Frame-Up. Jill Elizabeth Nelson

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СКАЧАТЬ her to release the garment. She let it go and backed away, gaze darting between her daughter and him. He headed for the coat closet next to the entrance to the kitchen. Receding footfalls said that his lovely, frightened guest had scurried for the hearth.

      He hung their coats, then swiveled to find Laurel seated in a chair beside her daughter. Her focus was on him. Questions shouted from her expression. He could imagine what they might be. “Did you kill your girlfriend?” probably topped the list. Most folks couldn’t bring themselves to be so blunt as to ask the question directly, but then, most people weren’t snowed in with him.

      “Our cell phones don’t have service here,” she said. “Would you have a landline so we can let people know where we are?”

      An innocuous question, if a person ignored the sub-text of fear.

      He shook his head. “No landline. When I come to the mountains, I’m not big on communicating with the outside world.”

      Her lips flattened, then she attempted another smile that only succeeded in becoming an anxious grimace. “How about internet service? We could instant message or email or—”

      He shook his head. “I have a CB radio. I can give a holler to the authorities in Estes Park as to your whereabouts, and they can communicate with your husband or anyone you’d like.”

      “It’s just Mom and me.” Caroline waved a breezy hand. “Has been for a long ti—”

      The pointed clearing of her mother’s throat cut the girl’s words short, but David got the picture. Or at least a hint. The specific reason for the absent dad/husband remained a mystery.

      “You won’t be going anywhere soon anyway,” he said. “This storm is anticipated to last through the night, and it’ll be longer than that before the roads are cleared. Why don’t we take the chill off over a cup of coffee? Or cocoa or tea, if you prefer.”

      “Tea would be awesome.” Caroline threw a grin over her shoulder. “Do you have anything fruity and spicy? Sniffing the steam jazzes my sinuses.”

      A chuckle spurted from David even as the girl’s mother darted her daughter one of those Mom looks.

      “Caroline, we can’t expect our host to wait on us.”

      The girl’s expression flattened. “But—”

      “I offered, Ms. Adams,” David said.

      “Yeah, he offered.” Caroline’s infectious grin sparkled forth.

      David 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 СКАЧАТЬ