ned wants it to be more?"

"No. Like I said, we're friends."

Our dinner arrived, ending any further discussions. During our meal, Charles kept me amused with stories of his travels and his life. He had a wide range of interests and I found him witty and charming. The evening flew by quickly.

After dinner Charles walked me to my car. Tipping my head back, I looked at the sky. Clouds blocked the stars and I felt the ozone hanging in the air.

"A storm's coming," I said.

As if caused by my words, a low roar of thunder rumbled in the distance.

"You'd better get home before the storm hits," he said, opening my car door. "I enjoyed this evening, Ophelia."

"Thank you. I did too," I said and started to slide in. But before I could, Charles took my hand in his and raising it to his lips, placed a kiss as light as a snowflake on the back of my hand. The skin where his lips touched tingled.

And the thunder rumbled again.

On my way home lightning cut a jagged edge across the sky and the sound of thunder crept closer. With one hand tight on the steering wheel, I picked up my cell phone and dialed Ned's number. He answered on the first ring.

"Hi, Slugger."

"Ned, about Charles-"

"You don't owe me an explanation," he said, cutting in. "We're friends, remember?"

"I know." I tapped my finger on the steering wheel. "But for some reason it made me uncomfortable when you met Charles."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It just did." I tapped my finger faster.

"Do you like him?"

"I guess."

I heard his chuckle over the thunder. "Has he met Abby?"

"No, I don't know him well enough to introduce him to her yet."

"My advice as a friend," he said, stressing the word friend friend, "is to take your time. There's some strange things going on right now and you'd be wise to be cautious of any strangers."

"Good advice."

"That's what friends are for," he said, and I heard the smile in his voice. "Are you on your way home now?"

"Yeah. The way the storm's moving in, it's going to be nasty."

"The weather station has severe storm warnings on. When you get home, stay put. We'll talk tomorrow-if you have time. I want to hear more about Beasley. He's the reporter who gave you a bad time five years ago, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. And I wish he hadn't shown up in Summerset."

"This murder's a big story. Lots of people will be knocking at your door, asking questions. Might be best to lay low for a while."

"I think so too. I've got some vacation time coming. I might take some of it now."

"Good idea. You'd better pay attention to the road, so I'll let you go. Remember, stay at home."

"I will. Thanks, Ned."

"No problem. Talk to you later."

I hit the end b.u.t.ton on the phone and thought about what a great guy Ned was. Along with Darci, he was one of my closest friends. Wow, the thought stunned me. Who'd have thought six months ago that I'd have friends again? After Brian's death, I swore I'd never get close to anyone again, but now I had Abby, Darci, Ned, and Claire. My life was better and I'd be d.a.m.ned if I would let Henry Comacho or Fletcher Beasley take the security I'd found away from me.

Chapter Seventeen.

My windshield wipers were beating a steady rhythm by the time I pulled into my driveway. Grabbing my backpack out of the seat next to me, I flung the car door open, jumped out, slammed the door shut, and flew up the walk to the porch. Standing there for a moment, I watched the rain come down in a heavy curtain. Over the noise of the thunder and falling rain, I heard a whimper from inside the house. Lady-she hated being alone during storms.

I unlocked the door and swung it wide. Immediately, Lady was at my side. She quivered so hard she could barely wag her tail. Her eyes stared up at me hopefully, as if to say: Please make this go away Please make this go away. I bent down and scratched her ear.

"Come on, girl, let's go inside."

She didn't need to be told twice and trotted in the door right at my side. In the dark I found the light switch and flicked it on, but nothing happened. I flicked it again and again till it hit me. It's stupid to keep hitting the light switch. The power's out, dummy It's stupid to keep hitting the light switch. The power's out, dummy.

Stumbling into the dining room, I grabbed the kerosene lamp from the sideboard and went into the living room. I felt around the top of the mantle, searching for the box of matches. Finally I found them and lit the lamp.

Crossing to the coffee table, I lit all my candles until the last of the gloom was chased away and the room was filled with a soft yellow glow.

"Kind of romantic isn't it, girl?" I said, surveying the room.

Lady, comfortable now that I was home, curled up on her rug near the fireplace. And from underneath the couch, Queenie peeked out, but another clap of thunder sent her scurrying back to her hiding place.

"Queenie, you are such such a chicken," I said, laughing. "You're supposed to be a big bad predator." a chicken," I said, laughing. "You're supposed to be a big bad predator."